Adventure, The Red House

The Red House: A massive bay window juts out from the front wall. Roofed in slate, the bay contains three separate panels of glass. Each is about three feet wide and nearly six feet tall. Apparently the house had been angled so that this window would catch the afternoon light. There are entryway panels on either side of the front door. Each is composed of little six-sided panes of glass, held together with strips of lead. The six-sided panes are perfectly clear. But the top and bottom of each panel bears a strip of bright red stained glass. Over the door is a semicircular fan window, also composed of leaded glass. In the middle of the fan is a large disk of blood-red glass. From it, strips of leading radiate out like sunbeams. It looks just like the setting sun, about to drop beneath the horizon.

Living Room: The living-room floor is of oak and looks positively ancient. At the back of the living room is a small alcove, with a fireplace in one wall and a door in the wall adjoining. It leads into the kitchen at the back of the house. In there is a modern-looking refrigerator and a stainless steel sink.

Stairs: The banister is of fine old mahogany, but the stairs are nothing special—just old, stained boards with a splinter here and there. At first, a visitor might assume that the two sliding doors under the stairs leads to a coat closet. But in place of knobs, the doors have huge iron rings, all pitted and worn. Taking hold of them and pulling, the doors slide sideways into the paneling. Behind them is a strange little six-sided room.

Hexagonal Room: The floor, perhaps twelve feet across, is of white and cream-colored marble, inlaid in a series of interlocking hexagons. The same pattern is repeated on the paneling on either side of the sliding doors, and underneath the leaded windows. And then there are the windows themselves. Each section of the bay window is made up of six-sided panes of clear glass, about seven inches across, joined by strips of lead. Most of the panes had little scratches that seem to form some kind of overall pattern, but it is too faint to make out. Those little scratches are almost as transparent as the glass itself. And when the sun is almost on the horizon now, it shines right through the bay window and create too much of a dazzle.

Second Floor: At the head of the stairs is the bathroom, and to the right of it, a sizable dressing room or small bedroom. Farther to the right—back toward the front porch—is a master bedroom. One wall of it is finished in the same wood paneling that forms the side of the stair-downstairs. The other three walls, though, are furnished in that same crummy wallboard.

The Transformation: You seem to be standing on the side of a road, somewhere out in the country. It is night. Ahead of you is a stretch of bare earth. Beyond it is empty space, where the land slopes away. And then, to your astonishment, something begins to push its way up through the rocky soil.

Clods of earth lift, break apart and slide down its roof. The earth is giving birth to the red house!

You watch in fascination as the two-story frame structure rises, complete with chimney, front porch and fresh blue paint. But instead of clapboards, the house has scales, like a reptile. And set into one wall, staring at you, is the huge, protruding compound eye of some gigantic insect.

Then blood begins to seep from the raw earth around the foundation. You see that the earth is bleeding. There comes a crash of thunder. A heavy rain begins to fall, trying to wash the blood away. But the house keeps rising, thrusting and tearing its way out of the stony ground. The blood is flowing more quickly now, welling from the concrete foundation.

The house has risen to its full height, and the earth it has emerged from is no longer soil, but human flesh. Blood is spurting from the socket of the foundation, washing across the road to where you stand. You try to scream, but your breath makes no sound.