I am alone in a large dark house. I draw comfort from it only because I know I am alone. There is pleasure in being completely unwatched, especially after such a long period of scrutiny. All is still, except for me, and as the only animate being, I am the only object able to instill motion in this environment. I am in effect the rule of this frozen kingdom of potential energy. Only I can open the doors. Only I can make the shadows dance or flee. But I like them. They reassure me.
It is quiet. Even the highway cars must struggle to be heard from this antique crystalline world. If I do not breath, there is no breathing. If I do not walk, no creaking boards will exist.
This house is old. Wide doors, low knobs. Flat chairs, dying curtains. Peeling paint, handmade portrait frames, yellowing pictures. And that door. That ominous door. It could open. At any second. If I wasn't the ruler of this frozen kingdom.
If I wasn't alone.