The Nightmare Game Read Online Free Page A

I had to admit, very comfortable. But I knew its beauty and
comfort was there only for the use of her far wealthier, more important
clientele, who, unlike me, did not clash with her decor.
    Now that I had, for all intents and purposes,
memorized her office out of sheer boredom, I decided it was now time for me to
stand up and demand she hand over the apartment key. Enough was enough and she
was selfishly cutting into my vacation. I opened my mouth to speak, but before
I could, I was distracted by a change in the scent of the room. When I first
walked in, it was impossible not to notice the fragrance of the many flowers in
the vase on her desk. There were so many, the perfume was almost a little too
strong. But now the scent had changed and become a musty odor. The smell of the
flowers was still there, but it was rapidly intermixed with an undercurrent of
something dank, damp and dusty, something reminiscent of an old attic piled
high with moldy, nearly forgotten furnishings and memorabilia, the attic of
someone who had died years ago but whose effects no one ever bothered to clear
out. The atmosphere suddenly seemed overpowering and stifling. I tried not to
breathe in too deeply, but even so the dense smell engulfed me until I felt
suddenly shifted outside of time. Speaking seemed to take too much effort and I
was too lightheaded to get up. I was getting dizzy, so I tried even harder to
focus my concentration upon the physical aspects of the room in an attempt to
calm myself. But the more I tried to rely on my senses, the more woozy I
became. I attempted to center myself by fixing my gaze on the carved serpents
adorning the front of Rochere’s heavy desk, only to find that no sooner had I
done this than the relief-carved snakes began to “swim” and to twist upon each
other as if they were alive.
    I must be overtired. Get
a grip, Ashley , I rationalized to myself. A horrible new thought entered
my mind. Was I really just overtired or had someone aboard my flight had an
exotic new disease that the nightly news had yet to warn us all about? Maybe
this was serious. I was getting scared. I blinked my eyes and shook my head.
When I looked back at the desk, instead of stopping, this movement of the
serpents, which was surely an optical illusion, became even more animated, more
violent as the snakes turned upon themselves and began to consume each other,
starting with the tails. I looked up again at the woman behind the desk,
feeling sick, having a little difficulty swallowing, wondering just how long
would she keep me waiting, feeling that maybe if she acknowledged me I might be
able to get my orientation back and feel better enough to make these
hallucinations stop. I needed to get that damned key, make it to the apartment
and lie down on a bed. I opened my mouth to demand that she hand it over, but I
only weakly got the word “key” out of my mouth and was unable to finish the
rest of the sentence. She appeared not to hear me and I didn’t know if she was
still ignoring me or if I had just spoken too softly. Key or no key, I would
have left right there and then but I didn’t have the strength to get up out of
my chair. The surviving snake on the front of her desk had turned into one
enormous snake and hissing, struck out at me, somewhat leaving the confines of
its desk. Startled, I jumped backward toward the rear of my chair as far as my
waning strength would let me. That wasn’t standard behavior for office
furniture. I was either getting sick or going crazy. The smell then got even
stronger. Rochere didn’t seem to notice it. It was so overpowering, how could
she not notice?
    I tried to pull myself together by analyzing the
situation. What was it about the smell that I found so offensive? What was it
about the odor that was making me feel so ill? Generally I found the aroma of
flowers pleasant and that of musty, dusty old attics, while not desirable, at
least interesting. But this was something different. Flowers, yes,