Outside the realms of my magical and wondrous Mansion exists another place. The polar opposite, if you like.
A dark and sinisterly treacherous place known only as W. There, clouds swirl in turmoil overhead, and sometimes around. Icy winds blast and cut straight through exposed skin, deep into the warm veins beneath – some dare say they reach deep within the soul. With me, they simply try. I have a coat that keeps such things at bay.
The earth churns and groans, as if trying to rid itself of the hefty mass that tries to spread across its surface. Shadows fall down cracks at sunset, with dead trees appearing to take their place, but they are all merely an illusion. An echoing thud thud thud from the distant railway line is sometimes carried in by the wind – more so on misty evenings – but since the railway line was closed down over twenty years ago the actual source remains a mystery.
Old-fashioned telephones can be heard ringing through the broken glass in windows of offices long disused. Sometimes, ghostly voices can be heard in conversation – but with whom? Are they another illusion or a figment of many an imagination. Perhaps they are a recording, trapped amidst the turmoil of the churning and groaning soil of this darkened place.
Other buildings stand ominously. Birds fly around the rooftops like bats and ravens in a horror movie. The buildings themselves seem to come alive on the night of the Full Moon, but some, I’m told, have seen a change at the time of the Summer Solstice. I haven’t seen this personally. I tend not to stick around.
I have to go to this and through this Land of W daily for work.
It makes coming home to the Mansion all the more inviting and all the more pleasurable.
There has to be balance. Things wouldn’t be the same without it.