Tom Something turned out to be Ron McLaughlin, and he was about as energetic and helpful as my cousin Craig.

He didn't know why the electricity was out, and from his inflection, I gathered that he didn't really care either. He sent me on a mission to check the main switches to see if the power tripped there.

I don't want to go on this mission. 

The more I think about Ron's directions to find the main switchboard, the less I like the mission. I don't like it at all!

The campaign starts by sending me back down the rotting patio steps... I don't mind that part because at least it's not sending me into the dark house... I only have the cell phone's light, and I need to conserve battery life. Besides, I've tried to use its light inside, and it only helped in adding some more ominous shadows to the mix.

Being sent out of the house is a relief. 

My relief is short-lived, though. The fat raindrops aren't plopping down slowly anymore; they are definitely coming in increasingly faster drips. They splatter into my face, slap me on the head and run along my scalp and into my eyes. Not fun at all. It feels as though I'm being pelted with eggs.

I've never had eggs thrown at me before, but I imagine that it might feel something like this, wet and slimy. Just perhaps more painful and crunchy.

Water balloons, then. Yes, it feels as if I'm being bombarded with big, fat water balloons! Minus the fun...

"Around the east side of the house," Ron had said. 

Great... That was extremely helpful.

The sun sets in the east, as far as I know, and the east is... well, somewhere... and so is the sun. All I can see are clouds and more clouds and decreasing light. I have no idea in which direction it's decreasing!

Well, according to Ron, there is a utility room down a flight of stairs around the corner on the east side of the house. The switchboard I'm looking for is in that utility room. 

Awesome...

From the bottom of the patio steps, I can only turn left or right towards the sides of the house. Stepping off the stairs, I pick left and dart through the now blinding rain. After stumbling through tangled weeds, wrapping themselves wetly around my legs, hampering my progress, I finally turn the corner and...

No stairs.

Ivy covers this side of the house, nearly blocking the windows. Lots and lots of thick Ivy. Ivy is pretty, but it usually means bugs, lots and lots of bugs. I'm not fond of bugs.

There is what looks like a pathway disappearing into an intertwined forest of vines and thorny branches. Very inviting. This path seems to end at another building, but I can only glimpse small parts of this building through the thick growth. 

Only the roof is clearly visible. Light green and curved, almost the shape of a bulging circus tent. Its edges are decorated with iron carved and shaped in a lacy pattern. Pretty, but in a spooky way. 

I don't really like spooky...

"Okay, so the creepy building is to the southwest of the house... I think... Good to know."

I spin around and fight my way back to the front of the house. I struggle past the porch and past my car, towards what probably has to be the east side of the house. 

What a great geography lesson!

And it isn't even the only geography lesson I'm receiving first-hand. I'm also learning that rain is wet when it comes streaming down. Wet and very, very cold, especially with the wind behind it. I already knew that I could've done without experiencing it first-hand.

Note to self: Don't ever wear flimsy sandals when running in the rain might be required... again...

I'm shivering by the time I reach the corner of the house and go around it. I come to an impressive sliding stop, leaving muddy skid marks and everything. 

In front of me, the ground suddenly ends in a drop. There are stairs running from my level down to the bottom of a small, protruding, Ivy-covered section of the house. Looking straight ahead, across the great divide, I can see what might be bay windows peeking from the ivy. 

A trickle of rainwater is flowing in thin rivers around the sides of the rotten wooden steps and through their cracks. They lead down to a very uninviting-looking door set back from the bottom of the stairs. 

The room is under the house? Really?

"Of course it is..."

I do not want to go down those steps into the dark. I so desperately do not want to do that, I even say it out loud.

"I so don't want to go down there..."

But it's raining, and it's cold, and the wind is howling and trying to knock me off my feet. Lightning, followed by a loud clap of thunder, startles me into running down the stairs.

Stumble would be a better word to describe my not-so-graceful descent. These steps are no better than the ones leading to the front door. I crash into the door at the bottom and have to steady myself against it for a couple of seconds to regain my balance.

"Ow!"

Thus far, the house has been absolutely inspiring. I'm feeling inspired to kill Craig.

The door isn't locked. Not according to Ron. Something that makes me quite uneasy, to be honest. I'm starting to feel more desperate than wary, though, so I try to turn the knob. 

Yes, it doesn't seem to be locked, but it is definitely stuck. I try again. Nothing. I push against it with the flat of my left hand while I turn the knob with my right hand. Nothing. I lean into it with my shoulder. 

NOTHING!

I step back and give it a hard kick, which sends me staggering back against the stairs behind me. So, I'm no martial arts expert and not a cop used to breaking down doors. I'm a 50kg woman... and I bruise easily. 

My hobbies include singing and dancing (where I cannot be seen or heard), reading, playing video games and sleeping. I'm not exactly the physical type.

I shake myself, flop my arms to loosen them, flick my fingers and snap my neck from left to right. I've seen athletes do that; it must help with something. I grab the knob, turn it and simultaneously throw myself against the door.

The kick, combined with my first crash and multiple scrum attempts, must have jolted it loose from the dirt and rust, glueing it shut because I suddenly find myself airborne as the door opens, slamming against the inside wall.

I fly about a meter or two into the room (cannot be more than that, the room is too small) and land face-first in a pile of an unidentified substance. The textures vary from rough cloth to mushy, wet, and slick. 

The smell propels me to my feet. At least it would have if I wasn't tangled up in hairy strands of what might once have been material mixed with something organic.

I'm freaking out!

Disentangling myself and standing up is taking longer than my sanity and senses can bear. I'm covered in some kind of reeking, rotting goo. I can't see much, even with the door open. Shaking and retching, I run my fingertips along the wall, searching for the box containing the switches. The wall is moist under my fingers, and I really have to clench my teeth not to start screaming.

"Keep it together, keep it together..."

My fingers bang into something large and hard, slightly protruding from the slimy surface. I've found it! I yank open the door of what seems to be an electricity cupboard and run my trembling fingers over the various switches, praying for the absence of spiders. I can feel their webs wrapping around my fingers. 

I want light, and I want it NOW!

"Don't give in to hysterics... don't..." A large double switch is lying in the opposite direction of all the others. I hesitate for a second. What could happen?

"The friggin' wreck of a house can potentially blow up! Right? Yes? GOOD!"

I flip the switch, vaguely wondering about the possibility of being electrocuted.

Nothing happens. No boom, no electrocution. Nothing. There is also no light.

I'm about to surrender to complete despair. I've already been whimpering like a puppy this whole time and am about to let my feelings out in a full-blown wail.

Mid howl, I glimpse a light switch set just inside the room, close enough to the open door to be vaguely visible. 

Of course! What was I thinking?

I storm at it and hit it with more violence than turning on a light usually requires. Weak, watery light washes over me and the interior of the cramped room. 

Hell, it's light... I'll take it!

And then I wish for the darkness to return.

Maggots... Hordes of maggots. Hordes, swarms, droves, clews... whatever collective form maggots appear in, they are appearing in that form all around me. The room is covered in groups of wriggling maggots. 

Fat white bodies are squirming on my clothes. I can see them tangled in the dark strands of my long hair and feel them on my face. I've always had and probably always will have a very deep-rooted revulsion for worms of any shape or size. 

Maggots are at the very top of the list of phobia-like symptoms inspiring worms.

The wailing begins. I can't help it. I barely notice the variety of bugs and critters scurrying to the dark corners of the room as I run, howling for the door and up the stairs. The sound of various tools crashing to the floor follows in my wake. 

I've completely destroyed that room. Good!

The rain is welcome this time. It is wet and forceful, soaking me to the bone. It is also washing away the maggots and dregs of what might once have been bags of potatoes and other fruit and vegetables. I scrape at my clothes, my hair, and my skin in an attempt to speed up the cleansing.

I scratch my skin raw, striking blood in a couple of places, but I don't care. Doubling over, I puke bitter bile into the bushes. When the heaving finally stops, and I feel more or less convinced that I might be maggot-free, I rinse my mouth and my face in the rain and stomp toward the front of the house.

My plans have changed again. To hell with the house; I'm getting into my car. I don't care if I soak the interior. I don't care how bad I smell. I'm not going to close the door to the house or the utility room.

I'm not even going to collect my spilt art supplies. I don't care which lights are left burning where. 

I'm getting out of hell right now!

☼☼☼