Point De Lomé
by Robert M. Velkym

   Point de Lomé, the house of misfortune, has always been a hot bed of corruption and mystery. Its current owner is the fourth owner in 50 years. The house has stood vacant for 49 of those 50 years.

   Point de Lomé was built in 1946 by a couple from the country of Romania. They were gypsies who had fled the Nazi's and came to America. They built Point de Lomé using their own design. As it turns out their design was an exact copy of a Sumerian temple at the Ukuma archaeological sight in Iran. This could be the main reason the house has so much physic turbulence. This is the story of Point de Lomé and its current owner Lord Witherspoon of Wales, England.

   Lord Witherspoon inherited the house from his recently deceased uncle. Lord Witherspoon is a young man, 30 years of age, weathered as though he were 50. Complete with the distinguishing gray around the temples. He stood in his room at his manor, packing for a trip to the United States of America. His anxiety and curiosity controlling his sudden whim to fly to his new house in Vermont. He packed then departed on a 747 to arrive on the next day, early in the morning. He was then chauffeur up to his new property by way of limousine.

   As his limo drove up the pitted asphalt street the soft mist of morning coated his car. The occasional bump helped to set the scene. He drove through the forested region of Vermont for an hour until he reached the gates of Point de Lomé. The raw iron of the gate rusted through in spots, but it still served its purpose, to keep people out... or the keep something in...

   The limo driver climbed from behind his seat and unlatched the gate, which swung open with an unnerving "reeeee" sound. Allowing the car to pass through, the gate swung shut with a sudden clank as the last inch of the car crossed its territory. The limo driver pulled up the overbearing and ominous house.

   Point de Lomé stood in the shadows of the impending lightning storm, its twin towers reaching up to touch the sky, and its wings surrounding the limo, threatening to grab it in a mad fury of wood. The Lord stepped out of the car, careful to avoid the puddles now forming on the neglected driveway. He signaled the driver for his bags.

   A little paint and a few potted plants and were in. This place has a kind of old world charm with that definite American favor. the Lord though to himself. He smiled a little smile, then quickly crossed to the front doors of his house.

   The doors themselves were massive oak with steel banding holding the old wood firm. The Lord had to thrust his body onto the door to get it to open enough for him to slip inside. As the door opened, a slice of light invaded the infinite darkness of the entry room. He slipped inside groping for a light switch in the dark. His hand becoming frantic as the dark began to grow with the storm coming on more quickly, then finding their target a single dim light clicked on, shrouding the room in an eerie yellow light. The shadows seemed to move, but didn't. The Lord shook as a chill ran up and down his back.

   "This place is not fit for habitation" cycled through the Lords head as he explored the house. He walked through all 25 rooms then came to the cellar door.

   The cellar door was no more than a wooden plank with an over sized metal ring attached. He tugged it open, releasing a stench unlike any he had ever smelt. It was a mixture of earth, decay and something else, something that brought up thoughts of killing people in innovated and different ways.

   The Lord flicked the light switch and a single light, hanging from a cord, came on. He began his descent. The room of the cellar began to grow as more and more of it came into view. The Lord reached the bottom step, his eyes searching the room for the smell's origin, and beheld the famous Point de Lomé in all of its grandeur. A monster stood hunched over a broken form of a man, undeniably the remains of his kindly old uncle. The creature was a nude woman of uncanny beauty, standing 10 feet tall, having a snake body from the waist down and four extra arms. The creature paused from its feast as the Lord stood frozen in the emanating fear of the Marilith demon.

   Then as if he was smacked by an unseen hand his body snapped out of the fear. He turned and bolted out of the cellar, slamming the plank down as he ran. He could see the front door way growing nearer as his body propelled toward it, the one door ajar, and the lightning crashing outside. I can make it he said to himself as the door swung shut by itself. He was running too fast to stop and flew headlong into the door knocking himself down. He could hear it. The soft slither of its scales on the dusty hard wood floor. He prayed. His prayers went out to every god he had ever heard of, he was doomed.

   The creature neared. He could feel the breeze of its breath falling on the nap of his neck. The fear began to grip him once again. He turned and stared toward the beast. The thunder outside shook the ground. He was momentarily distracted, but when his eyes looked back, the demon monster was gone.

   He stood quickly on shaky knees. His hand pulling on the door hand with the unnatural strength of adrenaline. He through open the doors and ran into the rain. He ran and ran. The hours passed like minutes, the dawn was nearing as the sky was turning lighter and lighter. The storm had passed. He was safe, lost, but still safe. He fell to the earth and thanked god. Then broke into weepy tears.