If I were to tell you that after a while the worst physical pain you can imagine starts to feel as good as sex, then it’s understandable that you wouldn’t believe me. When it comes to L House, though, you should take that into consideration. There was once a group of friends, and they would do anything for a laugh, including shoot themselves in the face. Listen to me closely. All things are literal in the house blessed by Lazarus. For one meager gang, death was a joke, and I counted myself lucky to be among them.
Kelsey couldn’t beat a ten of clubs, so she sighed, pressed the tiny little Beretta to her forehead, and pulled the trigger. We used the little Beretta from time to time because it got the job done without leaving too much of a mess. Jeremy insisted on using a sawed off for when he lucked out and had to bite a bullet, so we made him sit farther away from the rest of us. Splatter effects and all. The walls of the House of L were caked in dried blood, to the point that the interior seemed like it was painted a spotty black.
Me, I never liked how loud a gunshot was, and they say you never hear it before the bullet pulverizes your brain (and by “they” I mean everybody else in the gang) but I heard the shot, every time. I think it’s on account of me not dying right away the first time I put a gun to my head. Somehow, I was still conscious, twitching around while I healed the bad way. Say what you will about pain in the House of L, but if you receive a head wound then it’s best to go for total annihilation. At least then you get the rush that comes with kissing the ink of eternal darkness and entering a place at last absent of consciousness.
-From “The House of L” by Nick Manzolillo
What could be behind the mysterious power of the House of L? Find out in Home Sweet Home…
Get Yours Here: Home Sweet Home – A Millhaven Anthology