The House of Inner Torment

A chainsaw starts. You feel sweet relief. Jigsaw is here to murder you.

Photo by Arianna Tavaglione from Pexels

Climb the darkened path through thunder and rain to the home overgrown with gnarled weeds and prepare to have your spine tingled and your life path judged. Careful — many visitors get trapped here inside their doubt.

You push aside rotting Amazon boxes and enter the garage. The door creaks open. Car headlights blind you. You’re in Stephen King’s “Christine”! Wait, this is a 2002 Honda Civic — your car. The engine revs accusations, “The check engine light’s been on since June, and your $2 highway toll amassed $237 in late fees.”

You escape into the living room. The television flickers on, “Poltergeist”-style. Your father is onscreen, wild-eyed, sweaty, and raving about retirement funds. He rattles off financial terms — ROTH IRA, 401(k), roll-overs, allocations — and you feel light-headed. Why didn’t you set more aside in your 20s? You’re going to die alone in a studio apartment under a stack of student loan and Invisalign bills.

You bolt into a dark corridor as flashes of lightning outside disorient you. You’re in the Hall of Jump Scares, where your most ill-advised life decisions pop out in rapid succession: Dental x-rays showing preventable gum loss because you’re too lazy to floss. Ninety-four rejected…