Whatever poor light I may make use of for keeping my handwriting discernible, as I recount the occurences of late in this damp and outlying town, has unfortunately been reduced to almost nothing since the only reliable source recently- the lightbulb in the hallway – went out with a faint crackle. Everything here seems either out of the last century or just decrepit. A long time ago, as it seems, when I studied journalism and Annie still envisioned herself as a leading lady in becoming, I used to believe in several different possibilities for the future, yet all having one thing in common; they were bright prospects, even as I struggled with quite vague ambitions and equally vague conceptions as to the nature of my genius. This very place and this very juncture in my life serves as a reminder of the ever present prospect of the opposite possibility; a slow trickle of modesty, without a notice of clarity. I might have been reflecting on that even as I smoked my cigarette at the corner of Franken street and the small alleyway protruding from a narrow passage between two tenement houses in imperial style, half expecting to see one of those strangers I had sighted during my escapades in town, emerging out of the fog with a growling. I crushed the stump of the cigarette under my heel, crossed the street and made for the entrance of the Boulevardy Theatre.

The theatre, one of the oldest buildings in town and supposedly founded by the influential family of Strum in the increasingly renovated town during the late tsarist rule, showed, on the outside, not the typical achitectural style of neoclassicism as would have been expected, but rather a peculiar mix of Richardsonian and fin de Siécle. I had now become so accustomed to the unkempt facades and the gloomy aura of the town that I no longer took any particular notice; perhaps a contamination I thought, a degree by degree augmented degenerateness, caused on equal terms by the millieu and it´s influence over character.

Once inside the vestibule, I was ushered onwards by an elderly lady, no doubt thanks to Annie making the necessary arrangements for our appointment. Rather than going through the great doors in front of us, which must clearly have been the entrance to the theatre proper, she made a sign as for me to follow her through an opening to our left. Here, we entered a corridor, which characteristics I will describe for the single purpose of recording all parts – may they be small or even insignificant – of this strange current of events by which I have found myself being carried to the thriving nexus of some utterly skewed and unspeakable terror.

The brickwork showed, as would be expected, signs of decay caused by dampness. The floor, made of heavy wooden boarding, were slightly slippery, probably due to the surface starting to loosen, affected perhaps by fungus, as would be the natural cause in such an environment. The only light came from a single lamp in the opposite end of the corridor, it´s shine just enough to reveal a multitude of supplies and a steep staircase to the right, leading downwards to some cellar. Along the bricked wall to my left, ropes of various sizes were hanging from rusted spikes, some in a greenish hue, others charred brown, a few still seemingly pale. Above the ropes hung what appeared to be fishing nets, and, hardly distinguishable while walking past one net after the other in the obscure light, entangled remainders of sea weed actually were abundant in those heaps of angling line. Among the varying supply there were some disturbing items which I at the time was not able to quite discern as to their function, but, upon writing this, now being certain they were used in the abominable play I later came to witness on the 23rd.

I finally saw Annie backstage in a disquieted mood, and that might be the explanation to a a small misunderstanding. She was somehow commenting her part in the show, and, probably due to my confused status, I inquiringly stated (unfortunately much less inquiring than stating) she was not in any of the leading roles, meaning only to mask the sudden fear of having misunderstood the importance of her role. To that she admitted, trying to sound casual, although I did not fail to notice the hurt tone, and so, through declaring she needed to go to her lodge, informed me of me of my obvious imprudence.