[ WP ] Until you turned on the blacklight you had no idea , but every inch of wallspace inside your home is covered in ultraviolet writing , and it all leads to drawing of a door .

Fuck it. I said I did n't want to explain, but you were all `` you just quit out'cause second year was n't as piss easy as the first''. You wan na hear the story? Shut up and let me fucking talk. And pass me another goddamn beer while you're at it. 
 
 Do n't make those zipping motions at me - you think you're cute or something? Anyway, where was I? 
 
 Ah yeah, that's right. The blacklight.The blacklight was not my idea, I can tell you that much. You know me; I was n't exactly the type to be buying into that whole nu-rave schtick a load of the kids had going on then. But I had friends that were, you know? Well, housemates, at least. Stepped on a fair few slatted sunglasses in my day. Few times it was accidental, too. Ha! 
 
 They were dead set on having this party. And I was pretty much dead set on staying holed up in my room for the duration, but I really thought I should show willing; they'd just barely been gracious enough to let me share with them this year, and I did n't know who I'd go to if I could n't stick around for the next. So I figured, you know, play nice, let them have their party. I even asked what I could do to help. 
 
 They said they'd sorted the keg already, just had to go pick it up. Who the fuck gets a keg in uni, anyway? Who can afford it? Fucking rich kids. They told me to start on the decorations. `` Put your Art History to good use'', they said. They snickered. Snickered's one of those words, is n't it; a horsey sound for horsey people? 
 
 Anyway! Okay, so yeah, the blacklight. There were a few bulbs underneath a pile of neon vomit-coloured balloons. I figured the toffs were good enough at wasting breath, so I took the chintzy old lampshade off of our requisite student-digs style standing lamp and unscrewed the old bulb. Then I put the new one in. 
 
 No jokes, please, there's only one person in this story, and one person is quite enough to change a bulb. 
 
 Well, at this point I thought I'd better get into the spirit of things, so I went and closed the curtains to see what the place would look like come party time. And I got the shock of my life. 
 
 The walls, the ceilings... what I could see of the tiled floor in the hallway... All covered, top to toe, in spidery, white-blue lettering. Tiny spiders, it'd have had to be, too, because that writing was fucking font size six if it was at all, I swear to god. Just arrayed out in spirals and lattices and whorls. Sort of breath-taking, in a smothering sort of sense. In fact, it felt exactly as if I could n't breathe. 
 
 I sat down with a bit of a thump, I'd imagine, and just sort of gazed at it all for a bit, kind of trance-like. It's hard to describe... I guess I felt like it was so transient, so... so acidic, that it might just burn up and be lost before I even managed to take a camera to it. So I tried to chronicle it with my eyes for a bit. 
 
 There was no need, it turned out. That shit stayed right where it fucking was. I eventually swayed over to the lamp and had the sense to see how far this stuff went. I got halfway down the hall before I felt a sort of muffled concussion and everything went black. 
 Took me about an eternity to quit breathing heavily and stifling sobs, if you go by my internal clock. I reckon hindsight puts it at about a minute, though, and then of course I realised that the lamp was n't going to work all that well if I yanked the plug out of the wall socket whilst wondering about the house. I briefly considered turning on one of the main lights, but I was still pretty worried that this shit would disappear, and cursing myself enough for being so fucking cowardly just a second ago, so I figured I may as well feel my way back to the plug and shove it right back in there. 
 
 Well if you can make `` she said'' jokes at a time like this, Carl, you're a braver man than I. Right, person then. It just does n't sound as good, you fucking pedant. 
 
 So I got the light back on, and to my great relief nothing had changed. I'd say I meant that I was grateful it was all still there and photograph-able, but really, I was starting to worry a little that this stuff might... you know... move. Far fetched, I know, but who'd have thought my entire house was covered in writing? 
 
 So I picked up the rest of the bulbs, and I wandered vaguely towards my room, changing lightbulbs as I went. The writing definitely was n't moving, which I chalked up as a massive positive. All the same, though, it started to occur to me that it seemed to be pointing at something. At something in the same direction as I was going. 
 
 No, I do n't know quite how writing points. No, I know, it sounds stupid. Look, the best I can say is that... Hmm. You know the crest of a wave, a sea wave? It was sort of like that, crossed with concentric circles... Like the lines on a map? I do n't know. They were definitely pointing up the stairs, squirming through the spaces between the shadows of the banisters, and facing towards my room. That's all I can tell you. 
 
 So I followed. And all this time I was telling myself that, hey, that was my original intention. I had wanted my camera, I was moving towards it. This was good. This was definitely good. I did n't need to think too much about this. I definitely should n't think about how much I wanted to turn the light on, or how much I wanted to wait until my housemates came home. 
 And I got to the door of my room. And I opened it. And there, by the desk, by my shitty old laptop and the overflowing ashtray, was what the writing had been leading to. 
 
 A door. A door completely at odds with all of the tiny, crooked, poking little letters. A door drawn with strength, in broad, crude strokes, with power radiating from them. A door with a large, no-nonsense, man's man type of handle. It looked so safe, so comforting. So I grabbed that handle, and I turned it. 
 
 Nothing. 
 
 `` What the fuck'', a voice behind me drawled, `` did you think would happen? It's a fucking drawing.'' 
 
 I turned around just in time to catch a glimpse of one huge, blue-white eye, and dozens of tiny, spidery hands pulling the fronds of the writing back together again, then the spiral patterns were as before, and it was gone.
