It’s something where you can’t tell if it’s the product of a dream, or the commodity of a nightmare. Or it’s a blend so beautiful it leaves one nauseous. Sick and twisted rotting in the center like a diseased tree, bleeding sap. On one hand, the room is stunning. Impeccable polished marble tiles line the flooring, casting a faint sheen. The hue of the marble is impossible to identify. Hypnotic scarlet light that's cast across the room from an imposing stained window. The light throws off the colors of the room, giving everything a carnelian complexion. The water in the pool is completely still. The walls of the oasis, lined with exceptional porcelain squares in every shade of red known to the world. The shade evolves deeper they’re placed. Ranging from a bright rose and then darkens until it looks almost black. Hand crafted patterned tiling lines the rim of the water, giving it a mystical feel. Under the surface, there are no filters, drains, nor troublesome jets. There are no deep pits that line the edge, covered by grated plastic that cause anguish when stepped on. The water reflects the pattern in the window to perfection and adds its own pale crimson aura. It’s ethereal. 

On the other hand, it’s terrifying. Twisting pillars of human flesh, muscle, and bone spiral up towards the ceiling. Luminous red eyes stare from under smaller, bloodred windows. They observe with an unreadable expression as they lack a nose, a mouth, a face to rest upon. Yet they seem to pass judgment, keep secrets, and hold stories too grim for any fairytale. The stained window displays an eye of shimmering obsidian that stares down at the water.  It, too, hides something behind its stone cold and unblinking stare. Yet, unlike its many glowing librarians, it writes and composes the story of each soul who has come to this place. Past, present, future, each soul, each story. It writes for its librarians to catalog, without arms to write with. Without words to speak. Without paper to hold the information. The pool itself has no visible bottom. It’s impossible to tell if it is an illusion or a pure endless watery void. 

The decor is as absurd as the room itself. There are exactly ten beach chairs, placed in a symmetrical pattern around two sides of the pool. The ruby lighting bounces off the gleaming silver frames and then rests on the seats in a gentle manner. The seats are so completely black, they seem like windows to the never ending void. Each chair has two garnet red cushions. On the left side, a circular table of cold steel and polished petrified birch rests and waits. What the tables are waiting for is unclear, much like everything else in the room. A chandelier, lacking both candles or bulbs, hangs from the arched ceiling. Once kaleidoscopic crystals have become warped and distorted. A product of the window’s piercing gaze. They dangle with false innocence from the bones of once formidable creatures. Creatures not of any world known to humankind. The bones, held together by unnatural cartilage show no signs of decay. Although there is no draft in the room, the chandelier still rotates back and forth. Gazing out the window, the sky is still bright although it is nightfall. But not the obnoxious luster of midday, rather, the serenity of dusk, cast in vermillion. The stars glisten ivory as the waxing crescent moon burns maroon. It seems to drip out of the sky the longer it’s gazed upon.

Only the echo of cautious footsteps are audible. There is no melody of the chaos  that lies outside the somber doors of black diamond set into granite. The whole tiled chamber is still with a silence that is both relieving and suffocating. A silence so whole that a single noise could shatter its serene method of torture. As well as muted, the room seems to breathe in a steady fashion. The same way one does when drifting towards their personal dreamscapes. Perhaps, it’s simply the casting of the light or it's the miasma inhaled on the way in. Or the flesh that lines the wall, but every tile seems to be alive with a faint energy. The energy that burrows its way into the back of a mind and whispers in ears to touch a flame or jump over the edge. The energy that ignites a soul with a sense of immortality and adrenaline. It ignites in a sudden blaze that consumes all rational thoughts. Nullifying strings of words until they have no meaning and no purpose being inside your mind. But the energy is quiet, patient, as if waiting for something to happen. For someone to turn it loose.  

A pale red leaf, held for far too long in a threadbare pocket, drops over the water and flutters down. As soon as it touches the drink, it blazes with a cerulean flame before disappearing altogether. Fear and curiosity enter the atmosphere of the room as boots walk closer to the edge. The standard smell of ammonia and bleach is absent in the presence of a twisted aroma. that is reminiscent of both the copper smell of blood and slight tones of eucalyptus. The energy seems to shift, a little more prominent, a little more alive. The room has awakened, the water still, as if made of tempered glass. It sits there, in its tiled coffin. A perfect mirror of the grim chandelier and pillars of Lovecraftian design. Once again, the uncanny blend of the stunning yet horrific room, causes turmoil. The sudden urge to test the water emerges as if from the endless depths itself. It will either be euphoria or agony.

Skin, covering muscles and bone, skim the surface of the water.  Ripples rush across the once still fantasy, trying to make it to the other side of the water. There are no scorching flames, riptides, ashes, or scorching coals from bleeding clouds. The water is lukewarm, soothing, intriguing. Inviting even. The near inaudible sounds of water lapping against water and tile sounds like a whisper. Despite the ground being even, the water drains from the tile back into the pool. After hesitation, the sound of laces being undone reverberates across the room. Mercifully cool tiles meet calloused soles of feet as tiny beads of moisture cling to the tiles. The urge to leap in becomes even more powerful. As does a heart-dropping terror of what awaits during the dive into the unknown. Fear and curiosity wage a war against one another, fighting for dominance. Larger beads of water drip off the hand and fall back into its home. They catch the light, looking more like drops of red tourmaline than water. A bet is then made inside a tormented skull. If the urge to jump wins out and it ends in agony, so be it. A foolish end for a foolish being. But, if it is euphoric… the odds aren’t likely. It has a chance to be no more than a standard pool as well.

The scarlet eyes in the room finally turn, waiting for their obsidian commander. It waits, ready to share this soul's story. The crystals in the chandelier are now illuminating. The brilliance creates minor shades of off-red colors on the ceiling and bones that hold them. There is still a chance to run, to turn around, and re-join the battles outside. But once again, the water seems to whisper, jump. The urge is overwhelming now. Ragged breathing echoes across the tiles, the slate walls, and the twisting flesh. It rests on the chairs, glides across the patterned tiles of the water’s edge, and yearns for an answer. The bottomless water seems to hold that answer and more the way a parent holds a sweet away from a child. But, when the parent finally hands over the treasured bit of sugar, gratitude and joy seep through. Much like now as the urge overpowers the fear as bare feet step back. The sound of a mighty splash sings throughout this forbidden red chamber. The water soaks into and underneath dark clothing. Unkempt hair coming out of its holdings, and covers a face with eyes squeezed shut. It seems to soak into every bone, every muscle, each nerve becoming encased in the water. It burns with a ferocity unmatched as a mortal body stretches out under the surface. 

When time has passed and pale lungs scream for air, the body has already sunken too deep with no bottom in sight. So graying lips part to accept fate and instead of finding a tide created by Death, they find air. The kind of air that is the mild cold of the sunrise during the early summer. It’s sweet in the way vomit is before it becomes sour. Lungs satisfied, they now scream to dive deeper, leaving the light of the room behind. A dark jacket floats back up to the surface as water rushes to take its place. It's insanity at its purest, most bizarre form. Chaos made into something to treasure. After endless minutes pass, calloused feet find a bottom so far down, all traces of red light have gone. What's left is total darkness, reminiscent of a starless night. They push up, and along with the rest of a body, drift to the surface where they breach the surface like a whale. A scream escapes from its cell within lungs, trapped no longer behind the iron bars of ribs. It's impossible to tell if it's a scream of joy or agony but it echoes off everything in the room. The answer is clear. It’s a scream of the pure joy of the experience and the sheer burning agony of the end of it. 

The eyes on the wall blink in response, the flesh columns twist and re-shape themselves. The chandelier has a spike of light before fading again and the eye in the window seems to watch with a new gaze. The once quiet energy explodes with cataclysmic force. Though the room does not move, it feels like it’s vibrating with an unmatched fury. Every horrible, gruesome, wonderful, and exciting thought breaks through a now twisted mind. They penetrate through the skull, deep into gray tissue, screaming along with the soul. Every beautiful and terrible feeling echoes through nerves and bones. It becomes some deranged symphony. Composed by the corrupted for those who seek asylum in this hall of chaos. Whether they knew it or not. Nightmares and dreams cross and fuse in the blaze of this energy. The screaming continues to waltz across the surface of the water and foxtrot up the walls. The librarians on the walls and their obsidian overseer now have a spark of malice to them. They've shown themselves for what they are: wolves that acted like sheep.

The world outside is burning away into ash and smoke but here, there’s relief from it all. A blood red dream of water, stone, and flesh in a sea of nightmares that give chase . It’s almost a bittersweet irony that in insanity, peace is only found in a room so split, it causes more of the same. Laughs follow the scream, spiraling out of control until it’s more of a choked out sob. It drowns out the sound of a separate set of footsteps approaching, these much softer. Reddened and bloodshot eyes look up into golden yellow ones that seem to glow with malice. The clothes of this stranger are well made. Tailored to perfection, giving them the appearance of a true gentleman. But there’s something in those eyes that screams, danger. Evil. Yet somehow they show a certain charisma that bellows, trustworthy, at the same time. The reddened eyes can finally see it for what it is. Insanity in its truest form. Chaos of every nature, packaged, delivered, and stored within their body. Crystals, wrapped in bones, are set into rings, resembling the ones in the chandelier. But the sobbing and unhinged laughter doesn’t stop, and there are no movements made to exit the pool. Blood pools in those reddened eyes, dripping onto patterned tiles. The drops disappear against the red and black. The eyes on the wall turn golden and stare with the same spark of insanity. Laughter and sobbing mix into a broken, twisted up mess as the being… no, the god of this insanity speaks.

“So, mortal. Did you have a nice swim?”