It hadn’t always been like this. The eerie silence that penetrated the big limestone and marble building used to be much quieter, lighter, less depressing. But now it seemed as though the shadows whispered faintly to themselves in their own dark recesses. The great height of the elaborately carved dome, the walls made of marble imported from Vermont. The floors were a mixture of stone from all over the world and from various places around the country. Exotic black marble from Italy, grey marble from Alaska and red marble from Georgia. The outside walls were made of limestone hand cut and shaped from a local quarry by prisoners at the turn of the century.

It is a building that holds a lot of history and has seen a lot of human presence in its day. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that it harbors some leftover memories and impressions of all of these minds. The capitol building rose four stories in height, with a middle section tens years older than either of the wings. It didn’t seem to matter much though. The whispering shadows followed one throughout the night, up the stairways and into the galleries above the court rooms of the state house and senate. Once in awhile you would see something out of the corner of your eye, a quick, flitting shadow that was there and gone as you turned to look at it more closely.

I’ll stop rambling on about the appearance of the building though. I don’t mean to, but I find it such a beautiful specimen f historic architecture I find it hard not to go on tangents. There is only one thing I find disturbing about this gorgeous government building. At night the columns weep a dark red substance. It is the consistency of fresh blood, but it vanishes and no sign of it can be found during the bright daytime hours when this place is bustling with press, pages, interns and others. The first time I noticed it was about a year ago, I was just finishing up for the night. Walking past the columns on the fourth story I noticed something odd, dark streaks in the plaster columns, but I paid no heed. They were black and white, so I figured it was just part of the columns themselves.

I walked down to the third story, where art from local artists was being showcased and sold. A variety of colorful watercolors. They included many wildlife scenes, vibrant gardens ablaze with flowers and the odd fly-fisherman or two. I always took a moment to admire the soft focus of silver light that streamed in upon them from the moon. It added a dimension to them, something special that couldn’t be seen in the yellow glow of the sun. Standing back farther I brushed a hand against one of the pillars. I jumped, startled, when my hand was pressed into something slightly warm and wet. I looked down at my hand. It was covered in something dark. Needless to say, I got out of there as quickly as I could.