“Oh shit!”
The final words the cup heard as it fell to the ground after sliding across my desk, having been hit by a careless and forgetful hand. Specifically, my hand. I always put my cup of water to my left as I sit down, but on this particular day, I had placed it on my right. A seemingly small, insignificant decision, which would have no impact on anybody’s day whatsoever.
Unless you instinctively assume the space to your right is empty, as it usually would be, and therefore allow your mind to ignore any objects that may be there. Which is exactly what I did.
I looked down - I heard no impact hit the floor, nor did I see anything there. The motion of movement hurtling downwards seemed to have fizzled from existence as I paid attention. For a moment, I almost considered that it may have been a false movement from the corner of my eye - A fault of the mind’s design, seen every day by everyone. But, no, I had definitely felt and heard my hand hit something. A simple glance at my desk - both sides - confirmed my cup had left the surface.
I stood up, checking under the desk. When that yielded no change, I took a peek under my chair. No cup - No puddle - Nothing.
A certain unease crept into my senses. It felt like trying to name a song, and having the lyrics just on the tip of your tongue. Or walking into a room and suddenly forgetting why you’re there. I was holding this cup just a moment ago, I should be able to reach out and pick it back up, I know I should. Yet here, at my desk, teetering on the edge of unexplainable, my cup wasn’t there.
It was, then simply wasn’t.
What do you even do at that point? You know, for a fact, that you have spilt a drink all over the floor, yet you can’t find it. Do you ignore it and hope it turns up eventually? You’re prepared to clean it up, to pick up the broken shards of glass, yet your task is suddenly halted - For what reason?
I kept looking, wherever I could. The other side of the room? Sure! It could have somehow ended up here. Maybe.
The dim lighting played tricks on me, momentarily thinking I had located the cup down the back of the sofa, or underneath the table. Each time, the relief was short-lived, as it only ever turned out to be shadows playing tricks on my mind. Why do we do that? Why do we find it so easy to mistake one thing for another when we are in a hurry to find it?
No rogue splash of water, no shimmer of glass poking from the carpet. Had it slipped from the desk, or reality?
The cup never showed up. It never will.
Neither will the one I dropped the next day.
Or the next.
Before this, I don’t even remember the last time I had dropped a cup. It’s not something I particularly make a habit of. But now, it was happening daily - perhaps my brain, subconsciously so, had locked onto this experience. Perhaps I needn’t even wonder; I had been telling everyone about the strange event, and it had been on my mind a lot. In hindsight, I guess I was aware of how focused on it my mind had become.
Each time, the cup disappeared, just as it had the first time. Each time, however tightly I held onto it, however careful and mindful I tried to be, it happened. It fell to the floor; The same spot as before. It never hit.
After that third time, I stopped bringing drinks to my desk. It seemed to be the only place that this would occur. It fixed the unease growing inside of my mind. For a while.
Question: What happens if you don’t feed a beast?
Answer: It goes hunting.
I had been sitting at my desk for an hour, as I reached to my left for a cup of water. Empty air brushed through my fingers and my brain, instinctive as ever, had forgotten that I no longer bring drinks to my desk.
Getting ready to stand up and quench my thirst, I was paused by a strange noise. A groan? A rumble? A whine? A mix of all three might be the best way to explain it. It seemed to croak through the house, beneath every floorboard and behind every wall. The silence that followed was as uncomfortable as the sound.
Still confused by what I had heard, another one of my senses was thrown off next - A strong familiar smell, akin to a wet dog. Moisture trapped in the air, now filling the house with its aroma. Hearing the noise again, I stepped into the hallway. The smell was weaker here, and the sound suddenly felt distant.
I felt again like I was searching for something that wasn’t there. I almost considered that my mind was playing tricks on me, but I knew it to be real. I knew it as well as I know my own name.
Turning around, looking back at my desk, I saw it. It may have only been a short moment, but I saw it. A hole in my floor where my feet had just stood; An opening to a void where I sit and work every single day. The groaning rumble, louder than ever, now accompanied by a rotting smell. I backed away, as the world around me transformed. Thick tendrils grew up the walls, oozing a bronze sludge. The floor beneath me seemed to pulse and breathe, causing me to lose my balance. As I fell to the floor, I closed my eyes, trying to imagine myself anywhere else. Feeling liquid dripping onto me from the ceiling made this difficult to achieve.
Had I caused this? Was my house alive, or was my floor an entrance to a realm beyond comprehension? Whatever the case, something wasn’t happy that I stopped dropping cups of water.
The sound of whining now mixed with a heartbeat’s thump below the floor, and the gentle squelch of the walls coming to life. The air inside this place, which I could no longer describe as my home, seemed to move rhythmically back and forth, swaying one way and the next. My eyes still closed, I could feel hair growing on the floor beneath me, beginning to wrap itself around me, preventing me from moving.
I screamed.
My scream was all I could hear.
I opened my eyes, to find myself on my floor. The walls were clean, and the floor had stopped breathing.
I went into the kitchen cupboard, and all of my cups were missing.
I’m going to buy more after I’ve moved house.