There has always been a rule in my house. You must leave at least one door or window open in any given room of the house whilst you are in it. It was drilled into me since I was old enough to reach for the door handle.
I didn’t understand why for a while. My parents usually weren’t superstitious in the slightest. I even saw from pictures that they owned a black cat a while before I was born. I rarely, if ever, questioned them, though.
My parents were kind, calm people, but if I ever came close to breaking the rules, or even asking too many questions, they would turn serious, and wouldn’t let me off without a thirty-minute lecture first. I didn’t actually believe in the superstition, thanks in part to them not telling me what the consequence would be for not doing so, but I didn’t want to anger them, even if it meant leaving a window or door open in the cold.
When I was nineteen years-old, however, my parents had gone to my grandmother’s house to see my aunt who was visiting from Australia. I quickly volunteered to watch over the house while they were gone, which seemed to make them happy. In reality, I was just using this as an opportunity to have my girlfriend of six years over.
Anya’s father didn’t like me very much, so I wasn’t in her house very often. My parents didn’t allow guests, so we mostly saw each other at school. That weekend though, I invited her over and she arrived less than an hour after my parents had left.
She knew about the rule, of course. But that was mostly from me venting about it to her. From her perspective, I probably just had weird parents. Maybe if she had taken it more seriously, or if I was more strict, then what happened next could’ve been prevented.
After a while of watching movies, she went to use the bathroom, but thirty-minutes later she still hadn’t left. I began to grow worried, asking her if she was alright, and when I got no response, I opened the door.
She wasn’t inside. I looked around the room and realized that she must’ve closed the window while she was in there. And now she was gone. Not a great way to find out that the superstition was real, was it?
Her disappearance was a big thing. Most people assumed that her father had killed her, on account of him being a big, mean Russian guy who gave everyone death glares, as well as the fact that he frequently got into arguments with his daughter. The investigation turned up nothing, of course. I didn’t say anything, but I think my parents suspected something.
I joined the military not long after. I guess I just hated being in the house where she disappeared, and I somewhat harbored some resentment to my parents, and more so myself, for not being more strict with the rule.
I wish I had stayed in contact with them, though. They died in a car crash last month. They left me the house, among other things. Yes, I hated it the house. But it was big, and I hadn’t had any great places to stay in the five years since I had left.
I spent last night getting drunk. That’s how I’ve spent a lot of nights since I got discharged, but being in the house where I lost Anya wasn’t good for me, and I took to the drink especially hard last night. In my drunken state, I decided I’d reunite myself with her. I walked into the bathroom, closed the door and window.
I immediately felt a wave of nausea, though not from the alcohol. Realizing what I’d done, I sobered up pretty quickly. I looked through the window to see that it was pitch black outside, despite the fact that the sun had only started to set when I had entered.
When I opened the door, I stepped inside the kitchen. But, that wasn’t right. The bathroom was located near the front of the house. The door slammed shut behind me, but when I opened it, I was in my upstairs bedroom. Then my living room, then my basement, then the guest bedroom.
It’s like my house, but wrong. It’s a maze of every room and story, but in the wrong places. I’m writing this from the downstairs bathroom. I’ve found out that my phone is connected, but I’m not going to call for help. I don’t want to risk anyone getting stuck in a hellish, distorted replica of the house like I’m in.
There’d be no point anyway. I don’t think I have long left. I hear eerie noises from the woods outside, but it’s worse than that.
I’ve just heard footsteps upstairs…