Everyone had a different excuse. My friends told me that it was all the horror fiction I read.
My boyfriend told me it was the proportions of the house causing neural misfires in my brain. My mother told me it was just my wild imagination. My father would only shake his head angrily and say, “Oliver, you’re a piece of goddamn work.”
I knew every excuse they gave me was bullshit, though. The house on Woodburn Lane had been there since I was a little boy, and even then, I knew there was something wrong with it.
There’s a theory in evolutionary science that our brains adapted the feeling of “uncanny valley” as a survival trait. Some think it was because of the Neanderthals. Some think it was to identify when someone was no longer alive. Personally, I don’t believe either of those. It’s self-preservation. An instinctive aversion to dangerous things that try to pose as something well known to get us to let our guards down.
Nothing about it ever changed. The lawn was always perfectly mowed, the flowers perfectly tended. The garage was always empty during the day and held a single black car at night. The garbage can was full on Sundays and empty on Mondays. No decorations for holidays or birthday parties or weddings or baby showers. Outwardly, nothing about it should’ve made it anything but an ordinary house.
But I’d never seen a single person come out of the house or be anywhere around it. I never saw the car move, and for the longest time, the windows were still and silent. Hell, even the birds and squirrels didn’t brave the oak tree in the front yard.
The first time I’d seen any sort of activity was one Halloween night. I was 16, and my friends and I were trick or treating along with my boyfriend. We didn’t believe in “too old for trick-or-treating.” Jack was dressed as a late 1940s Roswellian farmer, and I was decked out in an alien green morph suit with slits at the eyes and alligator-eye contacts— a couple’s costume.
As we walked by the house on Willow Lane, Johanna pointed and grinned at the front door. It was as dark and quiet as the grave.
“Why don’t you go up to that house, Ollie? You always talk about how it’s ‘not real.’ I couldn’t think of a better night to prove it. Go ahead!”
Johanna was one of the few friends I remember besides my boyfriend, Jack. We had been close for years, but she could be a bit too much sometimes. I shook my head.
“Are you really scared? It’s just a house! Come on, don’t be a pussy.”
Jack turned to her, an annoyed look in his eyes.
“Leave him alone, Jo. He doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to.”
I looked at him and then back at the house. I took a step forward into the yard.
“Go on, do it, Oliver!” Joanna goaded.
I got halfway to the door when I saw the shadow in the window. It stared at me with alligator eyes, exactly like the contacts I wore in my own. The shadow pressed its hands against the window, and the head turned sideways. I watched in horror as the face slowly rotated 360 degrees like it was on a wheel.
I backpedaled, nearly falling on my ass as I retreated back to the road.
My friends exploded into laughter as Jack took my arm and gently pulled me away. I was glad no one could see the tears running down my cheeks underneath the neon green fabric.
“Are you okay, Ollie?”
I nodded, sniffling as softly as I could.
“I’m fine. Let’s just go.”
The burn of indignation didn’t last long, as my friends moved on and later apologized for laughing at me. But that night haunted me.
As time went on, it got worse. Every night after work, I would go around the block, circling around to the house and desperately trying to catch something strange happening. I would’ve given anything to see even a dog shitting on the lawn. But there was nothing. It was pristine. It was untouched. It was so damn wrong.
Finally, I’d had enough. Riding past it one night after work, I parked my car on the other side of the road and picked up a chunk of loose asphalt. I would’ve gladly accepted a vandalism charge on my squeaky clean record if it meant that this nightmare ended. With every ounce of strength I had, I hurled it at one of the windows. Just as it made contact with the window and I heard the glass shatter, it was in my hand again. I stared at it, dumbfounded.
Had I imagined throwing it?
I turned the rough, black asphalt over in my hand and examined it before looking back up at the window. There wasn’t a hole or any broken glass. Not even a scratch on the wood. It was undisturbed, just like it had been. Was it just eight long hours at Walmart messing with my brain? Or was the house trying to mock me?
Rage built inside me. I threw it again, and just as the glass broke, it was right back in my hand.
“No,” I hissed, “no! You don’t get to defy the laws of physics!”
A bitter wind blew, bringing the smell of an approaching thunderstorm. I threw the rock repeatedly until it was only dust in my hands. I flung the dust into the air and kicked my back tire over and over.
The street had been quiet ever since I stopped my car, but I watched with tears in my eyes as a familiar pair of headlights turned into my neighborhood. The red pickup stopped in the middle of the road as the storm hit, and the lights turned off.
“Oliver, it’s been hours. You haven’t answered your texts.”
Jack looked worried and exhausted.
“What do you mean it’s been hours? I’ve only been here for a little while. You called me on my way home from work. How many times could you have texted me since then?”
He came over to me and pulled my phone out of my pocket. The time flashed 2:10 AM, along with 16 missed texts from Jack and one from my mother.
He gently placed a hand on my shoulder. We were both soaked by now, but neither of us cared.
“Let me take you home. Please. I can drive your car and then walk back to my truck.”
I sniffled. None of this made any sense!
“I don’t understand. It’s been 20 minutes at most!”
Jack glanced at the house and then at me.
“Please, Oliver. I’m worried about you. This… this isn’t healthy.”
“You don’t believe me?”
He shook his head.
“I never said that. I only said that this isn’t healthy. We can talk about it when you’ve had some sleep. Just, please. Please let me take you home.”
Tears glistened in his eyes. Jack was tall, dark, and lean, and he acted tough around everyone else. But he was never afraid to let his emotions show around me. I wished that I knew how to tell him how much I appreciated it.
“Okay. I’ll go. But I can drive myself. You don’t need to walk alone around here. Especially at this time of night.”
“Then at least let me follow you home. I want to make sure you get there safely. I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t.”
I relented and got back into my car.
Jack dutifully followed me home and gave me a goodnight kiss through the window of his truck before heading back to his house.
Once in bed, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Somehow, I felt the house watching me. It was several streets away, and yet I felt like it was looming right over my bed.
I let Jack drive me to work the next day.
Things lulled a bit after that. As a newly graduated 18-year-old with an evening shift job, my days were suddenly open. I would watch the house as I drove to and from work. I would take walks when I couldn’t sleep, and I would inevitably end up in front of it. The house became part of my life, just another menial part of my routine. Brush my teeth, wash my hair, watch the house, wait for something. Things might’ve been normal if it had only stayed that way. I would’ve moved far away with Jack and never thought about that house again.
But things never work out like you expect them to.
It was days shy of July Fourth, the particular day that marked my third anniversary with Jack. The temperatures were the highest they had been all year, and so was my anxiety. My shirt clung to my chest with nervous sweat and muggy air as I searched my car, ensuring I had everything I would need for that night.
“Ollie, my sweet boy, what’s got you so worked up?”
As I got up and shut the door, my mother pushed a glass of lemonade into my hand. When I took a deep swallow and burned the back of my throat, I knew it wasn’t just nerves. I sat the glass down on the wooden railing. She stumbled to her favorite spot on the porch, sucking down her day drink.
I wiped the sweat from my brow and shook my head.
“Nothing, Mama. I’m fine.”
I could feel her eyes narrow behind her sunglasses.
“Are you sure? This ain’t about the house again, is it? It’s all just in your mind, darling.”
I shut the car door and leaned against it.
“No, Mama, it’s just all this heat. Really getting to me.”
She nodded, fanning her face and slurring her words.
“Lord, don’t I know it? Hotter than Satan’s asscrack.”
I said nothing, instead absentmindedly watching her drink and going over my mental checklist.
You have everything you need, right? Of course you do. It’s all gonna be okay. You’re gonna have a good time. But what if you forgot the movie tickets? No, no. You didn’t forget the tickets. You bought them in advance. They’ve in your glovebox right now. Maybe you should check? Yes, yes, go ahead. Okay, they’re still there. Of course they are. Where would they have gone? What about the dinner reservations? What if they forgot about them? Maybe you should call again to check. No, no, why would they have…
That was when I saw it— reflected in her glasses, standing still and silent like a specter in the woods. The manicured lawn laughed in my face. The shadowy windows taunted me.
My heart pounded in my chest. I wheeled around, frantically searching the other side of the street. All that was there was the thin patch of woods that had stood there ever since I was a baby. I looked back at my mother, and the reflection was gone.
“Well, I’m going back inside. I have to get ready for tonight. Let me know if you need anything, Mama.”
She grinned.
“You two have fun tonight and be safe! Man, the ladies won’t ever see you two hellcats coming, will they?”
I chewed the inside of my cheek, holding in a dry chuckle at the irony of the statement.
“Yeah, they sure won’t, Mama.”
I went back into the house to clean up before Jack came over. My heart fluttered when at half-past six, my phone chirped with a text from Jack.
[J] walking over now, should be there in 15 <3
Within 20 minutes, he was walking up my driveway. He was always reliably five minutes later than whatever time he told you. His little quirks made me love him that much more.
I walked past my father, watching some aggressive news anchor as he vegetated in his armchair. I kept my head down and avoided eye contact. Act like he’s not there, I always told myself, he can’t acknowledge you if you don’t acknowledge him.
“Where you going, Ollie?”
I turned hesitantly, being careful not to meet his eyes.
“Jack and I are hanging out tonight.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Hanging out? Aren’t you two a little old for that?”
“No, no, not like that we uh… we’re going to a friend’s house. Not a party, but there’ll be a couple other people there.”
He made a speculative “mm,” like he was trying to figure out which would upset me more— ignoring my social life or prying until I squirmed.
“Did you sweep the garage like I asked you to?”
I nodded and gave a quick “yes sir, I did.”
He grunted disappointedly like he was let down that he missed the opportunity to scream at me.
“Well, go on then.”
And so I did.
Jack quickly noticed my hands shaking as I started up the car.
“Did he start something again?”
I waved my hand dismissively.
“It’s not a big deal. He was just being an asshole.”
Jack took my hands in his own.
“You shouldn’t let him do that to you. You should stand up to him, Ol.”
I shook my head.
“It’s not that simple. You know it isn’t.”
He sighed. I wished it was that simple.
“I wish you wouldn’t let him treat you like he does.”
I sniffled a bit.
“Can we not talk about him? Can we not let him ruin this? It’s our anniversary date.”
He nodded.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Not your fault.”
I pulled out of the yard, and my father and the house were all but forgotten.
The French restaurant two towns over was wonderful. Jack made me try escargot. He was always pushing me to try new things.
Before we could order dessert, I excused myself to the men’s room. I had just locked the stall door behind me— yes, I’m a stall guy, sue me — when dread crept up my back. I hummed along to the bland Riviera music pumping through the crackly speakers in an effort to ease it.
I did my business and ignored the funny feeling in my stomach as I turned around.
My body went cold as raw, visceral fear washed over me. Instead of the stall door, there stood one made of smooth, navy blue wood— the door of the house I had agonized over so many times. I backed up against the toilet, grateful I had already emptied my bladder.
I looked the door over before trying to peek over the top into the bathroom. Whenever my eyes would reach the top of the door, they wouldn’t go any further. Attempting to force it sent pain radiating through my head.
“No, no, no, no, no. Don’t do this to me. This isn’t fair!”
I patted my pockets for my phone and realized I’d left it at the table. My inside roiled. Sending Jack an SOS was impossible. I was stuck, and I knew it. There was only one way out of this, and the idea of it horrified me.
I banged on the stall walls. I screamed for Jack, for my mom, for anyone to help me until my voice was raw. Nothing worked. It felt like I’d somehow fallen out of reality. My watch had stopped.
Finally, I stood silently in front of the door. The wood was warm as if it had been sitting in direct sunlight for hours. I nervously reached for the brass doorknob, my heart thumping hard in my chest. I closed my eyes as I gripped it and tore the door open.
It let out into the bathroom. I looked around for a moment, confused and relieved. Glancing back, the blue door was gone.
I walked over to the mirror, splashed cold water on my face, and drank from the tap. The water was cold and crisp, much better than I had expected.
“Get it together, Oliver. That’s enough panic attacks for today. Jack deserves better. It’s our anniversary.”
I hurried back to our table, checking my phone and seeing it had only been about five or six minutes.
“You okay, Oli?”
I met his brown eyes. He could always tell when something was wrong.
“I… I had a panic attack in the bathroom. Again. Don’t… don’t ask me if I’m okay, please just don’t. I’m fine.”
This wasn’t the first time I’d gone and lost my mind in the bathroom on one of our dates, and I was sure it wouldn’t be the last. I looked down in shame.
Our empty dinner plates were gone, instead replaced with a gorgeous arrangement of macarons and ice cream. It had been just what I had wanted to order us for dessert, but I hadn’t mentioned it.
“Well, just sit down and try to relax, sweetheart. I got us dessert.”
My heart swelled. How did I get so lucky?
I nodded and took my place across from him again.
With each cookie, the bathroom incident faded further from my mind. By the time dessert was finished, Jack was looking at me like I’d hung the sun and moon.
As the waiter came over for the final time, she delivered some shocking news.
“Gentlemen, I’d like to inform you that your meal has already been paid for.”
Jack and I both looked at her in shock.
“Wh— someone paid for our meal?! Who?!”
She looked at both of us pointedly before answering.
“The benefactors wished to remain anonymous,” she said, subtly nodding to a couple sitting near the back in a corner booth.
Jack and I waited until she left before looking over to where she’d gestured.
I should’ve known.
It was the only people in our town that really mattered to me besides my friends and Jack, and they were also the most shunned. They must’ve had the same idea to come here for date night.
Julie and July were the only out and proud people in our town, and most people hated them for it. Born at the tail end of the sixties, they had three strikes against them: being lesbians, being an interracial couple, and being both in the South. But they never cared. They hung their Pride flags in their yard and on their house, and they persisted despite every bigoted word thrown their way, every act of hate done to them.
They were everything I wanted to be.
They always said hi to me whenever I saw them, and today was no different. They waved at both of us, and July winked. We waved back gratefully before leaving.
“Those two are so nice,” Jack said as we walked outside.
“They’re more than just nice. They’re like… perfect,” I responded.
Jack looked over at me. He nibbled at the corner of his lip like he always did when deep in thought.
“Do you think we’ll ever be like that someday, Jack? Do you think we’ll be inseparable, like those two? Not caring what anyone else thinks? Not hiding?”
He grew quiet. I couldn’t get a read on his expression.
“One day, we will. I promise.”
The ride to the movie theater was quiet, but it was comfortable quiet. Jack held my hand the whole way there. Once in the parking lot, I felt my shirt pocket. The tickets were tucked safely inside because of course they were.
The scent of butter and salt and sugar eased my nerves. Jack bought a tub of popcorn for us to share, and I watched raptly as he took the orange Fanta and Sprite we’d gotten, mixing them up equally into both cups.
“You have such gourmet taste, Jack,” I teased.
He just beamed as he handed me my drink and led us into our assigned theater. It was dark and cool, and I reminisced on the first time he’d brought me here.
We were just two pimply, awkward sophomores who had been friends since childhood and had no real idea how to be in love.
It was that time of year when it felt like the sun had a personal vendetta against mankind. The theater was hot and muggy because the air conditioning had broken that morning, and we considered canceling— but Jack said we should power through. We watched some action movie that I barely remember. I was too lost in his eyes. He held my hand the whole time. At the end, he whispered in my ear that he wanted to see me like this again. My heart lit up like a Midway on a summer night.
His sister picked us up, and he held me in the backseat as she drove back to drop me off. Jack gave me a goodnight kiss on the cheek, the very first he’d ever give me. I watched Jack’s sister drive away, and then I turned towards the…
I… I turned towards the brick house, the blue door slightly ajar. The lawn was as perfect and clean as always, and nothing was out of place. I walked through the grass, feeling guilty for treading on it. I climbed up the steps and reached out a hand to the door.
As I began to pull it open, my mind recoiled.
What the fuck?! This isn’t how it happened! This isn’t what happened that night! You went back to your own house. You went inside your own front door. What the hell is this house doing here?!
“Oli! Oli, snap out of it!”
We were sitting in the back-most row. Jack had a hand on my shoulder and a worried look on his face.
“Oliver, you’ve been acting really weird lately. It’s scaring me. There have been times when I’ve come to see you at work, and you’re just standing there doing nothing. One time I saw you stand frozen in the same place for 30 minutes. Is there something wrong? Is there something you haven’t been telling me?”
I bit the inside of my cheek. I had no clue if Jack would think I was crazy or would take me at my word. He was a hard man to read.
“Nothing. It’s nothing.”
His teeth picked at the corner of his lip. He doesn’t believe me.
“It’s my dad! I just feel like… sometimes I feel like I’ll never get away.”
It was an honest lie, but a lie nonetheless. Jack sighed.
“You’ll get away, Oliver. I’ll make sure you do. I’m… I’m not gonna pry or waste any time talking about how much I hate him, but I just want you to know I’ll always be here for you.”
I nodded, and he pressed his lips to my hand. The theater lights went down. As the trailers began to play and Jack wrapped an arm around me, I lost myself in it all.
The first time I saw it was about halfway into the movie, as the mutant octopoid monster chased the protagonist down a suburban street in a shitty sci-fi B movie that barely made it to theater screening. Its exterior was as perfect as always, and not a single detail was different from its real-life counterpart. I felt slightly ill at first— but when they passed it for a second, third, and fourth time, I grew unbearably queasy.
“I think I’m gonna go use the bathroom, babe.”
Jack looked up at me with those earthy brown eyes as I stood. I almost sat back down. God, why didn’t I just sit back down?
“You feeling alright? You look a little pale.”
“Yeah, stomach just hurts a little bit. You know how it is.”
He did know. Luckily, I had 18+ years’ worth of digestive tract issues as my alibi. He nodded understandingly like he’d done so many times before.
“Let me know if you need me.”
Part of me wanted to break down and tell him everything that had been happening. I’d beg him to help, and he’d sweep me into his arms and tell me everything would be alright. That part of me wanted many things, but the other part of me would never let me say or do them.
“I will.”
I rushed down into the screening hallway, grateful for some fresh air and a little more light. I popped into the bathroom and took care of my aching stomach. As I began to walk back, my course was altered.
“Oliver!”
The voice came from the last screening room on the left. It sounded like a conglomerate of ten different, familiar voices. I wandered subconsciously toward it, and before I knew it, I was in an entirely different theater. The screen was playing some romantic comedy I didn’t have the mental wherewithal for. As far as I could tell, some picture-perfect couple was buying a new house, as if this theater was showing a Hallmark movie. I found myself mad at them— fuming at them for my own shortcomings as a partner.
That was when I recognized the house they were buying. It was the house.
As they walked closer to it, faces glowing with joy, I watched them slowly melt together and disappear. The door started to open, and again I moved subconsciously forward. The door swung out fully, revealing an expanse of white. It was my door. I could feel it. I had to—
A hand gripped my shoulder. I jumped, snapping out of my stupor. I turned, and my chest went cold.
The thing holding onto my shoulder wore some poor usher like a cheap Halloween costume. The skin was flaking off in places, exposing patches of dark brick. The neck was a slimy red and peeled outwards like a third-degree sunburn.
Two dark windows stood in place of eyes, and a brass doorknob took the place of a nose, glinting from the floor lights. In place of the mouth was a navy blue door, and the hinges creaked as it opened slightly.
“Don’t open the door,” came an urgent, quiet voice. My horror only mounted when I realized it was coming from the door. The windows snapped open like flung sashes, and suddenly I was staring into my own eyes. I screamed.
My head collided with a dingy theater seat as I fell. When my eyes closed from the impact, the fake usher was suddenly a real one. Behind her was Jack.
“Oh my god, Oliver?”
“Oliver!”
Jack pushed back the usher and helped me to my feet. I realized that it was Johanna, whom I hadn’t seen since graduating. Her long blonde hair had been cut short and dyed black, and she wore thick, dark makeup on her eyes. I thought she hated the smoky eye look.
“I thought you said you were going to the bathroom?!”
I had no idea what else to tell him, so I told him the truth.
“I was coming back, and someone called me in. And then I s-saw a….”
“You saw a what?!”
“There was a… it was a… m-monster.”
I hung my head in shame at my own words. I felt like a toddler running to his mother’s bedroom in the middle of the night, crying about a boogeyman under the bed. This was when Jack would tell me that I was crazy or that I just needed some rest or that I was scaring him or any other manner of “I don’t believe you.”
I watched as Jack glanced around for a moment, then at Johanna, and then back at me. Johanna was being quieter than I’d ever seen.
“Maybe y’all should go,” she finally said in a whisper, “this place is not a good environment after an anxiety attack. Trust me, I would know.”
She was giving me a weird, skittish look. Like I wasn’t the same person who she dared to snort a line of Warhead powder and got me sent to the emergency room. Like she wasn’t the one who got me to jump off my roof and break my leg when we were playing Dragons on one of the summer afternoons when she would walk a street over to my house.
I wanted to stay and talk to her. I wanted to ask her why her hand was shaking when she helped me to my feet and why she looked like she wanted to bolt when she made eye contact with me. I wanted to ask her where the Johanna who was loud and obnoxious and would never have an anxiety attack in a grungy theater in a million years had gone. But I didn’t get the chance. Jack just nodded and quickly pulled me out of the theater.
He started the car and sped out of the lot at an almost frightening speed. I put my head in my hands and began to cry, and Jack said nothing.
“Are you mad at me?” I squeaked out.
His face instantly softened.
“Mad at you? No, no, Oliver, of course not. Why would I be mad at you? I just…”
He smiled a little bit.
“If there’s a monster in that theater, I figured it would be best to make a quick exit.”
I blinked in surprise.
“You… you believe me?! You don’t think I’m crazy?”
He reached out and took my hand in his own.
“Of course I believe you, Ollie. You’re not any crazier than anyone else.”
A mixture of relief and fondness flooded through me.
“That’s… thank you, Jack.”
He kissed my forehead, and we drove in silence for a while.
“Hey,” Jack said suddenly, “do you remember how to throw a punch?”
I watched us speed past the entrance to my suburb. We were close to Jack’s sister’s house now.
“Yeah, you showed me back in middle school after I broke my hand punching some kid after he called you Pocahontas.”
“God, yeah. Middle schoolers are so mean,” he said as he rubbed his thumb over the back of my palm.
“But yeah, I do. Why?”
“You remember not to tuck your thumb, right? I’m just asking in case you have to fight a monster any time soon.”
“I wouldn’t even be able to get a hit in against a monster, what’re you talking about?” I joked.
Jack rolled into his sister’s driveway.
“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit, Ollie,” Jack said as he planted a sweet kiss on my lips.
“Maybe. But you do.”
There wasn’t a lot said after that as we worked our way into the house and into his bedroom. The next coherent words I spoke were into Jack’s bare shoulder as cigarette smoke curled out of his red lips.
“Can I stay close to you like this forever?”
He kissed my forehead, and I felt him nod. I held my hand over his heartbeat.
“I’ll be back. I’m gonna go get us some water.”
I nodded and laid there after he was gone, feeling the warmth of his presence until it dissipated. When his side of the bed was cold again, I looked towards the window. The moon hung bright in the sky, perfectly illuminating the… no. Not here! Please!
Right across the street, ruining my bliss, was the goddamned house. I didn’t realize I had cried out until Jack came rushing into the room.
“Ollie, what is it— oh.”
We stared at the house together. Jack pulled the blanket around us quickly, as if it was spying on us.
“Holy shit,” he whispered.
“You see it too?”
“Yeah.”
Any instincts of self-preservation I had snapped. This was the last fucking straw.
“I’m going there. I’m going inside. I’m done with this.”
Jack put a gentle hand on my shoulder.
“I’ll go with you. If it wants to loiter outside my house, this time it’s personal.”
I looked back at him.
“No matter what we find inside. I’ll be here for you.”
That was all I wanted.
“Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow.”
Work the next day was surprisingly pleasant. I hated how much I enjoyed it because something inside me always told me there are no ups without downs. I wondered what could’ve been waiting for me inside that house that would create such a looming sense of imminent doom.
I passed my father on the way back to my room for the night, heading to the kitchen to grab a glass of water.
Hearing him call my name from the living room felt like yelling “hello” into a cave, only for your echo to return with “yes?”
“Yes sir?”
He walked into the kitchen.
“Where were you last night? What did you say, again? A party?”
My insides went cold.
“Yes sir.”
I could hear my mom making her way hurriedly to the kitchen. No. Please, please no.
“You’re a liar. You know that? A damn liar, and if that wasn’t bad enough.”
“Gerald, leave the poor dear alone. We can talk about this in the morning!”
I finally turned around. My dad’s face was red.
“No, Mary, dammit, we can’t! I’m not gonna have the whole fucking town talking about MY son whoring it up with that fucking redskin boy!”
It was finally happening— the thing had so many nightmares about. I’d spent so long imagining what I would do in my mind, and they were all some variation of running away, but in the moment, I surprised myself.
“You don’t fucking talk about him!”
My father’s face turned a hideous shade of angry purple.
“What did you say to me, boy?”
I felt like I wasn’t in control of my body anymore. Adrenaline pumped through me, and I couldn’t stop shaking.
“I said DON’T FUCKING TALK ABOUT JACK!”
His hand shot out and grabbed me around the throat, lifting me off the ground. I was confused by how little fear I felt. There was only rage.
“I’ll talk about whoever the fuck I want, you little fa—”
He didn’t get to finish. My fist collided with his nose, my thumb untucked just like I’d been reminded. It was the hardest punch I’d ever thrown.
“YOU DON’T GET TO CALL ME THAT! NOT ANYMORE!”
He loosened his grip on me and my flight instincts kicked in. As I attempted my escape, he grabbed me by the hair and slung me into the kitchen table. I recovered quickly and vaulted over the couch, tearing out into the hot night.
“DON’T YOU EVER COME BACK HERE, YOU LITTLE COCKSUCKER!”
I ran to the only place left to go. The house stood silent and poised on its perfect lawn, like a bear trap waiting to slice through me.
I fell to my knees and dug out my phone. Fresh cracks covered the screen, and I tried not to let my tears seep into them. I was alone.
Where is he?
[O] where are you?!
[O] you’re supposed to be here!
[J] I’m sorry Oli
My lungs burned. Jack isn’t coming.
[O] why?!
[O] you said we were in this together!!
There was a long pause.
[J] We are
[J] I’m here for you
I could see headlights making their way up the street— shitty pickup truck headlights. I could hear my father calling out my name.
[O] I don’t have time for you being cryptic anymore!
[O] Just get here!
[O] Please!
[J] I love you, Oliver
The sound of a shotgun rack broke the tenuous grasp I had on my panic attack. It might as well have been saying “no son of mine” and “if you can’t be normal, then you’ll just have to be dead.”
I told him all there was time left to tell.
[O] I love you too
[O] So much
I sprinted forward, closing my eyes before fear could further weaken my resolve.
The door burst open beneath my chest, and I spilled out into the house that had haunted me all of my life.
I’m not sure what I expected. I’d spent years going over endless, horrifying possibilities in my brain and making up scenarios of how I would escape. At the end of it all, what it turned out to be was much more terrifying and life-altering than anything I could’ve ever conjured up.
There was nothing. Inside was an endless expanse of whiteness. I hadn’t planned for this, not once. My mind had little else to offer, so it settled on a cartoon scene similar to this from my childhood. No one could follow me in here. Not my poor excuse of a father, not any movie theater monsters, none of the kids in school who had whispered about me just within earshot, not even the damned house. I was alone. I almost expected a giant speech bubble to appear with the word.
I turned around, and the door was gone. I wasn’t as upset as I felt I should’ve been. I looked at my hands, and they were gone too. I had become one with the whiteness. It moved when I moved, and it bent in and out as I breathed. We were one.
I felt myself sinking then, into every crack and rooting deep. We weren’t just one anymore. I was one, and the whiteness around me was an extension of myself. It was mine to control. I was so nearly free…
I woke up in a cold sweat. I looked around my room and let out a sigh of relief. Could it all really have been just a nightmare?
I rubbed my face and threw on some shorts, and that’s when I heard the scratching. Something was raking its claws across my door. I froze, icy dread running through my veins. Is this the part where I discover I’m still dreaming?
I crept quietly to the door, and after gathering all the nerve I could, I swung it open.
“Oh, thank god,” I said as an outraged Ronnie rubbed against my legs, “it’s only you.”
The chunky calico cat looked up at me and meowed a long meow that I always knew meant she wanted food. Wait… what the fuck?! I’d never owned a cat! My mother was allergic to cats. I had a pet bird!
As soon as I thought the words, there was King’s cage in the corner of my room. He whistled out a little tune like he always did. I screamed.
Lights came on in the hallway, and I heard footsteps approach the room.
“Ollie?! Mijo, are you okay?!”
Two people that were definitely not my parents rushed into the room. It was Mr. and Mrs. Ortiz, a Hispanic couple close in age to my parents. I saw them all the time when I went for walks in the afternoon, and they sometimes invited me in for lemonade. They were what I wished my parents could’ve been. But they weren’t my parents.
“I… I’m fine. I just… I had a nightmare. I think I’m gonna step outside. Get some air.”
Mrs. Ortiz wrapped her arms around me, rubbing my back like she’d raised me from a baby.
“Alright, just be careful and don’t leave the yard, mijo. It’s late.”
I nodded and tried not to sprint out the front door. The house loomed on the other side of the street, just like part of me expected it would.
What I hadn’t expected was my father standing on the front walkway. His eyes were a pale white, and his limbs were slack like a corpse on a string.
I walked across the road and stood just at the yard’s edge, not daring to take a step in.
My father moved jerkily towards me, and his cheeks pulled up like someone was forcing him to smile.
“Well, if it ain’t the man of the hour! I know things got a little rocky earlier, but why don’t we sit down and talk? Try to bury the hatchet? It’d sure fit nicely in that thick fucking skull of yours!”
“What… what is this? What are you?!”
He hopped around like someone was puppeting his arms and legs, and then he was right in front of me. His mouth frothed with pink saliva, and I watched him convulse.
“I think a more appropriate question to ask, son, would be what are you? Cause this certainly ain’t normal, is it? You ain’t normal, are you?”
Before I could respond, he collapsed to the ground in a heap, shaking and jerking as red poured out of his eyes.
This was too much. The ground rushed up to meet me, and the last sensation I felt was hot blood running out of my nose.
The bedroom I woke up in was just slightly off from my own. The air smelled faintly of cotton candy perfume. There was a collection of Beanie Babies sitting on the far shelf that definitely wasn’t mine. A Paramore poster I knew wasn’t mine hung on the door. Those were the obvious signs. That, and the comfort being lavender. I had woken up in Johanna’s room.
I stood to try and go find her, but my legs wobbled. As I fell, my hands stretched out to catch me and caught the windowsill. My head bounced off the glass, and that was when I saw it.
The house stood on the other side of the road, just like before. Standing on the spotless roof was the girl whose room I’d stolen. Johanna’s hair was long and blonde again, swaying in the pre-dawn breeze. She gave me her signature smirk, and seeing her back to her old self felt like the eye in a storm. I waved at her, and she waved back.
And then she jumped. I watched her left leg make first contact with the ground, snapping in several places and sending her sprawling face-first into the soft green grass. I could only watch as the rest of her limbs began to crack and shatter. She twitched one, two times before she went still. Blood slowly pooled out onto the lawn beneath her. I screamed like it was my own arms and legs that had folded like an accordion, but I blacked out before Johanna’s parents could run in and comfort me like I’d been their son all along.
I didn’t recognize the next house I woke up in. Dawn was trickling through the window, and all I could do was lay there. I didn’t have the strength to even lift my head.
I could feel him there before he spoke.
“Oliver.”
My eyes burned, and so did my throat. I wanted to cry, but the tears evaded me when I needed them the most. It almost felt symbolic.
“You left me.”
I felt Jack’s fingers weave into my hair, stroking it like he’d always do when he’d sneak over to comfort me after I had a nightmare.
“I couldn’t protect you then. But I can protect you now. And I want you to know that I will always be here for you, even when your mind won’t let you be the same.”
I tried to lift my gaze to see Jack, but I couldn’t. My eyelids sagged, and I knew I was going to pass out again.
“Please. Tell me what’s going on. You know so much more than I do. I know you do.”
His voice was bittersweet.
“No. I can’t figure that out for you. But there is one more thing I can tell you. Something that you need to know.”
“What?”
“I love you, Oli.”
I finally wept.
“I love you too, Jack.”
He pressed a kiss to my lips. I tried to take in every detail of his face, wondering if it would be the last time I’d see it.
My breath was ragged, and my words were stuttered with tears.
“Please, Jack. Please make it stop.”
“Shh, Oli. Rest that pretty mind,” he whispered before everything went dark.
It hasn’t stopped. Every time I sleep, even for a minute, I wake up in a new house. It’s getting out of hand, and I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. I’ve tried not sleeping, and that only speeds up the process. I’ll blink, and I’m somewhere new. My only steady companion is Jack, who never stays long enough for me to hold him like I want to. He watches over me, strokes my hair as I sleep, and lays against me as I wake up, but he’s always gone before I’m coherent enough to be with him.
I know I don’t have much time. I spent one day counting, and there are 62 houses in my neighborhood. I’ve woken up in 19 so far. I don’t know what will happen when I pass that threshold. Will it spread beyond my suburb? Will I just keep growing and growing, erasing life after life in house after house with no control over any of it?
Jack lives only just across town. I’m terrified I’ll lose what little I have left of him if and when I get that far.
If anyone is reading this right now, just know I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to stop this, and I hope I don’t get far enough to need to.
This is the only other thing I can really say now is if this is reaching you: listen to the whispers. Please, don’t open the door.