Story Starters

Infant

Why did the room in the photo look so familiar? What was it? The stain on the ceiling. The wires hanging out where there used to be a fan or light fixture. The empty electrical sockets. The wallpaper with pinstripes and floral borders, peeling at the corners with age.

Everything slightly yellowed. Even the carpet was a mess with some patches missing and some pulled back exposing the foam padding underneath.

How could a room this desolate be something that resonates with some buried memory within my mind? It feels hidden. Like my mind doesn't want me to remember.

I look down at the note in my hand. The scrawlings on the scrap of paper are the only thing willing my feet farther.

Ive been lead to this place for an unknown reason by an unknown person. Why they want me here is a question I dare not ask but even more pressing is why I'm following their directions.

I know this handwriting. Why do i know this handwriting? So familiar and brings a painful twinge to my heart every time i see it.

I take another step closer.

This house. Its clearly been abandoned for many years. From the outside it seems it could collapse with a faint whisper. Not even paint chips remained to prevent weathering of its walls.

When i stepped foot through the long fallen front door, I didn't even glance at my surroundings. I knew where I had to go. It feels as though im drawn to it. I know im making my way towards the room. But why? What is it?

I hear a creak and it almost breaks the trance im in. My head turns to look through a doorframe. There in an empty room lies a crib. Its on its side and missing random bars, some of which lie around it. Theres a stuffed bear sitting up against one side of it. Its one button eye somehow feeling like its watching me.

I jerk my eyes forward again and continue my trek. Another step. Another breath. My hand with the paper shakes while the rest of my body is oddly calm.

Finally there is a door before me. Theres a feeling inside of me that i cannot describe. Almost relief or satisfaction, yet there is also a sense of anticipation and a touch of fear.

I feel the knob against my palm before i realize ive reached for it. With a screech from its hinges, i push the door wide open. Here it is. The room. The one in the picture i had seen.

I remember now.

The crib.

The bear.

The wallpaper.

The carpet.

This was my nursery. It is empty now. Why?

Suddenly my shadow is cast against the far wall and i turn around. A light is shining. It has no source.

I turn back to the nursery.
Of course.
This is where I died.