The betrayal of the home

Chapter 3

     John looked at the base of the stairs as he shone his flashlight upon the brutally unnatural obstacles the house had provided him. From the exterior, it appeared to be quite large, possibly three bedrooms, three baths, however, there was a surprising lack of space, as if half of the rooms had been removed. Being that there were no other doors in the room he was currently in, except for the way he came, he begrudgingly started climbing the stairs that seemed to have been designed for someone twice his size. As he footed the first step he noticed the eerily undamaged nature of the concrete, which gave the impression he was the first person to ever set foot in this room. The room appeared to be too clean, voiding any dust or debris. It felt strangely akin to a hospital, with large blocks of sterile looking brut. It enticed him, drawing him in like a siren to a sailor. John climbed further and further, getting closer to the beginning of the room he so desperately needed to see. Within a few tens of seconds, John had scaled the steps nearly landing him fifteen feet in the air with nothing to hold on to if he stumbled over a single step. He had reached the summit of the demented architect's fever dream of a staircase. 

     The portal in the wall across from the balcony opened to a large room shrouded in darkness, covering all in shades of black and white as John's eyes attempted to adjust. He moved his flashlight to see nothing, just a large, empty, concrete room. He stood in shock, engulfed in the cone of vision provided by his small penlight. His coned eyes darted frantically as he tried to find any sense of purpose to the room: a plug, an outlet, even a light fixture or a switch, but his searches proved fruitless. The more time he spent at the entrance, the more the room clawed at him. The walls felt like they were tilting downwards, staring down upon him. The walls made spirals, twisting his mind, flowing like mud into a gulley. A deep humming began to resonate through him, slowly growing in volume and pitch, his blood flooding full of adrenaline with the tone. The room twisted and turned in resentment and anger, pulling itself apart like a cheese stick, unraveling and cracking to make unreasonable angles, drawing closer to him as he stood frozen. The last parts of his mind flooded with static, the walls growing closer, the darkness consuming his light. John closed his eyes, making the tinnitus-like scream fade. His watch was beeping with a reminder to return home. He opened his eyes to see nothing but an empty concrete room, dimly lit by his penlight.