The House on Clamoribus St

Chapter 12 - John

I climbed a step and then another. Each stair groaned under my weight. I shined my phone light up the stairs. It seemed darker up there somehow.
I climbed another step and my foot broke through the stair. I pulled my foot out and skipped the stair, trying to calm my breathing. “Thank goodness I’m not wearing high heels,” I said sarcastically, remembering every cheesy horror movie I’d seen. I climbed to the top of the stairs without further incident and looked back. The stair I had crashed through appeared to be restored to its previous, dirty, unbroken state.
“Did I imagine that?” I turned to the upstairs hall and could see two doors on the right, one door on the left, and a large painting of a grand staircase at the end of the hall. A whooshing sound like wind blowing past cracked windows came from the nearest door on the right.
I walked to the door and opened it. The room was empty, and the floor was sunken in from water damage. A closed chest sat on the other side of the room. I was about to enter when the door across from the one I opened slammed shut.
“Glad I used the restroom earlier,” I said, looking around. “I woulda lost my bladder just now.” I walked across the hall and opened the other door. This room was in better condition than the one across from it. It had a small bed with Spiderman sheets, a dresser covered with army men and Pokémon cards, a carpet that looked like a racetrack with Hotwheels all over it, and a shelf full of trophies. Not only that, but it was warm in this room. I stepped inside and heard something shuffle under the bed.
I stepped into the vaguely familiar room, staying as far from the bed as I could. Something moved under it again, knocking something around beneath the bed. I stood by the dresser and got on my hands and knees. I aimed my light under the bed, but couldn’t see anything under the fallen sheets.
“This is a bad idea,” I whispered.
I crawled toward the bed and took the sheets in my hand. I yanked them up and prepared to jump away as I shined my light beneath the bed. Nothing under the bed but several plastic containers and an old shoebox. “I’m losing it.”
I stood up, but more shuffling came from under the bed, then it sounded like someone with thick shoe soles walked around the room. I watched the floor, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from, but I couldn’t see anything, only hear footsteps.
It was as if someone was walking through the room. I stood, back against the wall as the footsteps went to the shelf and one of the numbered trophies moved. I didn’t hear anything for several seconds. “Hello? Is anyone in here?”
Nothing.
I built up some courage and walked over to the dusty trophies. I wiped the nameplate, but instead of a name, it was a number. I wiped the rest and on the last one, jumped back when I saw the name: Johnny.
The trophy was mine. The bed was mine. The room was mine.
“Look! I don’t know what’s going on here, but you need to stop!”
No response.
“Do you hear me? Stop!”
Thunder outside.
“STOP!”
Quick and startled footsteps ran from the room, swinging the door open. I ran out, chasing the footsteps. “Wait!”
The footsteps sounded as if they were going downstairs, but the stairs down were gone. The footfalls faded below me. All that remained where the stairs were was a wall and a new set of stairs leading upward. “No, no, no, I don’t think so.”
I turned back to my childhood room and opened the door, which had closed behind me. The room had changed. It no longer looked quaint and peaceful. It was empty. Broken floorboards and peeling paint were the room’s only features now.
I returned to the hallway and looked at the one remaining unopened door. I shined my light down the hall, considering the other door when I saw the painting at the end of the hall. The grand staircase image was upside down now. “That. Uh. That was. I’m going to check out that room with the chest again.”
 I turned and entered the other room. The chest remained at the other end of the room. I took wide steps across the sunken floor and each step sloshed like soggy cereal boxes. I made it to the chest and tried to open it. The dang thing was locked. I rubbed my fingers across a small keyhole on the front of the chest. I looked around for something to break the chest open with, but there was nothing available in the room. I examined the chest again, taking a close look at the sides with my phone light. One of the metal strips looked as if it had been pulled up.
I pushed the metal strip down so it matched the rest of the decoration and one of the side handles popped out slightly. I took the handle and twisted it, then pushed it back in and something cracked on top of the chest. Part of the decoration popped up. I had to work the top piece out and nearly fell backward when I freed it. Still couldn’t get into the chest, but the piece that came up had a picture on it. The picture was of an old fashioned family and was in black and white. A woman wore a bonnet and polka dotted dress and held a steaming pie in front of her with oven mitts. A man appeared to be just coming in the door with a hat, suit, and briefcase. There was also a child in the picture.
I was that child.
I placed the picture back on the chest and took a few steps back. I recognized the man and woman, but they weren’t my parents. I couldn’t quite place them, but the child was definitely me. The room we were in was a kitchen. The kitchen of the very house I found myself in, now. That black and white checkerboard tile and juke-box-like fridge were unmistakable.
“Nope. No, no, no. I’ve never been here. Someone is playing a clever trick here.”
I left the room and moved further down the hall. The next door I came across seemed out of place. It had an opaque plastic window with the words: “Doctor Jim Foster.” The handle was different than the others in the house and the door looked new. Light came from within and I could see the shadows of people moving on the other side.
“Wait. I know that name. Where have I heard-”
Then it hit me. I turned and bolted back down the hall and up the stairs.