Unnamed

The House

     The house stood along the sidewalk, looking as if it would rather be anywhere else. How a house could look like that, he was unsure, but he agreed with it nonetheless. Taking another glance at his surroundings, he sighed deeply and wondered how it was that he had stumbled upon this situation. Anyone could see that it was less than ideal, but he didn't really have another choice.

     If he could only vanish from the spot, he would be far happier. It's just too bad he didn't know how to truly vanish. It would have made life so much easier for him. He's pretty sure that the house would vanish with him if it could. Looking up at its imposing figure, he muttered, "I know exactly how you feel. Neither of us really wants to be here, huh? Too bad we're both stuck."

     Feeling a bit embarrassed for actually speaking out loud to it, he nervously checked around him making sure no one was near him. Chuckling slightly, he took in a deep breath before moving closer to the house. He was supposed to go inside it, but he could not remember why.

     He didn't know why he had to go in, but he felt drawn to it, almost as if he was meant to be there. He thought someone had told him to come here, but he could no longer quite remember. It was as if the closer he got to it, the less he knew of himself.

     He wanted to go in, to follow that strange compulsion that had guided him there, but something told him not to. Maybe it was the way the house looked like it was going to uproot itself at any moment, or perhaps it was the strange sensation in the air, or maybe it was that odd feeling that he should not be here, despite the compulsion, or just all three. He felt slightly rattled but decided to continue anyway. He had never been one to run away from a challenge after all.

     Or had he? He could not remember that anymore, nor could he remember his name, age, favorite color, where he was from, who his family was, any of it. Despite all this, he continued on, not caring what might happen to him. He had to follow that compulsion. He had to know. He had to see what was drawing him ever closer.

     Standing before the steps that lead to the door, he hesitated. Something about this situation was wrong, was off somehow. But as soon as he had that thought, it vanished. He looked at the house, contemplating how he might enter it. He studied its sagging walls, the door with its strangely burnt edges, the windows that seemed to almost emanate a strange light, and everything else that lay upon the house's surface.

     The longer he stared, the better the house looked. The strangely colored paint of the house brightened until it was the color of a robins egg. The door lost its scorch marks, and its peeling paint was repairing itself, almost as if someone had added a fresh coat of paint very recently. The house almost seemed to straighten itself up, as if it somehow knew it had a guest, and wanted to impress him.

     He could no longer remember why he had not wanted to go in before. Maybe it was because it had looked strange? No, that made no sense. It had always looked like this, warm and inviting. Maybe he had just not wanted to go to some random house and stay there? No, that didn't make any sense either. This was not some stranger's home, it was his. He had lived there when he was younger and he had never had the chance to return.

     As he gazed upon it, he looked at the flower bushes that surrounded the porch and remembered someone planting them. His mother perhaps? No, he had lived alone, so he must have planted them himself. He shook his head, trying to clear away the cobwebs surrounding his memories, and took a deep, steadying breath.

     He walked up the few stairs and went to try and open the door. Something in the back of his mind was nagging at him, but he shrugged it off. Twisting the doorknob, he realized it was locked. Remembering that there had been a key under the flowerpot by the door, he checked underneath. Sure enough, the key was still there, looking a bit tarnished, but otherwise perfectly fine.

     He picked up the key, fitted it into the lock, and stepped into the house. As soon as he had cleared the doorway, the door slammed shut behind him, as if someone had wanted no one to see inside the house. As he looked around the room, struggling to see the familiar items it once held, he realized that the interior seemed as if it were rotting.

     Dust covered every surface in a thick grime, and furniture was torn and moth-eaten. The floorboards creaked alarmingly, and there were even a few small holes in the floor, leading to the depths of what could possibly be a basement. The banister for the stairs was rotted through, and whole pieces of it were missing. Shattered pieces of something littered the floor, and he side-stepped them, not wanting to injure himself.

     He looked around frantically, struggling to see anything that looked familiar, and found the one thing in the house that seemed to be whole. It was a mirror, its glass surface untarnished, and the frame of it free from dust. There were no cracks or flaws anywhere on the mirror, and he stepped closer towards it, wondering why it was whole. He looked into it and saw his reflection.

     Suddenly, he realized what had happened with alarming clarity. His memories rushed back, and he staggered under the onslaught of information. He could finally remember most of who he was. He could still not remember his name, nor could he remember why he had been sent to this house in the first place. He had definitely not lived in this house, despite what he had thought. In fact, he had never seen the house before this moment. Realizing he had been tricked, he bolted for the front door and tried to open it. It opened a crack, then slammed shut. He tried, and the same thing happened. This went on for a while before the house tired of teasing him and locked the door. No amount of force could open the door, and no matter what he tried, the lock was stuck. Just like him.

     He tried to shove against the door, but it didn't budge. He tried a few more times, but it was futile. Finally, he just gave up. Resting his head against the rough wood of the door, he started to cry. Just a couple tears at first, but then it was like a floodgate had opened, and he was sobbing. He knew he would never be able to escape this house, and he cursed his luck. He cursed whatever it was that had caused him to end up in this place, and he also cursed whatever it was that had taken his name.

     After what felt like hours, but had probably only been minutes, he finally stopped crying. He wiped the tears away, stood up, and took deep, steadying breaths. As he worked towards calming down, a strange noise behind him echoed throughout the house. He whirled around and froze in horror at what he saw.