It all started with fire

I reached the door and saw a plack at the corner of my eye which wrote of course '13'. 13 was the number that had ruined half my childhood, at 13 months old I fell down some stairs and broke 3 ribs, 13 days after my mom's wedding I was kidnapped I came back 13 WEEKS later when I escaped, when I was my 13th birthday I was hospitalised with meningitis and on the 13th of November literally 2 months ago my best friend went missing, and back to the house it already felt weird once I stepped inside, whoever lived here hadn't even bothered moving anything out; there was still photos and weird art plastered around the room. I think I was just ready for this day to finally end.