The House That Thought I Belonged There

 I don't remember entering the house.

I only remember waking up inside it.

There were people everywhere.

At first, I wasn't frightened. In fact, I wasn't even surprised. I had the strange feeling that I had lived there for years.

                                               

It looked like a family home—old, crowded, quiet, and slightly suffocating.

Someone was sitting in the living room. Someone else was preparing food in the kitchen. A few people were talking in low voices. Others were simply sitting and staring at nothing.

I assumed they were my family.

I didn't know why.

I just knew they were.

The house had rules, although nobody ever explained them.

Don't open certain doors.

Don't ask unnecessary questions.

Don't stay outside for too long.

Don't make too much noise.

And most importantly—

Don't leave the house.

I accepted everything without questioning it.

Perhaps that was the strangest part.

Every morning, I woke up, prepared food, cleaned the house, helped whoever needed help, ate whatever was placed in front of me, and went to sleep.

Then the same thing happened again.

And again.

And again.

There was nothing particularly violent about the house.

Nothing obviously terrifying.

It was simply wrong.

I began noticing the ages of the people around me.

There were elderly people who looked impossibly old—somewhere around a hundred years old, perhaps even older.

There were couples who seemed to be in their sixties, seventies, or eighties.

There were people around my own age.

Thirty.

Forty.

Fifty.

But there were no children.

No teenagers.

No babies.

Nobody younger than us.

I couldn't remember ever seeing anyone leave.

And strangely, I couldn't remember anyone arriving either.

The house simply remained full.

Day after day.

Year after year.

At least, it felt that way.

Then I noticed something else.

There was no sunlight.

The windows were always covered.

Whenever I tried to pull the curtains aside, somebody would immediately stop me.

"Leave it."

That's all they would say.

There were no mirrors in the house either.

Not in the bedrooms.

Not in the bathroom.

Not even a small mirror near the front door.

I searched once because I wanted to see my own face.

I couldn't find one.

I began wondering what I looked like.

Then, one day, something changed.

I found myself standing inside a shopping mall.

I don't know how I got there.

I don't remember leaving the house.

I don't remember travelling.

One moment I was there, surrounded by those silent people.

The next, I was surrounded by lights, music, shops and strangers.

And I was happy.

Not slightly happy.

Not pretending to be happy.

I was genuinely, completely happy.

I was walking with friends.

I knew them.

I don't remember their names now, but at that moment I knew everything about them.

We laughed.

We ate together.

We walked around without worrying about the time.

Nobody was telling me what to do.

Nobody was watching me.

Nobody needed anything from me.

There was no family.

No responsibility.

No suffocating silence.

Just me.

And for the first time, I felt like myself.

I decided the house had never been real.

Perhaps it had been a nightmare.

Perhaps my mind had invented the entire family.

I didn't want to remember it.

So I stopped thinking about it.

I enjoyed my new life.

I went out with my friends.

I laughed.

I walked through crowded streets.

I ate in restaurants.

I watched people living ordinary lives.

Everything felt normal.

Until someone called my name.

I stopped.

The voice came from somewhere behind me.

"Why did you run away from home?"

I turned around.

A man was standing in the distance.

He looked angry.

And afraid.

"Come back," he said.

I stared at him.

Home?

What home?

Then he shouted my name again.

Something inside me froze.

I closed my eyes.

I tried to wake up.

I opened them.

I was still there.

I closed them again.

I tried harder.

Wake up.

Wake up.

Wake up.

Nothing happened.

Then I felt two small arms wrap around my waist.

I looked down.

A little boy was holding me.

"Mom."

I couldn't move.

I didn't know him.

I didn't have a son.

At least, I didn't think I did.

He looked up at me as if I had been gone for years.

I looked around.

Everyone had stopped moving.

Everyone was staring at me.

And behind them—

I saw the house.

My house.

The house I had thought was a nightmare.

The house I thought I had escaped.

Suddenly, I was back inside it.

Nobody asked me where I had been.

Nobody shouted.

That somehow made it worse.

They simply looked at me.

After that day, everything changed.

I was watched constantly.

The doors were locked.

The curtains remained closed.

I was never allowed to be alone.

Whenever I tried to ask questions, someone immediately found something for me to do.

"Prepare dinner."

"Fold these clothes."

"Clean the kitchen."

"Stay with the boy."

They kept me busy.

Always busy.

Because whenever I had nothing to do, I started remembering.

The mall.

My friends.

The sunlight.

The freedom.

And then I began noticing things I hadn't noticed before.

Nobody ever spoke about the outside world.

Nobody mentioned neighbors.

Nobody talked about work.

Nobody went shopping.

Nobody received visitors.

There were no photographs.

No clocks.

No television.

No mirrors.

No direct sunlight.

It was as though the entire house existed outside the normal world.

And yet everyone behaved as though this was completely ordinary.

I began watching the people more carefully.

Something about them felt distant.

Whenever I touched someone's arm, there was almost no warmth.

Whenever I stood beside them, I felt strangely cold.

And sometimes, when I looked at the little boy, I felt something I couldn't explain.

He seemed familiar.

But not like a child should feel familiar.

More like a memory I had forgotten.

Then I found the window.

It was tiny.

Almost hidden behind a cupboard.

The glass was cracked, and a small opening had formed near the bottom.

Beyond it, I could see darkness.

But somewhere beyond that darkness, I could see light.

Real light.

I could feel it.

I waited for an opportunity.

One morning, everyone was gathered in another room.

I quietly moved the cupboard.

Then I squeezed toward the opening.

My heart was beating so loudly I was certain they could hear it.

I was almost outside.

Almost.

Then I heard footsteps.

I turned.

Everyone was standing behind me.

Every single person in the house.

Nobody spoke.

Nobody looked angry.

They simply watched me.

Then they came toward me.

I tried to run.

I screamed.

I fought.

But they caught me easily.

They tied my hands with an incredibly thin rope.

It looked so fragile that I thought I could break it with one movement.

I couldn't.

They took me into a small room and locked the door.

I expected someone to yell at me.

Nobody did.

Instead, they began visiting.

One at a time.

They entered the room.

Stood there.

Looked at me.

Then left.

No words.

No explanation.

Just watching.

Eventually, my son came into the room.

He stood a few feet away.

I looked at him.

"Come here."

He didn't move.

I reached toward him.

I wanted to hold his hand.

My fingers touched his.

Or at least, I thought they did.

Then my hand passed straight through him.

I froze.

I tried again.

Nothing.

My hand went through his body as if he were made of smoke.

I looked at the people standing behind him.

I reached for the nearest person.

The same thing happened.

I couldn't touch them.

They couldn't touch me.

Suddenly, everything made sense.

Or perhaps everything became even more confusing.

They weren't people.

Not anymore.

Maybe they had never been.

They were something else.

Something that had been pretending to be a family.

And now they knew that I knew.

The room became colder.

The little boy looked at me.

His face began to change.

His eyes became dark.

Then red.

The old woman standing behind him slowly lifted her head.

Her mouth opened.

Too far.

Far too wide.

The others began changing too.

Their faces stretched.

Their skin darkened.

Their eyes became deep red points in the darkness.

I tried to scream.

No sound came out.

Then the rope around my wrists loosened.

I fell forward.

The door was open.

I could leave.

I could finally escape.

But my body wouldn't move.

They were standing everywhere.

In the doorway.

Behind me.

Along the walls.

Watching.

Waiting.

The little boy smiled.

Then he whispered:

"Mom, don't leave us again."

I screamed.

And suddenly—

I woke up.

I was lying in my own bed.

My room was dark.

For several seconds, I couldn't move.

I looked around.

My walls.

My bed.

My window.

Everything was familiar.

Everything was normal.

I took a deep breath.

"It was only a dream."

I laughed quietly at myself.

Then I noticed something.

My curtains were closed.

I don't remember closing them.

I slowly sat up.

And before I could reach for them, I heard a child's voice beside me.

Very close.

Almost touching my ear.

"Mom?"

I didn't turn around.

I couldn't.

Because this time...

I was awake.