The House

Chapter 42 - Day 5 - In the Cold Light of Day

I can see my face fragmented in the scratched surfaces of the bear's dead eyes. 

I recognise the faded, stained white and blue sailor suit it's wearing, and I also recognise the smell of dust and mould, irritating my nose. I am in the little room in the hallway leading to the kitchen!

Closing my eyes and wishing it away is not helping. Why could the room not stay disappeared?! Why did it come back?! Did it come back? 

Did I disappear?!

That last thought jolts me upright, effectively flushing the last tendrils of unconsciousness out of my mind. Shivering, I am horrified to find that I am naked; my only protection against the freezing cold is the throw from the couch in the living room, wrapped around me. It was draped over me last night, covering both of us... David and me...

"David," I say, or at least I try to say, but I have no voice, and barely a whisper makes its way out of my mouth. Experiencing an urgent need to get out of here, I lower my feet to the ground and stand, the cold immediately creeping from the bare soles of my feet up my legs, causing me to tremble more severely. I dig my fingers into the blanket, clutching it tighter around me. David is not in this room. It is only the bear and me in here.

Why is it so damned cold?

There is no sign of the storm today. Thin sunlight slants into the room through the window, but I am surprised to see some ice build up on the awnings outside it. The grass around the paving of the fountain in the garden is white with a layer of frost. It wasn't winter yesterday; there shouldn't be any frost outside; there should also not be any light spilling through this dusty window that shouldn't be here either.

On the small, scuffed desk in front of the window lies an open book, a diary, I think. It looks like one. Its pages are brittle, the writing on them barely readable. I try to make out what I can, but as if in a dream, the letters won't form into words in any language I can recognise.

Yes, like a dream. I'm dreaming! I must be! Please...

Except, in a dream, one doesn't feel the roughness of a dirty floor under your feet and the scratchy texture of a throw you'd thought was soft and warm until you had it wrapped around your naked body.

I cannot be in this room!

I turn towards the door and take the few shaky steps required to cover the distance to it. When I reach out for its knob, a debilitating fear stops me from grabbing it. My gut is wrapping itself into a tight ball in my stomach, and my breath bursts from my lungs in anxious spurts.

What if I turn that knob and the door doesn't open, or worse, it opens, and the house is gone, the warmth is not there, and all there is, is cold dark emptiness? What if there's no David on the other side of the door?!

It is plausible. It is much more likely that I fell asleep in this dusty cell of a room and dreamt of the man with warm green eyes and a startlingly lovely smile. The man with the strong arms, the beautiful voice, and the softest lips to kiss. The man I've fallen in love with.

"David!" I try to scream, but my voice is frozen; the only sound coming from my throat is the hoarse cry of a hissing goose.

The thought of never seeing David again, never holding him in my arms or hearing his laugh, is too much for me to handle, and with an anguished sob, I grab the doorknob and give it a violent twist.

The room spits me out into the corridor with enough force to crash me into the wall across from the door. I land in the abusive embrace of bongs and dongs and dings and dangs, overwhelmed by their sudden noisy presence. Sliding down to the floor, my body defensively pressed against the wall, I curl into a ball, covering my head with the throw blanket, trying and failing to hide from the noise.