Isolation

II

I spun around, backing up against the door. Stay quiet. Don't let them hear you. The hard rain outside made it more difficult to hear the smaller sounds.

With a deep breath, I turned out my flashlight, fumbling quietly in the dark. First there was the chair, then the table, then another chair. I kept close to the wall, finally touching the archway to the next room.

My feet met the hard marble floors of what seemed to be a kitchen. An island lined the right wall, with a large metal sink in the middle. Cupboards were filled with old food and mold, bugs and dead rodents found a home in some. Pushing myself from the wall, I bumped into a rectangular dining table, complete with pushed over chairs, and rusted metal candle holders. I'm sure those would make some money online or something, why would somebody not have taken them already?

A creaking pulled me from my thoughts. I didn't do that. Frozen in fear, I let the creaking continue behind me, as if someone else was looking through the cupboards. I'm gonna die. Please be okay. Please don't hurt me. Ghosts aren't real. Just breathe, Remi, it's your paranoia acting up again.

I waited for the noises to end before reluctantly turning around. Of course, I couldn't see anything in the dark, however, something warm - no, hot - brushed against my arm. That strange sensation remained for a few seconds, it almost seemed comforting, calling for me to let my guard down. Slowly I started to give into the feeling, ignoring whatever part of me that was begging and fighting to stay strong.

But the feeling was gone as fast as it had come. And I was left to process what just happened.

It felt amazing. Like all the stress and pain and fear in my life had vanished. Peace and silence filled my mind, leaving me with this calm, floating feeling. The darkness around me was no longer the cause of worry, but soothing, like a thick blanket in the winter. I wanted to feel that again.

My eyes moved to the turned over chairs. What happened here? What if...

I began picking the chairs up and pushing them into the table. The next thing I knew, the kitchen had been lit up with oil lanterns, and the table was littered with delicious looking food. Attempting to grab a piece of food, I found that I was tiny. Too small to even reach the seat of a chair. From the height of a mouse, everything in the room seemed almost distorted. The room lengthened, the table grew until the legs were twisted and wobbly. My stomach grumbled, reminding me that I hadn't eaten in a while. The smell of chicken and roasted veggies wafted to me, my mouth frothing at the thought of a nice meal.

In haste, I scrambled onto a chair, suddenly falling off from an invisible force. Panic struck me as soon as I heard a heavy gasp, followed by coughing and choking. Chairs fell over with loud bangs, others screeched quickly out of the way. Fearful yelling and shuffling filled the room.

Please, stop, I thought as the tears willed themselves out. I could only imagine the scene playing out. The probability of choking on food has always scared me, and hearing someone's last few minutes of that pain and struggle only made it worse.

Finally, the crazed movement stopped. I was no longer small, and the kitchen returned to its fallen state. The smell changed from freshly cooked food to the stench of dead animals and rotting perishables. I hurried back into the living room.

What the hell do I do? Tears brimmed my eyes. There's no way out. Shut up, yes there is...

Deep breath.

I pushed my way upstairs, careful not to trip over broken floorboards. As I shifted my weight and stepped up over a shattered stair, I heard a hollow thud. I tested that again. And again. And again.

I examined the stair, realizing that it was a small box, holding valuables like jewelry and antique photos. Spider webs fell apart as I reached in and grabbed a necklace from the pile. Thin gold chains held a rather large locket that was shaped like a coin purse. Flowers with rhinestones lined the locket.

Another warm feeling encouraged me to put the necklace on. Without hesitation, I listened to the little voice, pulling the chain over my head.