You were here once, for a sleepover.
Your mother had dropped you off at the door, gave you a kiss on the forehead and made you promise to be good.
You watched her car drive away as the sun began to set beneath the stretch of asphalt before knocking on the door, shouldering your overnight bag.
Your friend answered, his mother just behind him, and they welcomed you inside.
You looked around the space, vaguely yellow walls stretched in front of you, and a cream colored carpet covered every surface of the floor, stopping only at what looked to be an open kitchen.
The carpet crept up the stairs which circled into the floor above, various pictures of the family and little paintings hung on the walls, with shelves of trinkets and knick-knacks complimenting them.
You felt the carpet give way to your feet as you made your way to their living room, where your friend had set up a blanket fort and a bowl of popcorn awaited you on a short coffee table. The TV was showing Shrek’s menu screen, an arrow pointing to Play.
You both sat down in front of that coffee table, underneath the red Spider-Man patterned blanket held up by a single broom and the leather couch behind you . You could see your feet underneath the glass surface, and you both laughed at your choice of socks— it matched the blanket that covered you both.
In the background, his mother had shut off the lights, and reminded the both of you not to stay up too late. Neither of you responded.
There was only the sound of crunching popcorn and the movie playing in front of you, the TV being the only source of light as the neighborhood outside went to sleep.
Your eyes were glued to that screen, and for just a moment you were completely immersed in the moving colors, perhaps even forgetting for a moment where you were.
But soon, the popcorn began raking at your throat, and no attempts to clear it saved you from the coughing fit that followed.
“I need water,” Your voice was hoarse when you spoke.
“Okay,” Your friend replied, “You can just get a glass from the kitchen, mom leaves them on the counter.”
“Stop the movie,” You said, now standing up, careful not to rustle the blanket fort too much, “I don’t wanna miss anything.”
As you made your way to the kitchen, carpet making way to tile, you could hear the movie pause as your friend waited for you to come back. You tiptoed to reach the lightswitch near the archway that led inside, and your eyes blinked to adjust to the bright lights that shone.
You spotted the glasses, stacked on top of each other in dark colors, creating a muddy array that tucked itself away in the corner of the counter. You struggled to reach it, having to drag a barstool from the other end of the kitchen to climb.
Once you had your glass—it was colored a dark green — secure in your hands, you climbed down the barstool towards the water dispenser, filling it all the way and taking a sip.
Your throat was grateful for the refreshment, and you decided to bring your water with you just in case all that happened again.
You put your water down momentarily to reach for the lightswitch again, and once the space was engulfed in darkness once again, you felt just a little disoriented on your feet.
You picked up the glass and took another sip, and stepped back onto the carpet floor.
“What took you so long?” Your friend asked, now standing in front of the blanket fort.
It looks a little different.
“I couldn’t reach the glasses,” You explained, “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” He replied, “Just hurry up, I wanna keep watching.”
You shuffled back to your spot on the floor. You sat quickly, and was met by pain shooting up your back.
You gave a yelp when your behind met with hardwood floor, going onto your knees to relieve your back from the pain.
“You should be careful,” Your friend said. “We’re still washing the carpet.”
“But I thought the carpet was already here?” You furrowed your brows in confusion.
“No?” Your friend raised one of theirs in reply. “We’re still washing it.”
With no further comment, your friend grabbed the remote from the coffee table and pressed play.
“I thought we were watching Shrek,” You said, confused as a different set of colors were playing in front of you.
“What do you mean?” He replied, “We’ve been watching Toy Story since you got here.”
“No we were watching something else—”
“You’re being really weird right now,” He quickly cut you off. “Can you stop?”
Not wanting to upset him, you pursed your lips and carefully sat back down.
You couldn’t focus on the movie in front of you, your mind was swimming with thoughts you couldn’t exactly comprehend. The pain from practically falling on the hardwood floor still stung in your back.
You looked up at the blanket, it was a plain red.
You looked around you, the couch was made of corduroy. The plain red blanket was being held up by a mop.
You looked down, you couldn’t see your feet.
Your head snapped back up when the movie suddenly pauses, and your friend stretches beside you.
“I need to go pee,” He said, standing up and moving without another word.
You could feel his feet on the hardwood floor as he stomped towards the stairs, the light being switched on once again before his footsteps disappeared altogether, presumably going up the stairs.
You sat alone underneath the fort, leaning back slightly to watch your feet move beneath the coffee table, the sequence of events still trying to make sense of themselves in your head.
You could’ve sworn there was a carpet underneath you, and that the table had glass you could look through. You swore the blanket had matched your socks, and now the walls around you looked different too.
The still picture on the TV only further unnerved you, you were absolutely sure you were watching something else. You were sure the glass you picked up was a dark green, and not the dark blue in your hand right now. You were 100% certain you were eating popcorn, not chips.
What else could you remember? Were these things really the way they are now?
You realize your friend has been gone for a while.
Fear seized your limbs, and a warm sensation froze your fingers. You were scared— you are scared of what you remember, what you do not. Of the reality that presents itself to you, and the one that lived only in your memories.
A loud thumping noise from above you, and your body jerked upwards before tripping over the coffee table, the carpet blanketing your fall.
You laid there in silence, head pressed against the carpet. Your legs felt longer than they were, and your arms lankier as you pushed yourself off of the ground.
A rush of blood roared through your ears, your hair standing at its ends as a tingling sensation traveled throughout your body.
Looking around, you were not in the same place anymore.
The blanket fort was gone, the pictures and the paintings were gone, the shelves were empty and the table was clear. It was as if nothing had lived here.
Actually, was anything ever here?
Silence answered your question.
Someone was supposed to be here, you think they moved upstairs.
Your body moved to the stairs.
Every step you took, a new feeling bubbled in the pits of your stomach. Dread, anxiety, fear— nostalgia.
You were midway up, one more step and you would see the room the stairs led to. Yet a part of you didn’t want to continue.
You looked behind you. The nearly empty room with the corduroy-leather couch, and the walls that seemed to shift colors when you moved your head. The non-carpet carpet was welcoming, familiar, you wanted to lay down on the floor and sink into its fur.
But you willed yourself further up, and over the horizon of steps a hallway stretched in front of you.
It stretched on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on— you couldn’t process what you were seeing.
You stood there, waiting for something, or nothing to happen. You weren’t sure why your body froze right here in this space, but somehow you knew this was as far as you could handle.
Yet without your will, your legs continued onwards, your socks crackling from the friction between your feet and the carpet before your bare feet stepped onto bare wood.
You were on the second floor now, were you ever permitted to the second floor?
You don’t remember, and the thought of that warps the hallway further. The endless became even more neverending, the nothingness lost even more form in front of you.
A door cracked open, your stomach dropped at the sound but nothing stepped into that space. It was not a warning, it was an invitation.
You continued to walk, every step felt wrong. Your hand touched the wood of the doorway, it was cold to the touch.
Your eyes peeked into the open door, expecting something gruesome, something violent, something you were not meant to see.
But the space knew this, and instead flooded your senses with the sharp pain of nothingness, of fuzz and distortion and a distant laugh from a person you no longer remembered.
You felt hands against you, much bigger than your own. Blind and deaf, you did not know whose hands they were, but you knew that it wasn’t right, that this wasn’t how the night was supposed to go.
Betrayed by your senses, you relied on the primal instinct in your head telling you to run, and you found yourself falling backwards towards the stairs, head slamming against the steps as you tumbled downwards for what felt like forever.
Your hands, useless as they were, couldn’t find anything to stop yourself with. Your legs only continued to crumple further into you as you fell. Your lungs stopped working, leaving you gasping for air that was continuously being wretched out of you.
Your eyes were dotted with stars, with colors and images you haven’t seen in years. Hands that groped towards you, eyes that watched your every move, laughter rang in your ears and soon your teeth found the floor.
For the first time, the stillness that followed was welcome, your throat screamed for water, though you never heard yourself scream. Your ears cleared and your eyes focused on the tile you laid on, on the glass of water whose color you didn’t know anymore sitting at arm’s length.
With shaking limbs and a metallic taste in your mouth, you will yourself to stand, grabbing that ever-changing glass of water in your hands like an anchor to the ocean floor.
“What took you so long?” your friend asked, now standing in front of the blanket fort.
It looks a little different.
“...I don’t know,” you answered, “I don’t think I should be here.”
“Hurry up, I wanna finish the movie.”
“Okay, sorry.”