Home Is Where The Heart Is

The door was open, a gape, ready to swallow us whole. We’d been here before, many times. We were on a hike the first time we stumbled upon it. We were overcome with a feeling, sinking, deep in the pits of our belly’s unexplainable and visceral and yet we came back.  

The house stood alone, surrounded by thick pines and conifers. It looked both out of place and like it belonged, like it wasn’t built but just was, part of the landscape as ancient as the uneven ground it sat on. 

Vines crept up the sides, earth and moss feeding on it like a parasite, overtaking it. 

Repeatedly, like an obsession it called to us and we obliged. Here we were again, with one major difference, the door was never open before. 

As we looked the house seemed to stretch and grow upwards, its shadow looming over us. Imposing. We looked at each other unsure of what to do next, what the next move should be. It wanted us to go inside, it was begging us. We felt both uneasy and excited. Silently with sideways glances we dared one another to make the first step forward. We had discussed it before, but we were both too afraid of going inside although neither would admit it. 

As strong as the urge was to look inside just as strong was the gut pull to retreat. Even stronger was the knowing feeling to not turn our backs on the open door; an instinctual warning. 

Then we heard it, rustling in the woods, unthinking we both whipped around which unveiled nothing. We both look up at each other fear and amusement dancing behind both of our eyes. 

That look quickly turned to confusion and terror when we realized. 

We were no longer safely at the edge of the clearing. 

We were on the porch.

It had tricked us. 

We looked down at our feet searching for answers that weren’t there. How had we moved and why hadn’t we noticed? Had we been getting closer this whole time? Subconsciously drifting towards the house, like magnets? 

In the many times we had been here we had only been on the porch once. 

After some time we looked up at each other. There was a seriousness behind the gaze we held as we both nodded, a silent understanding. 

It was time to go inside.

Cold sweat beaded on the back of our necks, a thick unseasonable humidity saturated the air making it hard to breathe as we took a step forward. Cool stale oxygen called to us from inside, inviting us to take it in.

It should’ve been the other way around.

The fresh air is usually outside.

As we crossed the threshold all the sounds of the world collapsed around us. The silence was deafening.

As our eyes adjusted to the dark we took in the house for the first time, decaying, peeling and yet also normal, just a house.

Then, a sound, cutting through the silence, a hum of static, growing in intensity. 

A TV was on. 

The door slammed shut, swallowing us whole.