ENTRY FOR THE SECOND DAY.
I stepped through the Door.
On the other side was a hallway—long, quiet, lined with doors. The walls were the same smooth, pale material as the first room, and just like before, there were no windows. No way to see outside.
I walked forward, my footsteps the only sound. Each door I passed was closed. Some had numbers carved into them. Others were blank. I reached out, testing a handle. Locked.
I kept moving.
The hallway opened into a vast space—a room unlike the one I had woken up in.
This one had furniture. A grand staircase led upward, its steps vanishing into shadow. There were chairs, a table, bookshelves filled with books.
I picked one up. The cover was blank. I flipped it open. Every page inside was empty.
I don't know why, but a chill ran through me.
I set the book down and turned my attention to the rest of the space. There was no dust, no sign of anyone else. Just the quiet stillness of a house waiting for something. For me?
I searched the rooms, opening doors where I could. Some led to bedrooms, others to halls that twisted and turned, leading me back to where I started.
There were no windows.
No exits.
It felt like I was inside a world that had been built only halfway—like something had started making it and then stopped, leaving it unfinished.
Eventually, I found a small room with a desk. The only thing inside was a single candle and a chair. I sat down, opened my notebook, and wrote:
Day Two. There is a house. Many rooms, no windows.
Doors that lead back to where I started.
Books with nothing inside.
No people. No exit.
I closed the notebook and placed it on the desk.
I don't know what will happen tomorrow. But I will write. I have to.
ENTRY FOR THE THIRD DAY.
I woke up again.
The notebook was still beside me.
My words from yesterday remained, but they felt distant, like they had been written by someone else. I reread them carefully, trying to connect to the person who had written them. Me. But not me.
Something was different today. I felt it the moment I stepped into the hallway. Some of the doors were open now. I knew they had been locked yesterday. Had someone been here? Had something changed?
I hesitated, then walked forward, pushing open one of the doors.
Inside was another room—furnished like the others, but not the same. The air felt... heavier. I can't explain why. Like something had recently moved through here. The walls seemed different, subtly shifting in color, like they were alive, breathing.
The house is growing.
I don't know how I know that, but I do. It isn't just a building. It's something else, something that expands and changes when I'm not looking.
I made my way to the bookshelves again, hoping for something new. And this time, I found it.
One of the books was different. Not blank. It had writing inside.
I felt my pulse quicken as I opened it, my eyes scanning the first page. The symbols were strange, unfamiliar. My mind struggled to grasp them. I didn't understand why I couldn't read them—was it a different language? But how could that be, if I didn't even know other languages existed?
Someone wrote this. Someone who was here before me.
Who?