The room is quiet and still.
Empty.
The afternoon sun peeks through the slats in the blinds, stretching golden fingers of light across the room, illuminating floating motes of dust, and reflecting into my eyes from the dark television screen.
Absently, I lift my hand to shield my eyes, blocking off the way the reflected light dances across the lenses of my glasses and blinds me to the rest of the room.
My footsteps are quiet in the soft carpet as I walk.
There's nothing wrong here.
Everything seems normal.
Every step I take makes the sick feeling of dread in my stomach grow, and the path to the bedroom on the far end of the house feels unnaturally long.
The hallway feels strange, elongated somehow, stretched out just beyond reasonable proportions.
My hand trembles as I touch the door handle, but I shake my head.
