My day had started as most of my days now did. Looking out the window to see vast emptiness of nothing.

My grandmother always told I would amount to nothing. She was more right than she could ever know. Even on her deathbed she told me her only regret was that I was her last living relative.

Atleast when she died I got this house I thought. But I soon realised that this house had its own problems. Like when I try to leave a black tenticle will smack me back in or when the windows open I hear the constant sound a flesh slapping.

I had thought at my age I would have ended married with a couple of kids. I had just turned eighteen.

I had just turned eighteen when my house had been taken here or was his taken around my house. That doesn't make sense, my house must have been taken here.

The crux of the issue is that what took me here, and are they still here. My thoughts drift to what life was like before, playing outside, eating outside, seeing people outside.

I finally get out of my bed. Looking at the window... nothing has changed.

I walked down the stars to get something to eat that's when I realised, that there was another door where there had never been a door before.

On the middle of the stair case was a door almost hidden by the wallpaper.

I immediately pulled the wallpaper off the wall. It was already half down anyways. The door is the nices thing in this house.

It almost look ethereal. Maybe I should leave it, but something calls out to me.

Maybe unlike the other doors and windows that reject me when I leave maybe this could allow me to leave. This place where I've been eighteen for the last millennia.

Opening the door I saw.