Home

I woke up in a bed, comfortable, enormous. My hands clutched a white blanket, pulling it close to my face. It smelled of lilac and vanilla, scents far too sweet for my taste.

I rubbed my eyes, trying to banish the remnants of sleep and make sense of my surroundings. Where was I? What had happened? How did I end up here? My gaze darted around, searching for windows to glean the time of day, but there were none. The room felt enclosed, suffocating in its opulence.

On the nightstand beside me, a photo caught my attention. It was of me. My face beamed with a wide, carefree smile, and I was wrapped around a tall man, a blonde with striking blue eyes that seemed to radiate light. The backdrop was a stunning beach, its sand so white it seemed unreal.

I picked up the photo, bringing it closer to my face. My heart raced. Who was this man? I didn’t recognize him. Not his face, not his eyes, not the arm slung casually around my shoulders. Nothing about him was familiar.

That’s when I realized, my head was throbbing, an unbearable, crushing pain as if my brain were trying to escape from a skull too small to contain it. On the nightstand, next to the photograph, sat a tall glass of water and two white pills.

I put the picture down carefully, its mysterious weight suddenly overwhelming, and swung my legs off the bed. I needed answers, needed to know where I was. My feet touched the floor, sinking into a soft, brown carpet. It felt expensive, luxurious even, but I loathed it. I’ve always hated carpets.

Ignoring the unease bubbling up in my chest, I stood and scanned the room for a light switch, something to illuminate this strange place. I shuffled toward the door, my bare feet brushing over the carpet’s fibers, and found the switch.

The ceiling light blazed to life, a flood of brightness that stabbed at my eyes and amplified the pounding in my skull.

-Jesus, I muttered, wincing. What the hell happened?

The room revealed itself in stark clarity. On the opposite wall, a large white dresser stood like a silent witness. A mirror hung above it, reflecting my pale, bewildered face. Jewelry boxes were scattered on top, small, delicate things I immediately recognized as mine. On the wall across from the bed, a massive painting hung, abstract swirls of color that seemed both chaotic and calculated.

I took cautious steps toward the dresser, my stomach twisting as I noticed dark stains marring the plush carpet. I didn’t want to imagine what they were.

-Disgusting, I whispered under my breath, sidestepping them.

At the dresser, I opened the jewelry boxes one by one. Inside were my earrings, necklaces, and rings, all neatly arranged as if I’d left them there myself. My hand hesitated over the drawer handle, then pulled it open. Inside were my clothes, everything was mine. Every thread, every familiar texture.

And yet, nothing about this place felt like mine.

n the corner of the room, a large wooden mirror stood, tall and imposing. Its ornate frame seemed out of place in this strange, sterile environment. I caught my reflection in its glass. I looked tired, exhausted, really. My hair was a mess, and dark circles etched themselves beneath my eyes, deep and unforgiving. I was still wearing my favorite pajamas, the soft, warm pair that always brought me comfort. But here, even they felt like a remnant of someone else’s life.

I walked toward the door, each step hesitant, deliberate. The air felt heavy, charged with a strange energy that made my skin crawl. I needed to know where I was. Needed to understand. The door loomed before me, its brass handle catching the unforgiving light above. My hand reached for it, and I paused, half-expecting it to resist, to stay locked as if the room itself were a trap.

But it didn’t.

The handle turned easily, almost too easily, and with a soft scrape of wood against the carpet, the door opened inward. The sound was muted, almost apologetic, and as I pulled the door toward me, I braced myself for whatever lay beyond.

A long hallway stretched out before me, stark and sterile. The walls were white, bare, devoid of any decoration. A single light hung in the middle of the ceiling, casting a cold glow. To my left, a solitary door stood ajar, and at the end of the hallway, a larger room awaited, bathed in a softer, warmer light.

I stepped forward, cautiously, my bare feet making no sound on the carpet. The first door called to me, and I turned the handle, pushing it open. It led to a small bathroom, as pristine and white as the hallway. The shower was enclosed in glass, immaculate, almost clinical. On the sink, my toothbrush rested in its usual spot, a glaring reminder of the familiar invading the unfamiliar.

I slowly closed the door, unease gnawing at me, and continued down the corridor. With each step, a comforting aroma began to fill the air, coffee and bacon. My stomach tightened in response. Along with the smells came the faint strains of music, a melody I couldn’t quite place but knew all too well. It tickled at my memories, just out of reach.

At the end of the hallway, I entered the larger room. It was bright and inviting, a stark contrast to the cold sterility of the rest of the house. At the far end, the man from the photograph stood behind a white countertop. He wore a blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up casually, and white boxers. His movements were fluid, almost too comfortable, as though this was his domain.

He looked up as I entered, his blue eyes catching the light. A wide, easy smile spread across his face, so genuine it sent a shiver down my spine.

-I’m sorry, sweetheart, he said in a warm, familiar tone. I didn’t mean to wake you. Are you hungry?

I froze, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. The words, the smile, the comforting smell of breakfast, it all felt staged, like a scene from a life I wasn’t part of. And yet, I was supposed to play a role I didn’t understand.

-Uh, what? Who are you? Where am I? I stammered, my voice trembling.

He smiled again, unfazed, as if I’d just asked him something as simple as the weather.

-Are you okay, love? Is something wrong?

-Who are you? I repeated, louder this time, panic creeping into my tone.

-Are you being serious? He asked, his smile faltering slightly, though it never quite left his face.

My heart raced faster, hammering against my ribcage like it was trying to escape.

-I don’t know you. I said, my voice shaky but firm. I glanced around the room, desperate for something, anything, that would give me a clue, an answer, some reassurance that this wasn’t a nightmare.

He lifted the frying pan slightly, the bacon sizzling loudly inside.

-Do you want eggs with your bacon, love?

-I don’t want anything! I just want to leave!  My voice cracked, but I didn’t care. The fear in my chest had blossomed into full-blown terror.

His smile finally wavered, his brows knitting together.

-Okay, I don’t find this funny anymore. What’s going on? He asked, setting the pan down on the countertop with a soft clatter. His eyes searched mine, his expression caught somewhere between concern and disbelief.

He took a deliberate step toward me, his movements cautious but unshaken.

-What’s wrong? Are you feeling feverish? He asked, reaching out as if to touch my forehead.

-Don’t! I backed away instinctively, the distance between us suddenly feeling vital. Don’t come any closer!

His face darkened with worry, his tone softening as if he were speaking to a frightened child.

-It’s me. Don’t you recognize me? It’s just me. Come here, love, let me help you.

But I couldn’t move. My feet were glued to the floor, my body trembling, my mind screaming a single question. Who was he?

-Everything is okay, love. You’re safe, Jen. You’re home, he said softly, his voice steady, as though he believed it would calm me.

- No! I yelled, the panic in my voice raw and unfiltered. That isn’t my name! This is not my home! Let me leave!

He tilted his head slightly, his expression caught between confusion and pity.

- Jen, I’m not stopping you from leaving. You’re free to go. Just… let me help you. Did you take the Tylenols I left on the side table? We drank a lot last night.

- No, I didn’t! I snapped. And I don’t remember anything about last night! I just want to go! My voice broke, the desperation spilling out with my words.

- Okay, it’s okay, he said, raising his hands as if to show he wasn’t a threat. There’s the door. You can go. Just take your phone with you so I can reach you later. Everything is fine, love.

- Where’s my phone? I demanded, my eyes darting around the room.

- Right there, he said, pointing behind me. On the shelf.

I spun around quickly, searching for it. My hands fumbled over the empty space where he’d indicated. There was nothing there. Nothing.

And then I felt it. His body pressed up against mine, solid and unyielding, his arm wrapping tightly around my chest. A sharp, cold sting pierced the side of my neck, a needle. The sensation was brief, just a pinprick, but it sent a surge of icy dread through my veins.

He let go of me, his grip releasing as if nothing had happened. I stumbled forward, trying to put distance between us. My breath came in shallow gasps as I turned to face him.

He stood there, calm, his posture relaxed, his blue eyes still glinting in the light. But his smile, it was no longer warm or reassuring. It was different now. Cold. Cruel. A predator’s grin.

- See? He said softly, almost mockingly. Everything is going to be just fine.

The room swayed, the walls tilting like a ship caught in a storm. My legs trembled under the unnatural heaviness creeping through my body, every step feeling like wading through quicksand. I blinked, desperate to stay upright, to resist whatever was overtaking me, but it was useless.

My knees buckled, and I crumpled to the floor. The impact sent a jolt of pain up my legs, but I barely felt it as the weight dragged me down further. My face hit the carpet, the fibers rough against my cheek, and I lay there, immobilized. My body refused to obey me, and worst of all, I couldn’t blink anymore. My eyes stayed wide open, fixed on his face.

His smile, so cold, so calculated, was the last thing I saw. It loomed over me, carnivorous and triumphant, as though he’d won some cruel game I never knew I was playing.

And his voice, low and steady, was the last thing I heard before the darkness swallowed me whole.

- You’re home, Jen. Right where you belong.