Through the bushes he saw a worn little house, overgrown, almost covered by vegetation.
It was getting dark, soon it would be too dark to see. He could hear thunder in a distance. He walked up the path towards the door, overgrown with bushes, spines and thistles. Rain started falling.
He entered the house. It was warm inside, and it smelled fresh, clean. It looked kept.
Hello? he tried, but there was no answer.
He started walking down the hallway. It seemed to go through the whole house, with doors on each side. He could hear the clock on the wall ticking, the pendulum was going from side to side.
Hello! He knew he was trespassing, but another thunder strike reminded him he needed shelter. There was no answer. He kept walking.
The first room was a kitchen. Something was cooking on the stove, the fire was burning underneath. It smelled delicious. He hadn’t eaten all day.
He kept walking. Looked into the livingroom. The fireplace was burning. There were comfortable looking furniture, and art on the walls.
The next room was a bedroom. A big bed, with cushions and clean sheets, undone. A bra was hanging on the back of the chair, and a pair of panties on the floor. He was doing wrong. He shouldn’t be there. He looked at the wall at the end of the hall. There was a poprtrait. He needed to go closer, it couldn’t be. But it was.
It was him.
The room was changing. A sound. A baby screaming. He turned around. There were spiderweb on the walls. The tapestry was falling off. Big holes in the dirty rug on the floor. He started walking fast towards the exit. The became longer as he walked.
He tried to run. His feet was stuck to the floor.
He sunk down. A velvet, a textile of liquid covered him. Covered his body. His heart. The smell of smoke. Of ashtrays and yesterday’s drunkenness. The baby. The God damned baby kept screaming. Louder. And louder. Hands grabbing him, delicate hands, holding him down, pulling him. He was trapped. Trapped forever, never to roam again.
He was sitting on a chair by the window. A woman was standing in front of a mirror, holding a baby in her arms. A bra was hanging on the chair. She looked at him.
Sshhh…. He’s asleep.
He looked out of the window. It was the same house, but there was a garden outside, well kept.
Memories slowly came back. Or were they created? He wasn’t sure. Soon they took over.
He was home.