The fireflies house

There was nothing—nothing but the biting cold and the silence. The world seemed empty; nothing was moving, everything, even the dead-looking tree, was still, and perhaps the world was indeed empty at that particular moment. From Mona’s point of view, it felt as such.

Her eyes lifted to the sky, the cold turning her breath into a thin white mist soaring slowly before disappearing. She hoped to see a star or the moon—anything to silence the feeling of loneliness gnawing at her—but nothing was visible, and that didn’t surprise her. There had never been anything for her. Every time she hoped for a little relief or comfort, she received only indifference. Even the thought that the stars themselves had chosen to ignore her tonight, barely affected her nowadays.

A shiver ran through her, and she began walking aimlessly through the heart of the night to warm herself. No one would wonder where she had gone. Her household was asleep—parents and siblings resting peacefully. They had seen her leave earlier, without a coat, without a phone, without even a bag, but no one had commented.

Ignored, as she always had been.

Tonight she had left with one idea in mind: not to return. To disappear and free the world from the burden that was her presence. By morning she would no longer be a weight on her mother’s shoulder, no longer an annoyance to her brothers and sister, no longer a toy for her father. She would be nothing more than a memory everyone would forget without the slightest sorrow. Her family would recover; that much she was sure. Her friends? Well, they were far too busy with their own little happy lives to even wonder whether she was still among them. They wouldn’t discover her disappearance until days—perhaps weeks—if not years later. She was certain of it.

And him—him who had given her hope, who had made her feel like she was worth something. He had not chosen her and had made her feel worthless again, despite hinting the total opposite at her. He wouldn’t notice she was gone either. Why would he? Why would he care? He hadn’t truly cared before, despite his kind, reassuring words. He wouldn’t care now, nor after she was no longer there.

Her steps led her onto a bridge overlooking a river, probably frozen at this time of year. She didn’t bother looking down; jumping seemed like a good idea—but the thought of feeling water pressure fill her lungs was far less appealing. She didn’t need to take such drastic measures. With the cold of the night and the few warm clothes she was wearing, she only needed to sit somewhere and wait.

Her steps continued toward a park. The tree’s branches were heavy with snow, and the silence was almost oppressive. As she searched for the perfect bench to stop at, she froze in her steps.

In the middle of the path was a small cluster of light, dancing gracefully above the ground.

Fireflies in the middle of winter seemed absurd. She was certain those insects couldn’t survive such cold. But here was a little cluster of them, probably on the verge of dying, like she was. Yet, driven by curiosity, she approached. The tiny insects shifted their group a few meters away as she came closer. She tried again, and this time they scattered, forming a line further along the path.

Mona was intrigued. She had seen many fireflies in her life, some in this exact same park, but these were strange. Against her better judgment, she moved forward, following the glowing trail as the insects, one by one, rose toward the sky at her approach. Soon only one remained, floating away and leading her to a door—a door standing in the middle of nowhere at the top of an old Victorian staircase that also seemed to have appeared from nothing. The woods surrounding the park were rarely explored. Perhaps they were the remains of an old house that had withstood time. There was no other explanation for what she was seeing; a staircase and a door couldn’t just appear out of nowhere after all.

One foot stepped onto the first stair. She never took her eyes off the firefly. A second step. Then a third. Before she realized it, she stood before the door, old, the varnish peeled off in layers, but other than that, it looked like it could still be used. The firefly settled on the handle, abandoning any further attempt to flee. Mona slowly brought her hands forward and cupped the tiny insect.

“I got you,” she smiled.

She opened her hands gently, seeing it nestled in her hands. The firefly’s glow was pale and flickering, as if it were dying—which was more than likely, considering the cold.

She pitied the poor little creature. It didn’t deserve to freeze to death in the middle of winter. She closed her hands again carefully, hoping to keep it warm for as long as she could.

She turned her attention to the heavy wooden door before her, which had no right to look in such a good shape. Apart from the varnish peeling, there wasn’t the slightest trace of wear, insect damage, or mold—nothing to suggest it had been left to the elements for a decade or centuries. Instead, it looked as though it had just been placed there and got used and forgotten. The handle was polished, a classical round handle made of some brass metal. Not that Mona knew a lot about what door handle was made of in the Victorian era, but she knew it looked used often and didn’t sport the usual wear that time could cause to metallic objects.

The shrill creak of rusty hinges made her jump backward. She stepped back more as the door slowly opened in front of her. Suddenly confused by the sensation of warm air, Mona looked around, searching for a reason for the pleasant heat, but found none. The only possible source was the doorway before her.

Her heart pounding, she moved closer, curiosity taking over fear or any instinct to get away. The air drifting from the opening was not only warm but also carried a comforting fragrance—hot chocolate by the fire, coffee in the early morning, fresh bread straight from the oven—all signs suggested that whatever lay beyond this door was welcoming.

Of course her curiosity got the better of her. Mona gently pushed the door open with her foot, still holding the firefly. The door opened wider and wider. She stepped forward, expecting to see the rest of the park on the other side—but to her astonishment, she found herself in a living room, facing a fireplace where a fire burned brightly and the back of a couch facing said fire.

She froze, perplexed, glancing back at the small forest behind her and then forward at the living room. She had to be dreaming. That was the only explanation for the impossible sight.

She stepped fully inside. The large couch facing the fireplace looked inviting and cozy. There wasn’t much else—perhaps a few snow globes on the mantel, nothing more; the place was strangely bare. A door stood to the left, light spilling from beneath it. If this was a dream, she had to admit her mind was impressive.

Realizing it was warmer, she opened her hands. The firefly blinked faintly but managed to fly up and perch on the couch. She watched it for a moment, wondering if it was suffering. She hoped not.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the door to her left open. Nor did she notice the person emerging until he let out a cry of surprise.

From there, everything happened at once. A cup crashed to the floor, spilling what looked like hot cocoa. The front door slammed shut behind her, making her turn to it alarmed. Footsteps hurried from an upper floor she couldn’t locate.

And Mona froze, staring back at the stranger who stared back at her with wide eyes.

They stood like that for a long moment—frozen, perplexed—until the door burst open again behind the man.

“Who screamed?! I’m ready to fight!” exclaimed a girl barely taller than three apples high. She froze when she saw Mona. “Oh. A new one.” She smacked the young man’s arm. “There was no need to scream like that!”

“She surprised me, okay?!” He retorts in defense.

“Is everything all right?” A woman appeared and noticed the shattered porcelain on the floor and the spilled liquid. “Oliver! Look what you’ve done!”

He grumbled and pointed at Mona. “It’s her fault! Not mine!”

The woman turned to Mona and immediately smiled.

Two other people appeared in the doorway behind her—a tall, slender woman in what looked like old religious wives’ dresses and another boy who looked like he had just walked out of a heavy metal concert gone wrong. Torn black T-shirt, ripped black jeans, long black hair dyed purple at the tips, and eyebrow and ear piercings—he was a walking cliché.

Mona stepped backward and rushed toward the door. She hadn’t meant to enter someone’s home. She grabbed the handle, but it didn’t move an inch no matter how much she pulled or pushed.

“Yeah, you might as well drop that idea,” said the boy dressed in black, leaning against the wall. “Once you’re here, you don’t leave.”

“Milo! You’re going to scare her!” Scolded the first woman.

“What? It’s true, isn’t it? You’re all still here. That proves it.”

“Be more welcoming, will you?”

“As if I’m not,” he muttered.

“Don’t listen to him. Milo can be a bit grumpy. My name is Tabitha. And you?”

“Is he right?” Mona asked in a trembling voice.

They exchanged glances—all except Milo, who never took his eyes off her.

“We can talk about that in the morning, if you’d like,” Tabitha smiled. “Everything will be clearer then.”

“I want to leave!”

“You see, Tabi? If you’re not direct, they panic.”

Milo pushed himself off the wall and approached Mona, who suddenly felt intimidated. He wasn’t much taller than her, maybe a head at most, yet he seemed to tower over her.

“Listen, princess. You’re stuck here now—with the gang of the forgotten. You deal with it or—”

“Milo! That’s enough! You’re terrifying her!”

He shrugged nonchalantly and walked back toward the door he had come from. “I’m just throwing her in at the deep end, Tabi.”

Mona watched him go, speechless, then turned back to the warm stranger.

“Don’t listen to him. In the morning, everything will make sense. You can sleep on the couch. Zoey, get a blanket from my room.” The girl grumbled but obeyed. “Oliver, clean up this mess.” He didn’t argue. The last woman silently observed Mona. “Emilia? Go back to bed.”

Without a word, she left. Zoey returned with a blanket and handed it to Tabitha, who passed it to Mona with a wide smile.

“Don’t worry. You’re safe here. Have a good night.”

She left, followed by Zoey. Mona watched Oliver pick up the last shards of porcelain and wipe the spilling before he too disappeared behind the door.

Mona sank onto the couch. It was unexpectedly comfortable. She stared at the fire, clutching the blanket. She hadn’t expected to be here. She hadn’t expected there to be people. And she certainly hadn’t expected that she wouldn’t be able to leave.

Though, in truth, that wasn’t a problem. She hadn’t planned on going home anyway.

Her firefly drifted lazily before her and settled on her knee, its light blinking softly.

“This is all your fault,” she murmured, though there was no real blame or anger in her voice—just quiet observation.

She lay down slowly, pulling the blanket over herself. The firefly fluttered off to perch somewhere in the room; she didn’t bother to see where.

Her gaze remained fixed on the flames for a long time, wondering what Milo had meant by “stuck here” and “gang of the forgotten.” She had questions—many questions—but there was no one in the room to answer them. All she could do was let her mind imagine increasingly improbable scenarios until her heavy eyelids finally closed.

It was only a dream. In the morning, she would wake up and laugh about it. It had to be a dream. Or a nightmare, depending on how she felt when she woke.

With that thought, she fell asleep. Somewhere in the warm and welcoming room, a small light blinked softly in the darkness, watching over her and her sleep.