THE HOUSE
# The House
THE HOUSE
Two days ago, Lia had been evicted from the house she had just moved into after falling for a scam.
Realizing she had no one to call for help, she had to do something she wouldn't normally do.
Lia asked her coworker, someone who had forced her way into Lia's life as a friend. She was the type of person who always tried to make friends with everybody, she would try to get Lia to talk, even though Lia was extremely reserved and craved solitude.
Megan would steal bites of Lia's food before lunch, she would make Lia sit with her so they could eat together, and Lia would always do it, because she had a hard time saying no to anybody. That was how they became friends.
At first, she was happy that someone was trying to get to know her. But it didn’t take long to realize that Megan cared only about herself. Megan talked endlessly about her own life, and she made Lia feel like everything about her was weird.
Lia couldn't help but accept Megan's narcissism, at least she had a friend.
When Lia had told Megan about her situation, she felt pathetic.
But more than that, Megan's reply had shattered her expectation.
“No, you can't stay at my place. My boyfriend is coming over.”
That was it. That was all she said.
Megan did, however, suggest a house, a place she once stayed in when she had nowhere else to go. And like an idiot, Lia believed Megan was trying to help her.
Lia arrived at the shared house, all her belongings in one bag, relieved that she had a place to stay for the night.
The owner had handed her a paper cup containing instant coffee, Lia never really like coffee and unless she had no choice, she doesn't drink it.
Unable to say no to the man, Lia thanked him with a smile as she collected it.
The man had been called by someone, and he left instantly, Lia immediately threw the coffee in the trash, feeling sad that she had wasted something given to her.
Everything seemed fine at first. she washed up, got ready for bed while she listened in on the conversation her roommates were having.
Something was off.
She felt uncomfortable—the creepy stares from the other residents, the moldy smell of the old, rusting apartment, the unsettling grin of the landlord.
But she dismissed it all. she had told herself it was just her paranoia.
she wanted to trust her gut, but her gut wasn't going to provide her shelter.
That night, she couldn’t sleep.
The first thing that made her open her eyes wasn’t the ticking clock or her bunkmate’s snoring. It was the sound of footsteps. Quiet. Careful. Getting closer.
Then, the unmistakable creak of a door opening.
The room next to theirs.
A whisper followed.
“Get the one on the top bunk.” her breath caught in her throat.
What had she gotten into?
Lia slid off the bed as quietly as she could, looking around frantically for a place to hide. There was nowhere.
The only option was under the bunk. she quickly crawled under just as the door opened. Two men entered, still whispering to each other.
“Where is the girl?” one asked, annoyed.
“Maybe she went to the bathroom?” the other responded, nonchalantly.
The first one cursed under his breath. “You gave her the coffee, right?” Lia's stomach dropped.
“Yeah, but I didn’t see her drink it.”
A grunt. A struggle.
“Ugh, so fucking fat,” one of them said.
She watched their boots move around the room, inching closer.
One of them rummaged through her belongings, cursing under his breath through it all, she pressed herself against the wall, as if she could disappear into it.
she couldn’t breathe. she couldn’t think.
“She weighs a fucking ton.” One of the men commented as they struggled to lift, Lia clamped a trembling hand over her mouth, stifling the scream threatening to escape. Her lips quivered, her breath hitching in her throat.
Every time one of them paused, fear shot through her. Had they seen her leg sticking out? Maybe they could hear her breathing?
She pressed herself further into the wall.
“Have you seen how she eats? Like a fucking elephant,” another laughed as if someone had just shared the best joke of the century.
After what felt like forever, they seemed to be done with each room and weren’t opening any more doors. This was a relief to Lia as they weren't looking for her, she finally crawled out from underneath the bunk to look for a way to escape.
Luckily, it was already morning, and she could see the window was open halfway. she grabbed her bag and made a run for it, climbing through the window without looking back.
She ran as far as she could, never looking back as she made her way to the paved road, the asphalt hot against her bare foot.
She ran until her leg burned with no destination in mind. Somehow, she found herself standing in front of the cafe she used to work when she was eighteen.
Lia's hand reached for the paper cup, squeezing tightly, exasperation, desperation.
She was feeling every bit of emotion known to man, after taking another sip of the coffee to keep her from giving in to her exhaustion, she fiddled with her finger.
She sighed for what felt like the hundredth time, running a hand through her hair as she continued searching.
Giving up wasn’t really an option, not until she found a place to rest her head for the night,
what was she thinking?
Why would she have gone to another shared house when she had never had a good experience there.
The barista at the café approached her again, her expression laced with thinly veiled irritation.
“Do you want to order anything?”
Lia knew she wasn't disrupting their business. The barista had just decided to be a bitch to her for no reason.
She knew this because she had worked in the cafe before and every branch manager encourages staffs to bring people to keep the cafe busy even if they weren't buying much.
“Can I get some black coffee?” Lia asked, keeping her voice neutral. It was the cheapest thing on their menu, only forty cents.
She had always ordered it every time she sat at the cafe. It was the only thing she could afford making sure she doesn't run out of the little money she had left.
The thought made her stomach twist.
Lia didn't want to sound rude, so when the girl delivering her order handed the cup to her, she muttered, “I’m sorry.”
The waitress smiled at her, Lia didn't take that as an invitation to wait any longer than she should, it was the waiter's job to smile at even the most annoying customers.
Lia felt like she fell under that category as she had ordered her tenth cup of fourty cents coffee.
She turned back to the listings, flipping through the pages half-heartedly, when something caught her eye. On the top left corner of the page she had previously dismissed for containing houses in a high-end location was a much cheaper apartment.
That felt weird and she had flipped through those pages a hundred times but that house was never there.
Maybe she hadn't gone through the pages as well as she should have.
Hope flared in her chest as she grabbed her phone to call the number listed under the house.
“Hello,” she said, closing her eyes for a second, silently praying it would work out.
“Hello?” A gentle voice responded on the other end.
“Yeah, I saw a listing for the house on Edminton Way.”
There was a brief pause, the faint sound of pages flipping.
“Oh, that house?” The agent hesitated before continuing. “Yeah, there’s still an opening left. Can you meet me at my office in the next thirty minutes?”
Lia glanced at the magazine again, realizing her office was close by.
Finally. She could stop loitering in this café.
Lia paid for the coffee she had taken, saying a silent thank you to the waiter who had been nice to her through it all.
The agent's office was on the top floor of the building. When Lia reached the elevator, she realized it was out of order. she sighed in frustration and started climbing the stairs.
The only thought that ran through her head.
Nothing is ever easy
Each step felt like a punishment, and after what seemed like forever, Lia finally reached the agent's office. The place was far too high-end to be listing a house that cheap. But she chose not to question it—she was too desperate to dwell on inconsistencies.
She knocked on the door, and as if the agent had been waiting for her, she opened it immediately, her smile beaming—almost too happy.
Lia felt jealous of the smile wishing she could wear a smile like that.
“That house you saw is already sold out.”
Lia tried to mask her disappointment with a small smile. she had climbed all those stairs for nothing.
At that point she felt like she should accept she was homeless and begin searching for the safest place she could spend the night.
“But there is a solution,” The agent added quickly.
Lia's face immediately perked up.
Oh, thank God, she thought.
“Come in, come in.” She dragged out a metal chair that had been neatly pushed under the table. Her office was a stark contrast to the exterior of the building.
Old, broken vases still filled with dead flowers lined the windowsill. The bookshelves were cluttered with worn-out books stacked haphazardly, and at the end of each shelf sat a skull—probably plastic, but disturbingly realistic.
“I heard the disappointment in your voice, and something tells me you’ve struggled to find a suitable place,” she said, her long, manicured fingers curling around a yellow coffee mug as she took a sip.
“I have a house right now,” she continued, pausing every few seconds in a way that made it feel like she was deliberately wasting Lia's time. “It isn’t even for rent.”
She rummaged through a drawer without really looking. “The owners are on vacation and are looking for someone to stay in their house for two months until they return.”
Lia's eyebrows knitted. “A house sitter?”
She clicked her tongue, shaking her head as she pulled out a key.
“Not a house sitter. They just want to take this opportunity to help someone who’s desperately in need of accommodation.”
Lia wondered if that was common, or if she simply wasn’t lucky enough to receive such offer.
She retrieved a book from the same drawer and placed it on the desk.
“As long as I vouch for the person.”
Lia had never heard of rich people making an offer like that. They hardly cared about anyone but themselves.
“So,” she continued, “if you can provide me with some information and prove how desperate you are, you might get it.”
Lia had no idea how to respond. The entire situation felt surreal.
“If you really need it, all you have to do is win a challenge against the last runner-up. Simple as that.”
Something Lia noticed.
The Agent smiled and talked a lot.
And for some reason, that annoyed her.
Last runner-up? What kind of show was she running?
Like a deer caught in headlights, Lia questioned its authenticity, but she couldn’t say no—perhaps due to a past trauma related to sleeping on the street.
“Are you ready to play the game?” The agent looked at Lia. “Why can't I stay with the person if we were both desperate enough to just find a place to sleep?”
The agent's whole demeanor changed, and it felt like she wasn’t the same person who had been smiling the entire time Lia was there.
“Because the rule is against that,” she said. Then, just as quickly as her expression had shifted, she was back to smiling, tapping her nails against the table in a slow, rhythmic motion. It was creepy, but Lia still couldn't question it.
Maybe her need for somewhere to sleep overrode any logic, so she just decided to go with it.
"Okay, here are some pictures," the agent said as she placed them on the table. Each had a bold letter written on it. She spread them out like shuffled cards. "Pick one."
Lia followed her hand, and just like in a card game, she intentionally lingered on the one with a bold letter A written on it.
Lia didn’t know if she should choose the one she wanted her to pick or go with something else, so she followed the basic rule of cards: just don’t get fooled.
Lia picked C and for unknown reason, the agent looked annoyed. Her smile faltered, but within a second, it was back to its full-on creepy grin.
“Okay, you win,” she said.
What?
“Let’s get you ready for the house.”
Was she doing the right thing? Why was she not feeling the need to question the logic?
The need for shelter overrode every rational thought, and without missing a beat, she replied, “Okay.”
The agent seemed content that she had agreed. “Let’s go.”
Her car gave off the same vibe as her office—completely out of place in front of the building.
Lia was hesitant to get in, but what choice did she have?
And moreover, it just felt like something kept pulling her, enticing her perhaps.
She didn’t feel easy. She didn’t feel okay.
It felt like she was traveling into a desert. she didn’t even know a place like this existed in America. They hadn't even travelled far and yet it felt like they had gone through miles and miles of barren land. No trees, just an endless terrain, yet the time in the car indicated they had been driving for just four minutes and ten seconds.
In exactly five minutes, they arrived at a nearly deserted house.
Since the agent said the house belonged to rich people, Lia had expected something grand..
It wasn’t.
It looked like any house you’d find in a middle-class neighborhood. But she still decided not to question it.
She felt a pull. A need to know.
“We’ve arrived,” she said with a smile as she got out of her run-down car.
I followed suit, walking behind her until we reached the house.
There was nothing special about it. Nothing made it stand out.
The agent opened the door, revealing an entirely different world inside. The house was vast, pristine, and impossibly large, at least four times the size of what she'd seen from the outside. Clutching her bag, she hesitated for a moment before stepping in.
Whatever happens, she just needed to make it through the night. Tomorrow, she will continue her search.
Nothing seemed out of place in the house. It looked like a regular home, but something was off. It was too clean, too perfectly arranged—like a model home.
“Make sure you leave everything as you found it,” The agent said as they climbed the stairs. “This is the master bedroom.” She opened the door and let Lia in. “Drop your bags.”
Lia wondered if she was supposed to stay in the master bedroom?
“You look like you have some questions, but I really need to be at the office in ten minutes,” she said before turning on her heel and walking away.
Lia watched the sashaying of her hips as she descended the stairs. Wasn’t she supposed to explain some rules? Tell her what she was allowed to touch? What she wasn’t?
The agent was moving so fast that catching up to her was impossible, but before she could reach the door, she locked it.
“What!” Lia exclaimed, trying to open it to no avail.
“Why are you locking me in?” Lia asked, desperation seeping into her voice.
The agent walked toward the now-locked window, her fingers running across the lock. “I didn’t lock you in. The house did."
Lia was perplexed. Her hands began shaking. her heartbeat pounded against her chest, pleading for some kind of logical explanation.
“What?” Lia banged against the glass pane. “What the fuck do you mean? Let me out!”
The agent just smiled. “Once the house closes, it doesn’t open until it helps you. You are homeless. Take the house’s help.”
And just like that, she vanished into thin air.
The vast, barren land outside was now covered in shrubs and thick forests of trees. Unable to comprehend what was happening, unable to accept but strangely succumbing to the situation as if she wasn't thinking on her own free will.
When Lia turned back to the living room, it was completely different from when they had first entered. It now looked exactly like her mom's old living room.
As if something was controlling her, she walked towards the kitchen, where the whole tragedy in her life had started.
The sink.
Underneath it was where her dad had hidden the hammer he used to hit her mom. Lia was three, but she saw him leave it there. Years later, when she was old enough to report it, she checked, but there was nothing. No hidden compartment. Just an empty cupboard.
But now,
She pressed down on the spot she had seen her dad press down on so many times.
And there it was.
The bloodied hammer that ended her mom's life.
She grabbed it and ran toward the door, but the more she ran, the farther away it got. she sprinted until she could barely breathe, her grip on the hammer slipping, her heartbeat irregular, but she didn’t stop.
She just wanted to reach the door. she wanted to show the investigators that she wasn’t just some kid pointing at things. She wanted to show the world that her dad was indeed a monster.
Realizing she was getting nowhere, she threw the hammer at the door and screamed at the top of her lungs.
“Fuuuuuuck!”
She was hyperventilating.
“What the fuck is going on?” she asked no one in particular.
No answer.
Just eerie silence.
And that’s when she saw it.
A pile of books on the kitchen counter.
She walked toward it, her hand trembling as she reached for it. Everything began to feel like a dream she couldn’t wake up from, like she was trapped in her own body, forced to relive the moment everything fell apart—the day her world turned upside down, the beginning of all hell. The day she constantly dreamt about.
But this time, instead of the familiar unease that always accompanied this nightmare, she felt something different—satisfaction. Like she had finally achieved what she couldn’t when she was three. Like she had uncovered a secret her father had tried so desperately to bury.
The magazine in her hand was the same one her mother had been reading when she was planning to run away. Every issue dated back to 2003, and every house listed was a place Lia had lived in while being bounced from one home to another.
The first house, when she was ten, where her foster parent abused her for years.
The second, when she was twelve, where the father of the house tried to assault her.
The third, when she was fifteen, where her father, fresh out of prison, tracked her down and shattered the first sense of normalcy she had ever known.
The fourth, when she was eighteen, where she finally sent him back to prison.
Every place she had ever worked.
Every school she had ever attended.
Every home she had ever lived.
She dropped the magazine, suddenly feeling exposed. It was as if this place knew everything about her—every wound, every scar, every painful memory she had fought so hard to escape. Like she had no secrets. Like no matter how far she ran, her past would never be behind her.
“What the fuck do you want from me?” She demanded, her voice shaking. But the only response was silence. Heavy. Eerie. Suffocating.
She turned to search the house, desperate to find something, anything, but there was nothing. The upstairs didn’t even exist anymore.
And then, suddenly, the living room shifted. It wasn’t the house she had just been standing in—it was the house she lived in when she was ten. And now, the upstairs was back.
She climbed the stairs to the room she had once shared with six other children. And there, under the farthest left corner of the rug she used to sleep on, was the pocket knife she had stolen from her adoptive father.
It was like she was watching her own suffering unfold all over again.
Lia cried out when she saw her ten-year-old self slit her wrist with that same knife—only to immediately wrap a cloth around it, too afraid to die.
She watched her self jump out of a window just three months later, hoping she wouldn’t survive. But she did. And for that, she was beaten until she blacked out for four days.
Then the scene changed again. She could see her self in the house she lived when she was twelve.
And she watched as her twelve-year-old self struggled beneath the monster who dared to call himself her father.
Before Lia could stop herself, she was screaming at him—screaming for him to leave her alone. But he never did. Not until the pocket knife she always carried with her sliced off his ear.
Her hands were clammy, her breath shaky, and she could barely stand as the walls around her shifted again. The house she was in blurred into another—the one she had lived in when she was fifteen. She saw herself again, always scribbling in the red diary she carried everywhere. And there she was, scribbling once more when someone broke into the room.
A hand clamped over her mouth, its weight suffocating her. Darkness swallowing her whole.
When she woke up, she wasn’t really awake. She saw him walking toward her foster parents’ room, the glint of his weapon catching the dim light before he bludgeoned them to death. she screamed for him to stop. she pleaded. They were the only stability she had known since she was three. But she didn’t see me. She couldn’t hear her. Her voice was lost in the crushing weight of the past.
Lia saw herself running—bolting out of the house the moment she woke up.
Past blurred into present.
Her chest tightened. Her body trembled as the pain from the memory dragged her down, and she collapsed.
When she opened her eyes again, she wasn’t on the cold, hard floor—She was on a bed. A bed she recognized. The one from her Amazon wishlist. A small smile crept onto her lips as she realized it felt exactly how she had imagined. Soft. Comforting. A damp towel had fallen off her forehead onto the floor, and again, she noticed the rug in the room. It was room she always wished she had.
She got up and walked downstairs, the house wrapping around her like a warm embrace. It felt safe. Secure. Like the kind of home she had always wished for.
A place where she could have a stable family.
It was perfect a perfect house.
In the kitchen, a man was cooking. He turned to Lia with a smile.
“Hey, darling.”
She hesitated, confused. But somehow, she liked it.
Somehow, it felt... normal.
There was something unsettling in the air, but, like always, she couldn't question it.
She desperately wanted to cling to that illusion of peace and stability, that everything just seemed to fall into place.
To her? everything just made sense.
The man wasn’t just anybody—he was the guy she had briefly gone to school with, the one she’d once had a crush on.
“Mummy!”
A small girl ran toward her, giggling. “I made a picture, Mummy.”
Lia smiled, taking the paper from her. It was a perfect drawing of their family.
"You should take a shower. You reek," her husband noted, teasingly.
Lia giggled, jogging up the stairs. But as soon as she stepped into the bathroom, she hated it, she hated who she was staring at.
Her reflection stared back at her—tattered clothes still clinging to her body.
The house was perfect, everything was perfect.
But she wasn't. She was a stain in the world she wanted for her self.
Unease crept up her spine quickly stripping off the clothes, trying to rid her self of the filth clinging to her skin. She didn’t know why, but part of her wanted to run. The other part wanted to stay—to savor what she had never had.
She looked into the mirror again. But the face staring back wasn’t hers.
She recognized the person, it was one of the pictures the lady had shown to her. Specifically the one she chose.
She rubbed my eyes, maybe she was hallucinating.
Suddenly, a force slammed her against the wall.
A whisper shattered the silence.
It isn't the perfect house.
She screamed, terror clawing at her throat.
Bolting out of the bathroom, she collapsed onto the bed—her dream bed—but the voice wouldn’t stop. It echoed in her head, over and over.
Leave. Leave. Leave.
She could feel her strenght draining, her body sinking into the mattress with no way off fighting back, it was as if two of her senses were fighting against each other, she wanted to leave but she also wanted to stay.
She woke up again, with a loud gasp. The house was still the same. But this time, her husband was beside her, his arm wrapped around her protectively.
“Honey.”
But the voice wasn’t his.
It was distorted. Warped.
Lia jumped off the bed, heart hammering.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice rising into an unnatural pitch.
Lia backed away.
“Leave me alone! I don’t know you!”
But he kept saying it—over and over.
Honey. Honey. Honey.
Then his voice changed.
“You ungrateful bitch.”
Lia stumbled back. The floor beneath her grew slick, and she slipped.
She tried to get up, but something yanked her down. Some unseen force held her in place.
“I tried to help you,” he seethed. His face twisted, shifting—melting.
Step by step, he moved toward her, his form growing gaunter, his features distorting into something hollow and monstrous.
“I showed you that you can never have it better than this.”
Terror clawed at her chest. Her hands were raw from trying to climb up. She couldn't fight anymore.
As she loomed over her, his voice dripped with resentment.
“And yet... you still choose to yell at me.”
She let out one last scream before the darkness took her.
When Lia woke up again, her husband was right beside her, gently massaging her forehead with a damp towel.
"I'm sorry for yelling at you," he whispered calmly, and it was as if a thin veil had been lifted from her eyes.
She could see clearly now—he wasn’t her high school crush, and this wasn’t a normal situation.
Her shaky smile mirrored his as his long, slender, clawed finger traced her cheek. She bit her lip, trembling at every sensation, every touch.
"What do you want to eat?" he asked, his voice dripping with love.
"Anything," she replied with a smile, her hands clamped shut, hoping he wouldn’t see the fear clouding her eyes.
He didn’t. He simply got up and left.
Lia sprang into action, frantically scanning the room for something—anything—that could explain what was going on.
what was happening.
Nothing was out of place. Nothing gave her a clue.
The house was exactly as she had envisioned it.
But if the house was a reflection of her vision, didn’t that mean she could change it if she wanted to?
How was she supposed to do that?
How could she make the house understand that she no longer craved perfection—that all she wanted was to leave?
How was she supposed to escape?
She remembered—the illusion had shattered when she saw her imperfect self in the mirror. Clinging to that memory, she hurried back, standing before her reflection.
But this time, she no longer wore tattered clothes.
She no longer smelled of sweat.
She no longer looked out of place in the house.
What was she supposed to do now?
She rummaged through the drawer, searching endlessly for anything she could use to destroy the clothes she wore. Finally, she spotted a blade resting on top of the sink. It hadn’t been there a few minutes ago.
She reached for it, but her fingers passed right through. An illusion. A trick of her own mind. Useless.
Frustrated, she began tearing at her clothes, desperate to create an imperfection—something to shatter the reflection of the girl she had seen before. But when she looked at herself again, the hatred she expected wasn’t there.
She didn’t feel disgusted. She didn’t want to end it all.
A thought crept in.
What if she tried? Wouldn’t that be an imperfection too?
But there was nothing.
Her thoughts were a jumbled mess, tangled beyond recognition. The more she tried to think, the blurrier her vision became. She clutched at her hair, screaming silently.
Frustration. The only thing pushing her further.
Was she perfect? No. No, she wasn’t. She had never been perfect.
No. No. No. No.
"I endured every hell. I could have died so many times. I am not perfect. I am dirty. I am a mistake," Lia repeated over and over, her grip on her hair tightening with each word.
The thought consumed her. Imperfection. She needed it. She craved it. She was slipping—falling into the depths of something far worse than madness.
Her fingers trembled as she slowly began to pull ouut chunks of her hair, each strand tearing away with a mixture of pain and desperation.
I want to leave.
The house shifted. It heard. It hated.
She couldn’t leave.
She was the perfection it had been creating.
A deep, guttural roar rumbled through the house, a sound that felt like it had erupted from the core of the earth itself. It shattered every thought racing through her mind. The floor trembled beneath her.
Lia clung to the sink. There was nothing else to hold on to as the house groaned and shook.
"You belong here," a distorted voice whispered.
She clutched her head in pain, struggling to steady herself.
Again, the reflection appeared.
"Leave."
And just as quickly, it vanished.
"Run."
The word echoed in her mind, a desperate whisper that sent her bolting forward. She ran, faster and faster, her breath ragged as she watched the house stretch endlessly before her.
She ran. She ran.
Never leaving the spot. Never giving up.
Then, suddenly—movement.
She was moving. She could see the door.
She could open it.
She was outside. She was free.
A triumphant smile spread across her face. Her life had never been okay, but at least she had control over it. She owned herself.
And just as that thought solidified—everything shifted.
She never left. She never escaped.
A scream tore from her throat as she threw herself to the ground, slamming her body against the wooden floor. Over and over and over.
"I need to be imperfect. I need to be imperfect. I need to be imperfect!"
She ran to the bathroom, desperation clawing at her chest.
"Come out!" she screamed at the mirror.
She pounded against it, shook it violently until it came crashing down.
Imperfection.
She needed imperfection.
She hurled herself at the shattered glass, craving the bruises, the blood, anything to make her less… whole.
But what she never realized was that she was locking herself in.
And as she fell onto the shards, slipping into a reality she could never question…
Screaming as she was engulfed by miles and miles of darkness, she couldn’t scream, she couldn’t leave.
The house decided.
She can never be perfect.
