Day 139

Today's story is gone.
It is gone like your childhood memories,
your old school friends and your baby teeth.

These things are all in the same place.
The same dimension.
They are held hostage by the same being.

You will find the missing parts of your life
in a semi-detached house exactly 0.48 miles
from the park you played in as a child.

The house will have a tinted attic window
and the smell of your grandparents' kitchen
will linger in the air as if to draw you in.

Do not use the front door.
It will be open and a hand will wave you inside
but you must resist its allure.

The next few minutes are crucial.
You must draw two circles three feet from the
garden gate at the back of the house.

They must be big enough for you to put
one hand in each - doing so will open the back gate
and grant you safe passage into this domain.

As you enter the back gate you will be escorted to
the attic by two people who look like they could be
people you knew from school once.

The floor will be slippery and covered in a thick layer
of congealing blood.
You. Must. Not. Slip.

The stairs will be made of barbed wire, use the remains
of the failed others to tread safely upstairs.
There is only one door now, right at the end of the hall.

This door is not real, take eight steps backwards whilst
facing the not-door, you will feel a sharp chill down your
spine... you are now in the attic.

I can't give you directions from here, I never made it that
far, never got my lost pieces back.
I am like everyone else, like you are now.

Incomplete.

Apart.

Decaying.

Find your pieces.

Become whole.

Burn the house down.