I must be going insane. That’s why I’m here, I’ve simply gone insane. The house was sold seven years ago. From what I’ve heard the owners remolded it beyond recognition, they turned this room into a bathroom and painted over my yellow walls. I don’t know what color they are now.
The stairs still creak in the same spot as I take careful steps, not wanting to slip in my sock feet. I stop to test the railing, and it’s still loose in all the same places. My dollhouse is still sitting in the empty family room, a spider’s nest hanging from the pink plastic ceiling. I shudder at the sight, I’ve always hated spiders.
In the next room, the green carpet cushions my feet. There’s no way this is real. The same green carpet, the same stained spots where it’s slightly sticky to the touch? I think I see something moving out of the corner of my eye. Just the slightest movement, but when I turn to face it there’s nothing there. I’m still alone.
The old grandfather clock chimes from the top of the stairs. That clock’s been broken for as long as I can remember. I run through the kitchen, and into the foyer to find some creature, shadows covering most of its small face and body. It’s almost childlike.
Suddenly it falls down the stairs, and that’s when I recognize it. As it tumbles down, limbs thudding against each step, I remember falling down those stairs until I caught myself on the banister. I play the role of my mother and swoop in to save the poor thing. I comfort her, and wipe away her tears, warning her to never play on top of the stairs again.
If the thing is supposed to be me then who am I? I take it into the living room where it sits, whimpering, as I hold an ice pack over its tiny head. Maybe this is the part of me that misses being little. Maybe this is the part of me that just wants to go home.