I took out my earphones. The echoing pulsations of the bassline lingered for a second. I turned to lock the door with my key and all I could think about was sleep, the safety and solitude of my king-size bed.
I began to scan to the house. Everything was exactly how I left it. The controllers from my XBox were still lying on the floor after making them fall from the table in a rush. My half eaten bag of crisps that I’d probably have tomorrow. I had done this visual scan every time I came home from work, not as a precaution, more to reinforce my sense of control over this reasonably well furnished palace of a house. I was too tired to play a video game, so I went upstairs. I found myself in the entrance to the hallway that led to my abode. There was a chill in the air, but the cupboard was near my room so I would put the heating on. I dumped my bag on the laminate floor and it landed with a muffled clank, due to the studs on the base. I was now standing still and staring down the hall, stretching my back. I composed my senses.
Something did not feel right.
It was what I could hear, or rather what I couldn’t. The deep, repetitive, immediate impact of my boots against against the hard floor filled the house with the sound of activity, the lingering vibrations of my music had long since passed. I tried to tune in to what I was hearing in that moment but the house was immensely quiet. It felt unnaturally still. White noise of cars outside or of ticking clocks couldn’t be heard, but it was something I was used to.
It was if the silence felt deceiving.
The overthinking and the still present cold made me shudder, but I then noticed what was really bothering me in that hallway. In my autopilot mode, I do my scan of the living room, and then I head to the hallway to go to the third door on the left hand side which is my bedroom. You can alway tell by the first glimpses of the the rooms of its role. The first door is a bathroom, as indicated by the sight of light reflecting off the cream, glossy tiles in the shower. The second was a large closet, due to glimpse of brown shelves and a Calendar the Beatles on it. The month was December, and they were skiing in the picture. My room had a cream carpet, and a cat novelty doorstop.
I couldn’t see any of these things, for all of the doors were shut. I never shut the doors.