The house continues to settle quietly. I hadn’t even considered that there was another way to go.

Night is still here, the sun hasn’t risen. The doors don’t open. The windows don’t break. I even tried cracking the drywall with a mallet I found, but sure enough, it didn’t do anything. All I have is my flashlight, my journal, and a pen.

I decided that the best course of action for me would probably be to map out the house. A set of stairs here, a doorway there, nothing complicated. There’s a living room, a kitchen, an office, another living room, another kitchen- wait.

This place is looping on itself. And I don’t mean that as in I’m going around in circles, I mean I make a left turn and then a right and I should be in another room but I’m back in the hall. This is not right, obviously.

Outside the window, there’s not a single soul. No cars ever pass by, none of the neighbors are ever awake. At the end of the street, there’s a sign for the neighborhood. “Seven Pines” it says. It’s lit up by an ominous orange light. Ever since I was a kid, that sign and its mystique has intrigued me.

Still, I’m alone in the house. It’s quiet, yeah, but I think it’s better than not being alone. If someone else was here, I think I’d have much bigger problems.