No Home to Go Back To...

No Home to Go Back To

The clock read 3:00 a.m. when I woke, heart pounding and skin slick with cold sweat. Distant a wolf howling. The room was silent, but something felt off like a whisper just out of earshot. I sat up, I sat up, heart pounding. Something had woken me, but I didn’t know what. My breath fogged in the cold night air as I strained to listen. Was it just the wind, or was something moving in the shadows?

By clutched the blanket, trying to piece together why my chest felt so tight, so heavy.

There was no home for me to return to, no warm bed waiting. This was it squatting in forgotten places, surviving off scraps, and avoiding the prying eyes of strangers. But even this existence wasn’t safe. I heard it again: a faint creak, like a footstep.

There was no single answer, only the weight of too many things wrong. Memories surged unbidden, jagged shards of pain cutting through my mind. The faces of those who had wronged me floated to the surface, their smiles twisted with malice. Why wouldn’t they leave me alone? Why did the ghosts of the past claw at me in the dead of night?

I screamed into my pillow, trying to muffle the sound. But even my scream felt hollow, swallowed by the suffocating darkness. I stumbled outside to catch my breath. The air was damp and cold, the trees surrounding the house swaying like shadowy figures. A low wind carried a faint sound like whispers in a language I couldn’t understand.

“I just want to go home,” I muttered under my breath,

But the truth was clear I had no home. The people who had promised to love and protect me had cast me out, leaving me with nothing but scars and memories that wouldn’t stop clawing at my sanity.

The noises grew louder. A soft whisper seemed to brush against my ears. I froze, straining to make sense of the sound. It wasn’t just the wind. It was a voice low, guttural, and chilling.

“Come home,” it said.

The place where I should have felt safe had long been stripped away. The people who should have cared for me had shattered me, and left me in pieces. And now, I was alone. Truly alone. The only place that seemed to welcome me now was the cemetery, where I’d lie down six feet under, finally at rest.

My chest tightened. I scrambled to my feet, my head whipping toward the dark hallway leading deeper into the house. A faint glow flickered from the end, like candlelight. My legs felt like lead, but some force drew me forward.

As I sat on the porch, I felt something watching. My skin prickled, and I glanced toward the edge of the woods. A figure stood there, just out of reach of the moonlight. At first, I thought it was my mind playing tricks on me. But it moved.

The hallway stretched endlessly, the walls closing in. Shadows danced on the peeling wallpaper, forming shapes—faces I recognized. The people who had left me behind. Their eyes followed me, hollow and accusing.

“You’ll never escape,” their voices echoed in unison.

Slowly. Deliberately.

It stepped closer, its outline becoming sharper. My breath caught. It wasn’t a person—it was a shadow given life, its body a writhing mass of darkness. And then I saw its face: pale and familiar.

The whispers grew louder, surrounding me, suffocating me. The only peace I would ever find was six feet under. I collapsed to my knees, tears streaming down my face, as the shadows closed in. It was me.

A grotesque version, twisted with rage and sorrow, its eyes burning with a hatred I couldn’t escape.

“You’ll never go home,” it hissed, its voice dripping with venom. “There’s nothing left for you. You’re nothing.”

I stumbled back into the house, slamming the door shut. My reflection stared back at me from the hallway mirror, but it wasn’t me it was it, grinning, mocking.

The whispers grew louder, filling the room. They weren’t from the outside; they were in my head, and they wouldn’t stop. The screams I’d muffled earlier now burst out of me as the walls seemed to close in, the air thick with despair.

I ran to my bedroom and curled into a ball on the bed, trembling, tears streaming down my face. I wanted to believe this was just my mind unraveling, but the weight of the figure’s words crushed me.

I had no home to go back to.

The whispers reminded me, over and over: that my only home would be a cold, dark grave. And as the shadow seeped through the cracks of the door, I realized I wasn’t just haunted by the past. I was becoming it.

Reflection

This story is a chilling exploration of the toll isolation and loss take on the human psyche. The protagonist’s descent into despair mirrors the experiences of those who live on the fringes of society, battling both physical and emotional demons.

The abandoned house serves as a metaphor for the protagonist’s shattered sense of self a place once filled with life, now empty and decaying. The eerie noises and ghostly voices blur the line between internal turmoil and external threats, reminding us that unresolved trauma can manifest in terrifying ways.

Ultimately, this tale leaves us with a question: How do we find hope when we feel there is no place left to call home? While the protagonist's journey ends in darkness, it challenges us to seek connection and healing before our own shadows consume us.

Jacob M