The Tiny House (Short Story)

note: I enjoy writing and do it often, but this is my first time posting one of my stories anywhere as well as my first time writing something in the horror genre. I recently started listening to creepcast on my drives to work and I got inspired. So I hope you all enjoy it and let me know what you thought of it

I know many of you won't believe this, but I don't know what else to do at this point. I need help, the problem is I don’t know exactly what anyone can do. Let me just start…

It was a typical Thursday in the mid-July heat as I walked out to my shitbox I call a vehicle. The flyer was tucked beneath my windshield wiper blade, a glossy contrast to the grime that coated my windshield. “Tiny living, Tiny home!”, it read in bold font with a picture underneath of the most adorable little home I’ve ever seen. It was a true tiny home: about 10 feet wide, a small pitched roof, a little front porch, and even a little window flower box filled with tulips and daisies. Almost like it was straight out of a storybook about gnomes.

I almost tossed the flyer, but something about it just gripped me. Midwest suburbia isn't exactly the place that has a gem like this just sitting around. Maybe it was the novelty of it, especially after my wife left. Leaving the big house empty and dull. The rooms now felt like empty caverns, a tiny home felt almost… comforting. Not to mention a lot less to take care of, a perk in itself.

The address was only a few blocks from my home, strangely enough I’ve never heard of the street. Even more strange is, what would a tiny home be doing nestled in a suburban neighborhood? No mind, why not go check it out for myself anyways. What else did I have to do?

As I drove up the newly paved asphalt on the brand new cul-de-sac they were adding, there it was. A perfect little doll house, nestled between the lot of the typical cookie-cutter homes surrounding it. A sign staked in the neatly trimmed front yard read, “Open House, Come Inside!”. Looking back I never paid attention to the fact that there was no realtor, with their typical smiling face with crossed arms plastered on the sign with it. I walk up to the house and step on the porch, hearing no sounds inside. I opened the door that was slightly short for me, making me chuckle from the ridiculousness of it all. I duck my head down a little and go to step inside. I wish I never did.

What I can only describe as the worst migraine in human existence hit me. It was like a swarm of wasps in my brain, desperately stinging to get out. I stumbled forward into the house and hit the floor with a hard thud. As the pain subsided, it left my head swimming. I looked up, no longer a home that was tiny. I thought I was hallucinating. The ceiling of the entry room soared over my head, at least twenty feet high. The entry room stretched out before me, the sunlight shining through the massive windows making the dark hardwood floor shine with an amber glow. I could damn near fit my entire house in this room. “This is fucking impossible”, I muttered out, my words echoing as if I was on top of a mountain.

My heart began to race, my earlier amusement quickly replaced by fear… maybe even worse: doom. “HELLO”, I yelled out, the only response I received was my own echo. I got up and returned to the door. Its cutesy appearance now replaced with a massive ornate oak door, the handle far out of my reach. Even if I could reach it, the handle was massive and it had an intricate looking lock. I decided to try my luck elsewhere, turned around and start walking deeper inside the house.

The air felt different here, heavier and stagnant. The silence that cast in the house felt strange, almost as if the house itself was holding its breath. The entry room was sparsely furnished. All the pieces were oversized and antique. A fireplace with a massive leather armchair and coffee table to match sitting next to it appropriately. The pit was large enough to roast a whole cow in, assuming the cow was still my size in this place. This felt less like a home, more like a country club for giants.

Driven by unease or need to find an escape, I began to explore the house. The hallways are long and seemingly endless, aligned with doorways on either side. Each doorway that I could peak into, the room was equally large and adorned with the same style furniture. A four-poster bed the size of a semi. The bathroom had a massive claw-foot tub. The dining room with a table that could sit twenty and the attached kitchen with an old wood style oven, yet to my dismay it was devoid of any food. Every room meticulously clean yet had absolutely no personal touch to speak of, it reminded me of an oversized bed and breakfast.

I don’t know if it was the extreme silence that was finally getting to me, but I could swear I was hearing the walls whisper. Every step that made the wood creak would echo back as if the home was mocking me. The impending doom of my situation was begging to set in along with the panic, was I going to die here? My phone of course had no signal. The window sills, too high for me to even waste my energy to reach. As my desperation started to set in, I began to yell. Banging against the walls and screaming in a foolish attempt to get anyone, or anything, to respond. Once again, only the sound of my echo played back to me like a song stuck in your head.

As darkness began to descend, the house took on a new, more sinister character. The shadows danced, turning familiar shapes into terrifying colossi. The air grew cold and I swear I could still hear my echoes whispering in the distance, although I may have just been going mad. Hunger gnawed at my stomach and thirst parched my throat. Sleep was impossible, everytime I would almost doze off it felt as though a million eyes were on me. My mind raced with the impossibleness of it all, and the fact that this place is sure to become my oversized tomb.

The morning didn't come soon enough, the massive rays of dawn filtering through the giant windows did little to lift my spirits. “Focus idiot”, I hoarsely said as I slowly stood up. My body was stiff and aching from the cold and lack of any discernable sleep. I decided to find a way out, anything that would give me hope for escape. I began systematically moving room to room, searching everything I could reach within reason. The walls were solid, the only doors were the obvious ones that only lead to more of the same.

As the day wore on, I began to give up on any hope of finding escape. The feeling of being watched intensified, I felt as though I would catch glimpses of movement in my periphery only to turn and see the vast expanse of walls and windows. Then just as I went back to where I had started in the entryway, something caught my eye.

“The fireplace dumbass”, I said to myself, my echo repeating it back mockingly. I quickly moved over the fireplace and climbed up inside the pit and looked up the stack. It seemed as tall as Mount Everest, and might as well have been as weak as I was. “FUCK”, I screamed out, and for the first time I heard another sound other than just my echo. A light dusting of dirt hit the floor next to me. As I turned and looked, my eyes lit up as if I just had found the holy grail itself. There nestled between two cobblestone rocks, was a hole just big enough for me to crawl through.

Without hesitation or any modicum of planning I dove in. I begin to crawl with renewed vigor. The earthy smell of damp soil was a stark contrast to the stale air of the house. Ironically in this moment it was a breath of fresh air, even though the hole was tight enough to give cave crawlers a panic attack. I clawed and scraped my way forward even when the feeling of claustrophobia threatened to overwhelm me as the tunnel seemed to go on forever. I don't exactly know how long I crawled, in the pitch black it's hard to put it together the concept of time. All I know is that I will never forget the feeling I had when I saw the smallest amount of light ahead.

I emerged from the hole on the side of a grassy hillside. I stood blinking in the bright sunlight as my eyes adjusted, overlooking a vast and unfamiliar landscape. Rolling green hills stretched out before me, dotted with quaint villages that resembled nothing of midwest corn country although they were at least normal sized. Where the hell was I?

I pulled out my phone... roaming. “Well that is a step better than none”, I said to myself and for once I didn't hear that damn echo back. It gave me a weird sense of relief to not hear it. I walked, well stumbled, to a nearby road and made way to the nearest visual of civilization I could find. As I approached I read a sign that made my blood run cold ‘Welcome to Connemara, Ireland’. “Fucking Ireland! HOW?!”, I commented as I turned around looking at where I came from. No house, tiny or otherwise. No hole that I just spent an eternity crawling through. Just the expanse of Ireland's rolling green countryside.

I still don’t understand what happened, I don't know if I ever will. I'm writing this in a small pub. I suppose the locals took pity on me, given the state I looked in, at least providing me with a bath, clean clothes, food and a beer. I don’t know how I am going to get home with no passport to my name but all I know figuring this out is far better than still be trapt… there. So if you even slightly believe me, any help would be appreciated. I would rather not be homeless in Ireland and I am exhausted beyond words. Thanks.

-Jack