The incomplete human

I don’t know if I believe in things you can’t explain.
I used to think everything had an explanation. Maybe you just hadn’t found it yet.
I’m not so sure anymore.
When I was thirteen, I used to walk to school through the woods.
I had a reason for it.
There were a bunch of kids at school who liked messing with me. They’d follow me sometimes, laugh at me, make fun of me. Taking the longer route through the woods meant I could avoid most of them.
Looking back, I wish I’d just taken the road that morning.
I was probably halfway to school when I saw the house.
I’d walked through those woods almost every day. I knew the trails. I knew where the creek was, where the old fallen tree was, where the trail split in two.
There wasn’t supposed to be a house.
But there it was.
It was the strangest house I’d ever seen.
It was made of glass.
Not windows.
The entire thing.
The walls were glass. The doors were glass. Even the roof looked like it was made from some kind of dark glass.
And it wasn’t built straight.
The whole house leaned slightly to one side.
The corners didn’t seem to line up correctly, either. The longer I stared at it, the less sense it made.
I should have kept walking.
Instead, I went inside.
I opened the door and immediately noticed something that still bothers me.
There was no light inside.
None.
That doesn’t make sense. The walls were glass. The sunlight should have been pouring through them.
But the inside of the house was completely black.
Not dim.
Black.
I could barely see my own hands.
I stood there for a while, trying to convince myself to leave.
Then I heard someone laugh.
It came from somewhere deeper inside.
It was a strange laugh. High and shrill, almost like someone trying to imitate a human laugh without actually knowing how one worked.
I froze.
“Hello?”
The laughing stopped.
Then I heard footsteps.
Slow ones.
Coming toward me.
A man stepped out of the darkness.
He was wearing a black coat.
I couldn’t see his face very well at first.
Then he said:
“Congratulations, kid.”
I remember feeling confused more than scared.
“For what?”
He smiled.
At least, I think he smiled.
“You found the secret of the universe.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He laughed again.
Then he said something that still bothers me.
“In case you’re wondering, I’m the creator of this world.”
I thought he was insane.
“What?”
“This illusion you’re standing inside.”
He spread his arms.
“I built it.”
I didn’t move.
He continued talking like he’d been waiting years for someone to listen.
“I wanted to create something that could grow without me controlling every little thing. I wanted to see what would happen.”
“What?”
“Human beings.”
He looked toward the glass wall.
“I made them, and then I left them alone.”
He started walking around me.
“I wanted them to evolve. To fight. To love. To destroy each other. To build things. To tear them down.”
His voice sounded almost proud.
“I wanted to see what they would become.”
“Who are you?”
He stopped.
For a moment, he just stared at me.
“I’m not quite human myself.”
That was when I noticed his face.
Something was wrong with it.
He had a mouth, but it didn’t move the way a person’s mouth should.
His eyes were open, but they didn’t seem to move.
His expression never changed.
It was like looking at a human face that had been copied by someone who had never actually seen a human being before.
“I just am,” he said.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’ve always existed.”
I wanted to leave.
I started backing toward the door.
Then he said:
“There’s something else you should know.”
I stopped.
“Your family will die.”
I stared at him.
“You’ll die too.”
He took a step toward me.
“And there won’t be any way out.”
I ran.
I don’t remember opening the door.
I don’t remember running through the woods.
I just remember falling onto the ground outside.
And then I looked up.
That’s when everything changed.
For a few seconds, I couldn’t tell where I was.
I could see the trees.
But I could also see the sky.
And the Earth.
And space.
And things that I don’t have words for.
It was like I was seeing everything at once.
I saw how the universe began.
I saw stars forming.
I saw planets forming.
I saw life appearing.
I saw humanity.
I saw people being born.
I saw people falling in love.
I saw people killing each other.
I saw wars.
I saw civilizations disappear.
And I saw my family die.
I saw myself die.
I saw things that hadn’t happened yet.
Or maybe they had.
I couldn’t tell anymore.
Then I understood something.
Our lives weren’t really going anywhere.
We were completing something that had already started.
We were just another stage.
Another attempt.
Another step in whatever this thing was.
And that’s when I remembered the man.
The thing I had met in that house.
I suddenly understood what he meant when he said he wasn’t human.
He was incomplete.
Somehow, I knew that.
He had created humanity because he was trying to figure out what he was supposed to become.
He wasn’t looking for humans.
He was looking for an answer.
And somehow, I had seen it.
I had seen what was underneath everything.
I don’t know how long I stood in those woods.
Eventually, everything went back to normal.
The house was gone.
The woods were exactly how I’d always remembered them.
I went to school.
Nobody knew anything had happened.
I never told my parents.
I never told anyone.
What would I have said?
That I’d met the creator of the universe?
That I’d seen the beginning and end of everything?
They would have thought I was crazy.
For years, I convinced myself it had been some kind of hallucination.
A childhood nightmare.
Something my brain invented.
Until last night.
I’m thirty-one now.
Last night, I was looking in the bathroom mirror.
And for just a second, I saw him.
Standing behind me.
The black coat.
The same expressionless face.
I turned around.
Nobody was there.
When I looked back at the mirror, he was gone.
But there was something written in the condensation.
Three words.
I don’t remember writing them.
I don’t think anyone else could have.
It said:
YOU Are STILL INCOMPLETE.
And I think I finally understand what he meant.
The house wasn’t the secret of the universe.
He wasn’t the secret.
Neither was death.
The secret was that we’re all unfinished.
We’re all becoming something.
And whatever created us…
isn’t finished with us yet.