[spoiler]This is a series where I spin my dreams into short stories. For the sake of storytelling some elements are fabricated but for the most part, this is what I saw[/spoiler] My parents are strange. Even as an impressionable young child I could see that. I never quite took to their outlandish teachings. My bedtime stories filled my dreams with the apocalypse on Mars and prophecies foretold by ancient priests of no god. Other kids got to go to church with their parents, I sat outside in a circle of stones while my parents begged at my feet for a gateway to open. They always believed I was something powerful. They’d tell me I was “given form to take humanity through the rift” like all the other dead planets had done. At school I was taught to read and share crayons with other kids, at home I was spoken to like some other entity slept within me. Aside from our odd belief system and “creative” choice of home decor, I was able to feel normal most of the time. I had friends, I did well in school, and as I got older my parents seemed to let up on me. For a time I hoped they’d finally accepted that I was just a person, with no destiny to change the world via “the three keys” that Mom never shuts up about. Then we moved. It was sudden. Dad didn’t lose his job, Mom wasn’t unhappy. We packed up and left in a matter of days. I don’t think we even sold our house. We drove to Utah, of all places. Typically, my parents chose the strangest house they could find. A huge, 4 story mansion straight out of the 70’s. The interior had obviously remained unchanged since it was built. Every room was carpeted and wallpapered with neon. The low ceiling of my bedroom brushed the top of my hair, but I still preferred this room to the weird kids nursery my mom tried to get me to take. Every wall was decorated with water stains and splatters of a rust colored drip. The unsound bones of the house shifted endlessly, creaking and sending flurries of dust into your eyeballs and nostrils. I got lost within the maze of rooms frequently. I wondered why we uprooted our life to live here, unemployed, in a strange old mansion that we likely couldn’t afford. Until one night while wandering the dark halls to find my lost room again, I heard my parents talking. [i]“We just have to give him more time. I’m telling you, he can open it. Do you really want to be at work when that happens?” “Of course not! But we need something to live on until it does! It’s been months and he’s made no attempts to even LOOK for it. I thought being here would…I don’t know…trigger something in him! He must feel it, even I do.” “I know, I feel it too. It’s not exactly a NICE feeling…I can’t help but wonder if maybe that’s why you want to get out of the house more…” *smack* “Don’t you EVER question my priorities!” [/i] My mother’s voice was strangled with rage, I got the impression this fight was a regular occurrence. [i]“Wendy, he can do it. I know you believe that. The Judettes believed it too. We must trust them.” [/i] I should’ve guessed. This house is just another attempt to unlock my interior god. A quick google search told me that Judette’s Lovers, a 30 piece cult, built this mansion in 1972. Aside from being prolific figures in the American drug trade, they dedicated their religious focus to the end of times, or as they called it; “Earth’s second cycle.” All 30 members died after drinking cyanide during ritual in a room called “The Nursery of The Undoer” Their bodies were not discovered for 7 months. Google images told me that the nursery is the very room my mother wanted me to take. I wasn’t sure if I should feel betrayed, or stupid for not expecting this of them. After every attempt to distance myself from my parent’s creepy ideas, I now live in a cult house built on them. Curiosity led me to the basement, and into the Nursery of The Undoer. Aside from housing 30 cultist’s bodies for 7 months, this room was nothing out of the ordinary, except for its size. Carpeted like the rest of the house, with two above-ground windows to let light in, the room probably stretched across half the house. I suppose the space was necessary for a comfortable cult ritual. The walls were decorated with huge cartoony neon-green and lilac purple flowers, two colors I find quite comforting. I thought maybe I’d feel uneasy, or creeped out by this room knowing what happened within it, but it feels more peaceful than the rest of this horrible house. I can’t hear the beams creak all the way down in the basement, the thick walls don’t reek of decay, and I’ve lost my mom’s constant mutterings beneath the 3 floors. I joked with myself that maybe the “god” within me was finally at home. I turned once to get another look at this odd room before I go, but as I did, I noticed another door. I must’ve looked past it as I walked in, but I couldn’t see how as it was right in front of me. It was painted green like the flowers, with a little circular window. Not unusual for someone’s front door, but strange for a basement. Even stranger, the window looked painted over from the other side. It was poorly covered in a maroon shade. I could see light within. To anyone else this might’ve felt unsettling, but I couldn’t explain it. This room was urging me on. I opened it. Not slowly like those jump-scare setups in horror movies. It even banged the wall as I swung it forward. Beyond was…an identical room, except the purple flowers were now cherry red. I inspected the door behind me. What I thought to be paint was now clearly dried blood, spread in thick brushstrokes across the window and door. I remained unfazed. I got the sense that I was meant to keep going, and this bloodied door was nothing to deter me. Sure enough, there had appeared another door. Same as the first, but with no window. Through this door was yet another nursery. Ignoring the fact that this was architecturally impossible given the great size of these rooms, I noticed that I could no longer see anything but white light pouring in through the basement windows. The flowers on the walls were now painted grey, and in the corner was a small child’s bookshelf. I couldn’t care less about books right now, there was another door. This door was different. A great steel push-door like the ones at school. It’s rectangular windows were once again painted over from the other side in blood. Turning back was not an option, the thought didn’t even cross my mind. I shoved the door open and stepped through, it hissed and gave a metallic click as it latched shut. This room was far different. In fact, this room was not real. It couldn’t be. I was in a pool hall. It closely resembled the pool from school, but everything was somewhat off. This wasn’t the same place at all. I scanned the new environment, still with less concern than I should have felt. The bleachers had been folded against the wall, the lane lines put away. There was no sound save for the distant hum of pool heaters echoing throughout the eerie hall. I was startled by a whistle. It’s shrill scream cut through the dense atmosphere. Seemingly at the whistles command, a door on the farthest end of the pool burst open. A man emerged, marched over to the lifeguard chair and sat, looking at me expectantly. But he couldn’t be looking at me, because this man had no head. He was wearing red shorts and held a rescue preserver. From the neck up there was nothing. I could feel him watch me, despite having no eyes. He was waiting for me to take a dip I suppose. I didn’t exactly want to. [i]“N-no thank you.”[/i] I squeaked. I was beginning feel uneasy, the way a normal person might immediately react when stared at by a headless lifeguard. Once again I felt compelled to move forward, this room was no longer welcoming. As I expected, another door has silently materialized opposite the other. Keeping my eyes on the lifeguard, I hastily made my exit. This new door was a heavy faux wood swinging door. It was half-covered with a frosted glass window, the color of which suggested more blood. This room was an unreasonably large bathroom. Every surface was tiled white, the fluorescent lighting reflected off the polished surfaces and gave the room a divine glow. At the long row of sinks, a man washed his hands. He wore a business suit, and had no head. Unlike the lifeguard, he paid no attention to me, but washed for an extensive amount of time. I waited for a moment wondering if he’d stop, but I noticed his motions seemed to be looped. I don’t like that at all, I needed to leave. And there’s my door.