The House We Couldn't Leave

I didn't dream last night.

Or at least I don't remember dreaming.

But when I woke up, there was dirt under my fingernails.

And my pillow was gone.

I checked the floor

Nothing.

Checked the closet. Nothing.

Even checked under the bed, half-hoping it had just slipped between the wall and the mattress.

But it wasn't there.

The pillow was gone

And something else was wrong.

There was a faint smell of paint thinner in the air.

And my fingertips—raw.

Almost like I'd been scrubbing something for hours.

But I hadn't.

I was sure I hadn't.

Right?

When I looked in the mirror, for a second—

Just a second—

I thought I saw someone else.

Same face.

Same eyes.

But… a little softer. Younger. Sadder.

And behind her eyes, something I couldn't name.

I blinked, and the mirror showed me again.

Just me.

At breakfast, Sofi sat at the table, silently counting the forks. She kept whispering numbers like they meant something, but when I asked, she just said, "I have to get them right."

Aria wasn't eating. She held her spoon like a weapon.

Tara had her eyes half-closed and muttered something about "repeating stairs."

No one seemed entirely awake.

I wasn't either.

Later, I went to the attic.

I don't know why.

No one ever wanted to go there. It was full of mold and broken boxes and furniture too heavy to be carried back down.

But something tugged at me.

Not physically. Just… pulled

So I went.

It was cold.

The kind of cold that makes your skin crawl even when you're sweating.

I stepped over a cracked trunk.

Moved a birdcage filled with old, brittle hair ribbons.

And there it was.

A box with my name on it.

Not "Mina."

"Marin."

The moment I saw it, my stomach flipped.

I knew that name.

From somewhere deep.

Like it was mine

Or maybe used to be.

I opened the box.

Inside: a journal.

The leather cover was cracked, but soft in the middle—worn, like someone had held it a thousand times.

I opened it.

First page:

Marin Solene - Grinbridge, Year ???

There was no date. Just question marks.

I flipped further in.

Page after page of familiar handwriting.

My handwriting.

Even the way I looped my lowercase f's.

But it wasn't mine.

Because I never wrote it.

Except I remembered writing some of it

Only… not as me.

"The others are forgetting again. I saw Tara pass me twice in the hallway today without looking at me. I think she's looped again."

"Sofi asked what day it was. We don't have days anymore. The house stopped counting them."

"Reya drew a map. It changed while she wasn't looking."

"I think I'm the only one still holding on."

"They'll turn me into her again. I can feel it. They want me to be Mina."

"I am NOT Mina."

I dropped the journal.

Stumbled back.

It felt like I was watching someone else's breakdown through my own eyes.

But the panic wasn't unfamiliar.

The phrases.

The fear.

The tension behind the words.

They felt like me

They felt like now.

I picked it back up.

The back of the journal had a flap, like a secret compartment.

I pulled it open.

Inside: a photograph.

A group of girls standing in front of the house.

Eight of them.

Not six.

Not even seven.

Eight.

One looked like me.

Exactly like me.

But her body language was different. Straighter. Shoulders back. Confident.

There was something else in her face, too.

Hope.

She was labeled on the back: "Marin – final try."

Final try?

I looked at the rest of the photo.

There was Tara.

Sofi.

Reya.

Aria.

Lina.

Two more I didn't recognize.

One had Naomi's eyes.

The other had a sharp, sly smile—like she knew how this would end.

There were X's scratched over two of the girls.

Not through their faces—just above them, like a count.

The rest were intact.

Marin—me?—was the only one circled.

I didn't realize I was crying until a tear hit the corner of the photo.

I wiped it quickly.

The journal closed in my lap.

And I whispered:

"I don't want to be her again."

But I didn't know which her I meant.

On the way back down from the attic, I passed a mirror that shouldn't have been there.

It was cracked in the middle.

But it didn't show me.

It showed her.

Marin.

Same face.

Same posture as the photo.

She mouthed something.

Five words.

No sound.

But I understood.

"Don't let them change you."

Then the mirror clouded.

And my reflection returned.

Shaken. Smaller.

Still me.

For now.