The Window

“Never open the window.”

That was the first thing I was told as soon as I walked into the bedroom. My new bedroom, my new home. It was a hotel, but still. It had been years since I was last here, but it was still one of my favorite places to go when life took a downturn. And it did. I lost my job, a job I worked at for three years, and what do you know when you lose your job? You book a flight and spend a week at one of your favorite hotels.

I looked around the room it looked exactly the same. Keeping to the theme of the hotel, it had the same Victorian-style decor, the same sheets, the same furniture. Except for the window, why wasn’t I allowed to open a window at a hotel!? I went over to the large curtains, studying its yellow and pink flowers. I hesitated, wondering if I should open them. Was there something there that they didn’t want me to see? With a shrug, I pulled the curtains aside.

Nothing out of the ordinary greeted me. The window gave a picturesque view of a field full of wildflowers, an oak tree stood tall and queenlike in the midst of them, mountains stretched in the distance. Leaving the curtains drawn, I went about unpacking.

It was subtle at first, the changes to the window. First, it was a sheep grazing in the far distance, something that happened once in a while, then a deer or cow. Simple things like that.

Then the oak tree disappeared, reappearing only when I went outside to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. I didn’t tell the hotel staff or anyone. They warned me, and technically, the window itself wasn’t open.

Then the oak tree grew flowers, not the typical flowers of an oak tree, not that I know if oak trees grow flowers. But these flowers were bioluminescent purple and drooped to the ground. Then, the oak tree wasn’t an oak tree anymore but a weeping willow with bioluminescent purple flowers.

Two days later, the scene outside the window changed completely. It looked like I was under the sea with colorful flowers and fish swimming around, minding their own business. I thought I was losing my mind.

What happened by the window was not reality. Every time I went outside, the scene was the same. The wildflowers, oak tree and mountains were always there. Only by the window did the scene change. I closed the curtains. I didn’t tell anyone.

It was peaceful for the remaining three days. I took myself to the beach, to a delicious dinner.

But then it happened. It rained. And it didn’t stop, and I had to extend my stay because of unforeseen circumstances with the weather and whatnot. It was that bad. So I stayed in my room. There really wasn’t much to do in a hotel, especially when you’ve already done everything the hotel had to offer. My phone was boring me to death, and walking around the hotel or watching TV was not as interesting after doing it repeatedly.

It started with the light blub; it changed from its usual orange glow to a light blue. I didn’t remember changing the lights, or maybe one of the staff did when I went walking. But I didn’t recall a problem with the lights.

One of the staff had octopus tentacles for legs. I blinked, and she was back to her two feet. I took the tray from her and closed the door harder than I wanted.

A fish swam across my vision at breakfast, but no one else noticed, not even the friend I made after we shared our woes of being stuck in a hotel, noticed. By lunchtime, it looked like I was living in an aquarium, but no one noticed. Not even when the table changed into a rock covered in moss. Or when one of the hotel staff wet from octopus to human repeatedly. Or when the entire house changed from a Victorian mansion to one that looked dilapidated and forgotten. No one noticed but me. Everyone seemed to go about their day as though everything was normal. I even tried telling my friend, who didn’t respond like she didn’t hear me. I even went as far as waving a hand across her face.

Terrified by what was happening, I grabbed an umbrella and went outside. That wasn’t a good idea. I got wet in under ten seconds. I went back inside to find everyone gone. Not even a teapot was left. I ran to my room, or what was left of it, and flung the curtains aside. It looked exactly as it was the first time I came. I turned back to my room, but it was the same as the rest of the hotel. Moss covered everything from walls to ceiling. Fish swam around gleefully. I didn’t even know where my suitcase was.

With much effort, I opened the latch to the window and threw them open, and nothing. Just the rain thundering down on the window. But the oak/willow tree had disappeared. But with how hard the rain was coming down, it probably was just my imagination. I furrowed my brow, staring out the window the rain getting through the open window and soaking me. If I jumped through the window, would it still be the same? I climbed over the ledge and jumped down, landing on the ground with a groan. The rain stopped like it was never there. I stood, not wanting to dwell on it. I looked back at the building, then took a few steps back and looked again.

How didn’t I notice this before!? It was exactly how it used to be. The staff was running around doing their business, people were talking and laughing. It would seem, unbeknownst to me, I became part of the scenery by the window without realizing it.