The Impossible Room

The house stood at the corner of a fairly quiet residential street. It was tall and old fashioned, with large windows and a heavy metal knocker on the front door. The yellow shingles that covered the sides of the house were in slight dissonance with the dark green tiles of the roof, and part of the gutter where the rainwater collected had become dislodged during a violent storm. The grass had not been tended in the months the house had been unoccupied, and scraggly bits of crab grass had begun to inch their way over the stone path leading up to the front porch.

Despite these minor imperfections, George could not believe his luck in procuring the home for his own. It was spacious and sturdy, located in a private section of a good neighborhood, and the asking price had been unreasonably favorable. He'd later found out that the affordable cost was due to certain unsavory circumstances surrounding the death of the previous owner, a 64-year-old bachelor who had starved to death in a store room on the second floor. He’d been dead for some days by the time the neighbors had phoned the police about the odor. There were no signs of a struggle or of the man having been locked in the room, leaving the officers who had responded to the call baffled. Still, the story did not deter George. He had received a rather generous and unexpected $20,000 bonus at his law firm just before he'd taken note that the house was for sale. The timing was too fortuitous to ignore.

George made his way up the walkway for the first time, dragging his meager suitcase behind him. The rest of his belongings would be brought over by a moving truck later in the day. His stomach growled as he made his way up the steps, reminding him it had been a good many hours since breakfast. Once he was settled in, he would have to scan the neighborhood for a good take out option. He certainly wouldn't be equipped for cooking any time soon.

He pushed open the heavy oak door and made his way into the front hall, which was a bit drafty, but well lit by the sunlight spilling in from the large front windows. The hardwood floors creaked a bit under his weight but otherwise seemed in perfect condition. The wallpaper was dark blue and beige in a sort of criss-crossing design that did not at all suit George’s tastes. He made a mental note to change it at his earliest convenience before turning and making his way up the stairs.

His journey led him down a narrow hall towards the bedroom. Halfway down he stopped, his attention captured by a small door on his right. He assumed this was the infamous storeroom where the house’s previous owner had met his end. George stooped down and turned the worn, golden doorknob. The hinges creaked as the door swung back, revealing a small space into which George could barely squeeze his tall frame. It was dank and musty, the faint smell of death lingering even though the room had presumably been scrubbed repeatedly in preparation of George’s arrival.

George was about to turn and leave when a small object at the center of the room caught his eye. Bending down for a better look, he discovered that it was a wrinkled twenty dollar bill. One of the unfortunate souls involved in the removal of the body and the subsequent tidying up must have dropped it. Twenty dollars would certainly fund his dinner for the evening, George thought. Smiling to himself, he shoved the bill into his pocket before making his way back out into the hallway and closing the door behind him. He reclaimed his suitcase and made his way into the bedroom to unpack the few bits of clothing he’d brought along.

Over the next few days, George's remaining belongings arrived and he began to unpack in earnest. He had forgotten what a wretched chore it was to move into a new home, and found himself longing to be finished with the whole business so that he could finally relax and unwind. As he made his way through box after box, George began to find himself with a surplus of belongings and a shortage of space. He decided he would make use of the second floor storeroom. The slight unease he felt at the thought of it's sordid history was overridden by his disdain for clutter. So George gathered up the mess of cardboard boxes and dragged them down the hallway to the small room he hadn’t re-opened since his first day at the house. He clutched the rounded doorknob and gave it a tug. The door stuck a bit, but with a more concerted effort he managed to wrench it open.

For a moment he stopped, not quite sure what to make of what he’d found inside. Abandoning his boxes in the hallway, he made his way into the room. It seemed somehow larger than the last time. He didn’t even have to bend himself over to stand comfortably upright. There was a fuzzy peach carpet lining the floor, where George could have sworn it had been hard and bare before. And strangest of all, pushed up against the far wall was a television with what appeared to be a video game system connected to it.

Moving further in for a more thorough inspection, he found it to be a console he’d had as a child, a game he’d played quite often as a boy already inserted. George was absolutely baffled. He hadn’t had anyone over during the course of the week and, as far as he knew, the door to this room hadn’t even been opened in that time. Yet as he stood puzzling over these new developments, he suddenly found himself with the undeniable urge to play the game in front of him. Thoughts of impossibility set aside for the time being, he sat crossed legged on the floor and picked up the controller.

By the time George had grown tired of playing the game and made his way back into the hall, he found that the sky had already grown dark. The boxes, still abandoned from this morning, remained strewn across the hall. George, suddenly struck with the realization that he had neglected a large pile of work that was needed at the firm the next day, left the boxes where they were and rushed downstairs. Before he went, he shut the door to the storeroom tight behind him, leaving the small mystery unsolved for the time being.

After a night spent playing catch up, George dragged himself into work the next day, groggy but still on schedule. The boxes remained in the hallway where he’d left them for the better part of the week, busy as he was with other aspects of his life. He did his grocery shopping and phoned his mom. He put in long hours at work and became infatuated with Jenna, a new coworker at the firm who seemed determined not to give him the time of day. Life continued on as usual.

George began to leave early in the morning so he could stop and pick up two cups of coffee, playing it off as a casual, friendly gesture. Jenna always smiled gratefully as she accepted the cup, but did nothing more to deter or to encourage him. He tried to be witty and charming around her, but could feel himself failing to make an impression. Years of honing his focus away from romance and onto his law studies had seemingly dulled his abilities with the fairer sex.

By the end of the week, George had finally worked up the courage to ask Jenna out for drinks. He spent the better part of the day rehearsing the phrasing in his head and jotting down some of his wittier lines in a small black notebook so he wouldn't forget them. Yet when the moment arrived and he gave the speech just as he’d rehearsed it and with as much charm as he could muster, she told him that he was a sweet guy but that she didn’t date her coworkers. George went home disappointed and a bit resentful.

The next day was Saturday, and the prior day’s trials had caused George to wake up in a terrible mood. He slept until noon and then dragged himself out of bed, deciding to make the day into his own private pity party while he nursed his wounded pride. As he was stumbling down the hallway in his groggy state, his foot found one of the boxes he’d left lying unattended for several days and he stumbled. He hopped up and down for a moment, cursing profusely, and kicked the box again for good measure. Frustrated, he clutched the handle of the storeroom door and pulled at it, but found it resisted even more than the last time. His patience wearing thin, he tugged with both hands until it gave way and swung open, sending George stumbling back a bit with the force of it.

He expected to find the television and video games in the same place where he had left them, yet what he saw instead robbed the air from his lungs. As he crossed the threshold all sense of time and place left him, and he was standing in a bedroom that was not his own. On a large canopy bed, tangled beneath deep red sheets and looking more than pleased to see him, was Jenna. As though in a trance, George crossed the room towards her. She was staring up at him as though she had been waiting impatiently for his arrival. He was completely captivated and in the process of removing his shirt when the door swung shut behind him.

It was sometime before George regained his faculties. He awoke with a start from what he assumed was a fairly racy dream, only to find Jenna still asleep beside him in an unfamiliar bed. The full weight of the situation came crashing down around him all at once, as though he’d very suddenly remembered something very important. He stumbled from the bed, twisting to untangle his right leg from the sheets as he went. He made his way back to the door, pausing only momentarily, then yanked it open and vaulted himself through the archway.

He blinked in confusion as he found himself standing back in the hallway of his home. He turned to look behind him, but the door was already shut. George stared at it for a long time, unable to process the impossibilities he’d just witnessed. He was tempted to reopen it, but something stopped him. He considered telling someone else about it, but again he found himself unable. There was a voice in his head telling him that he shouldn’t, that whatever this was, it was meant only for him. He shook his head, still in a bit of a daze, and told himself that he would look further into this later on. There was no need to do anything rash. After all, if he let anyone else know about what he’d found they’d want to rope it off, take it away and study it. No, he would be certain of what he was dealing with before he took any further action.

The boxes still lay in the hallway where he’d left them. Deciding they would never see the inside of the storeroom as he’d previously intended, he dragged them one by one back to his bedroom and decided he’d deal with them later. He was grateful that it seemed he hadn’t lost any time while he’d been in the storeroom. It appeared to be roughly the same time of day as when he’d entered.

It wasn’t until he went downstairs and turned on the news that he realized it was Monday.