THE_WALLS_ARE_BREATHING

  I went into the woods because I was sure something was there. I don’t remember deciding to. I remember my shoes getting wet. I remember the smell of pine and rot and how quiet everything gets when you go just far enough that the house can’t see you anymore. I thought if I found it— if I looked straight at it— it would stop hiding. I kept hearing movement that wasn’t syncing up with my steps. Branches shifting where there wasn’t wind. Something pacing me just out of sight. Then someone said my name. Not from the house. From the trees. I couldn’t see a face. Just a shape between the trunks. Too tall to be nothing. Too still to be an animal. I remember thinking  it learned how to stand like a person . I yelled for it to stay back. It didn’t. I don’t remember picking up the branch. I remember the weight of it in my hands like it had already been there a while. I remember swinging because my body was already doing it. The sound was wrong. Not wood. Not leaves. Then everything wen...

Ā̶̺M̶͍͑ ̵̻́A̸͖̎W̶͖̃A̴̩̔Ķ̴̅Ë̷̳.̵̄͜ ̷̛̣ ̵̤̌I̴͎͒ ̶͙̊H̷͉͋A̸̗͘V̶̠̾E̷̥̋ ̷̖̀B̵̘̔Ȩ̸̽E̶̩̐N̷̞̂ ̷͉̏A̵̛̘W̵̦͠Ä̴́͜K̶̦͠E̶̲̚.̵͉̚ ̸͕̌ ̷̦̍T̴̥̚H̵̳̚E̶̪̎ ̴̖͝H̵̛͙O̵̟̅Ų̶̈́S̷̩͐Ê̸̲ ̶͆ͅÌ̶̻S̶͕͂ ̴͓̾Q̵̣͋U̶͓͝I̴̻͐E̴̤̎T̸̠̅ ̷̹̆B̵̗̅U̶̬͋T̵͙̈́ ̷͍́I̸͙͊T̷̳̉ ̵̰͛Ḭ̶̓S̶͍̒ ̶̣͑N̵̈́ͅO̵̲̐T̷̹̈́ ̵̔ͅȨ̴̎M̶̹̎P̷̞̉T̵̹̐Y̵͕̑.̸̰͝ ̶̝̅ ̶̙̈́I̶̳̐T̴͉̏ ̵̩̈́I̵̗̒S̵͓̈́ ̸̣͒Ȟ̷̟Ơ̸̡L̴͎̾D̴̪̍I̸̤͊N̶͙̓G̸͉͗ ̴̯̀Ḯ̸͈T̵̪͗S̴̰͠ ̸̻̈B̸̥̐R̷͖̉E̸͔͂Ạ̸̋Ť̷̙H̷̯͗.̶͉͒ ̸̯̕ ̴̝̂Ī̸̡ ̶̳̍C̴̣̓A̶̧̒N̸̙͗ ̵̰͗H̸̊͜E̷̲̋A̴̖͠R̵̙͋ ̵̯̊T̶͙͘H̵̫̽È̸͖ ̷̝̃W̸̻̃Ŏ̵̦Ő̶̗D̵̗̊S̵̠͛ ̴̻͝F̸̪̍Ṟ̸̂O̵̬̿M̴̰̄ ̶̳͠H̸̢̔Ȅ̵̥R̵̪̋Ê̸̬.̶̮͛ ̴̨̃T̴͕̔R̴̘̅Ë̸̤́E̸̘͗S̷̡̅ ̴͉̾D̵̜͝Ŏ̷̦N̶̯̿’̴̪͠T̵̙̀ ̵̬͂Ś̴͖Ọ̵͑Ṷ̶̎N̵̬͒D̸̥́ ̸͜͠L̶̜͊I̶̯͝Ǩ̴͖Ḛ̶̒ ̵̻̾T̸͚͠Ḧ̴͎́A̴͔͂T̸̩̾ ̴̗̃W̴͑͜H̶͖̾E̸̲͠N̸̻̒ ̴͓̍T̷̙̄H̴̪͋Ẹ̵͛R̴̜̈́Ȇ̵͖’̷̲̂S̸̹̉ ̶̣͛N̷͖̚O̵͓͊ ̸̪̀W̴͙̾I̶̜͒N̵̦̍D̴̫́.̴̤̽ ̴̳̉T̷̼͂H̵̽͜É̸̙Ỵ̸̓ ̸̹̄S̷͔̀O̷͍͠Û̸̟N̵̼̾D̴̝̂ ̵̽ͅL̸̘͝I̶̼̎K̵̲͒E̴̜̾ ̶̠̈S̷̭͂Ȯ̸̟M̸͕͆E̴̦̒T̴̺̽H̸͓͗Ȉ̷̗N̷̮̕G̶̡͛ ̵̹͒Š̶̰H̶̤̅I̷̢̋F̶̻̄Ṯ̴̐I̶͎͠N̶̠̈́G̴̨͒ ̵̳̃Ị̵͝Ţ̶̕Ş̸͆ ̷͍͛Ẁ̵̧E̷͑ͅỈ̴̪G̸̯̔H̴̯̀T̷͇͐.̶̙̽ ̶̂͜ ̸͓͂T̴̜̆H̷̺̃Ẹ̴͠R̸̡͑E̵̝̔ ̴̬͠I̸̧̎S̶̻͠ ̴̹̋S̵͍͘O̸̪̒Ḿ̴̯E̵̝̿T̶̘͊H̴̲̊I̵͚̓N̸̡̍G̸̻͆ ̸̢̚B̸̳̍Ë̷̢́H̷͉́Ì̵̗Ṅ̷̠D̴͌͜ ̸̫̋T̵͉̓Ḫ̶̛E̴̠͌ ̶̣͠Ḩ...

apparently i was sitting in my driveway last night. cody told me this this morning, like it was a normal thing to say. said it had been raining. said i was just sitting there, on the concrete, not doing anything. i don’t remember that. i remember going to bed. i remember the house being quiet. i remember checking the locks. i do not remember the rain. when i asked how long i’d been there, he said he wasn’t sure. said he didn’t want to scare me. this is where i should say something important. i didn’t know until today, but cody deals with schizophrenia. he told me calmly, like it was just another fact. he also told me about the way he checks things—using his phone camera to make sure something’s actually there. he said he checked. said he pointed his phone at me. said i showed up on the screen. that’s the part that won’t leave my head. i keep trying to tell myself this is a misunderstanding. that he misread the situation. that i forgot something simple. but i don’t have any memory gaps ...

i didn’t sleep. not really. i stayed up until around 6am reading. forums. archived posts. medical sites. anything that looked even remotely relevant. sleep paralysis. stress responses. environmental illness. old posts about houses that make people sick. most of it contradicted itself. the rest felt like people trying to name something so it would stop being scary. i finally fell asleep when it got quiet outside. no cars. no birds. just that dead stretch of early morning. woke up at noon. my body felt heavy, like i’d been underwater. the house was still. too still. i checked the walls. they weren’t moving. that almost bothered me more. i don’t feel rested. i feel like i missed something. i’m going to try to sleep tonight. i can’t keep doing this -edwin

  I got home a an hour ago… coffee was fine. cody was normal. i was normal. i took my shoes off at the door. sat down. turned the tv on. didn’t even make it through the intro. i had to run to the bathroom. i threw up. no warning. nothing tasted wrong. nothing smelled wrong. i wasn’t nervous. i wasn’t sick. when i came back out, the tv was still on. the house was quiet. not calm. just… waiting. i sat back down anyway. i don’t know why my body reacted like that. i don’t know why it happened right after i got home. i don’t like that it only happened here. — edwin

  i woke up this morning. couldn’t move. couldn’t speak. my chest felt heavy, like gravity had picked a side. the walls were breathing. slow. steady. familiar. then i noticed it. at the foot of the bed. it didn’t have a real shape. just a person-sized shadow where a person shouldn’t be. no edges. no detail. like the absence of light decided to stand upright. except for the eyes. two of them. open. watching. they weren’t glowing. they weren’t bright. just visible enough to know they were there. just clear enough to know they were looking at me. it didn’t move. it didn’t touch me. it didn’t have to. the pressure on my chest got worse when i looked at it. like it noticed i noticed. the walls kept breathing. in time with it. like the room was holding me in place for it. i tried to look away. couldn’t. tried to focus on anything else. couldn’t. time stopped working. my fingers twitched first. then my hand. when i could finally move my head, it was gone. no footsteps. no sound. just the ...

i saw something today. someone named raisa. her walls are breathing. the same way mine do. the same slow swell, the same pause before settling. she didn’t ask me anything. she didn’t send a story. just a video. proof. you can’t see much. a dark hallway. a hand pressed against the wall. but you can hear it. the wall inhales, holds, exhales. steady. alive. unmistakable. there’s a rhythm to it that mine doesn’t have. hers almost feels deliberate. underneath it, a heartbeat. faint, but there. constant. i replayed it. tried to listen for patterns. i muted the sound. the wall still moves. it doesn’t need me to notice. it doesn’t need me at all. i haven’t replied. i don’t know what to say. acknowledgment won’t fix anything. and maybe that’s the point. we’re not alone in this. but that doesn’t make it better. it just makes it bigger. — edwin

I tried to put the house up for sale today. I filled out the forms. typed the address. uploaded photos. triple-checked the lot number. clicked submit. the website rejected it. not with an error. not a glitch. just… nothing. i tried again. same result. the “confirm listing” button didn’t respond. the fields erased themselves. the page reloaded. the address was still mine. i tried a different site. nothing. the county records? still me. the realtor? said “you’re good to go,” but when i showed up they had no record of my listing. it’s like the house… doesn’t want me to leave. not violently. not threateningly. just… subtly. like it knows i thought about moving. like it’s making sure i stay where i’ve always been. while i was trying to figure this out, i noticed a Reddit page called  “Is_Edwin_Okay?” someone is… watching. talking about me. my house. my logs. i don’t know why it exists, but i will be making a page of my own soon. maybe documenting what happens there will help me… underst...

I’m starting this blog because something is wrong with my house. I know how that sounds. I don’t care. This is not a creative writing exercise and it’s not a metaphor . If it turns into one later, that’s on me, not the walls. THE WALLS ARE BREATHING. Not like lungs. Not in a horror-movie way. It’s closer to how a building settles, except it happens too often and it reacts to things it shouldn’t be able to hear. Before anyone asks: no, I’m not on anything yes, I checked for gas leaks yes, I Googled it yes, I regret that I live alone. I’ve lived here long enough to know the normal noises. Pipes . Wind . Neighbors pretending they don’t slam doors at 2 a.m. This isn’t that. It mostly happens at night, when everything else stops moving. The wall behind my bed will… adjust. Like it’s making room. Like it’s correcting something slightly off. If I get up, it stops. If I put my hand on it, it stops faster. That’s the part I don’t like. I’m not scared. I want that on record. I’m annoyed. I work,...