He looked around blearily, and his eyes widened. He didn't usually remember falling asleep, but he definitely didn't remember going out anywhere, and this wasn't his house. His had small rooms and sombre furnishings; this was a large living room, with two white armchairs and a couch neatly arranged around a fireplace. Cheery orange and yellow cushions caught the bright sun shining through the large bay windows. The air was heavy, warm, and still.
Getting up seemed to take an inordinate amount of effort. When he finally stood up, he noticed a thin layer of dust on everything in the room, even where he had been lying. The carpet felt thick and warm under his bare feet.
The silence pressed in upon him. Curious at the lack of noise - a novelty, as his house overlooked a motorway - he walked to the window and looked out. A neat lawn greeted him, bordered by high suburban bushes and topped with a bright blue sky. The shrubbery was inordinately tall and thick, and seemed to tilt in towards the house. Nothing moved.
Determined to find out where he was, John turned around and looked for an exit. The front door, on the other side of the fireplace, was a white, cheerful affair with large textured glass panels letting in the light, but it appeared to be locked. He turned around and walked through the open doorway opposite to find a bright yellow kitchen with black and white tiling, and an equally locked back door. The rear window overlooked another lawn, although this was bordered by looming trees, and much darker. Frustrated, he returned to the front room, the kitchen linoleum alternating between warm and cold as he passed through the shadows cast by the trees.
In the corner of the front room was a staircase. He briefly considered looking upstairs, but dismissed the idea not only because of the implied rudeness to his unknown hosts, but because he spotted the outline of a door in the wall at the bottom. The thought of abandoning exploration and calling out a greeting entered his mind and quickly left again, chased by the oppressive silence.
After a great deal of pushing the door suddenly opened without a sound and John fell through, the thick carpet cushioning his landing. He got up to find himself in a similarly shaped front room to the first, and though the arrangement of the furniture was a little different, the decor remained very similar. Here the flowers on the wallpaper were red and pink roses, not white.
The bright colours pressing in upon his eyes, John made his way to the window. The carpet felt no thicker, but was heavy with sensation, enveloping the soles of his feet as he moved. He began to notice a change in the silence - it had a solidity to it, as if in preparation for sound. The view from the window was identical to the first house, and still nothing moved.
Frustrated, he turned and headed for the front door. The dust hung in the warm still air, illuminated by the sunbeams that leaned in through the textured glass. Looking through he indistinctly saw the hedges casting shadows suggestive of three figures - two large, one small. Although unmoving, the figures throbbed with potential. He fumbled with the door, and was almost relieved to find it as locked as the first one.
Opposite the wall he had entered through was another staircase, with another door at the bottom. As he approached he noticed intricate carvings on each baluster, the shapes suggestive of smiling faces. The air behind him began to take on an oppressive feeling, as if he were being followed, but a hurried glance proved otherwise. After significant exertion the door opened silently and, though he was prepared for the sudden movement, he still fell through.
The thick, dusty carpet held him uncomfortably close. John carefully stood up on leaden limbs, his skin invaded by every carpet fibre touching the soles of his feet a little too long. The bright cushions of this room seemed especially offensive, and his head began to ache. Squinting against the insistent sunlight, he stiffly made his way directly to this house's front door. On the walls, faint faces formed by the spaces between the flowers leered at his passing.
Behind the textured glass there was nothing but greenery. The dust hung in the air as the sunbeams forced their way through, and for the first time John noticed the quiet sound of his own breathing. It seemed oddly slow and laboured. As before, the door refused to open. He felt a change in pressure to one side, and apprehensively turned towards the window, the glare of the sun narrowing his eyes.
As his vision cleared he saw three approximately human figures - one small, two large - on the nearest edge of the lawn. They were a little too rounded, neckless, and still. He overcame his fright long enough to see that they looked like oversized matryoshka dolls, with glossy, cheerful painted faces. They were tilted forwards such that they leaned into the window, all facing one spot behind the couch. He felt a heaviness in the air in that spot, and ran for the open doorway he had come through, back to the previous house.
Immediately the heaviness of the air increased, and with the change in the air, the solidity of the silence moved into sound. It was powerful but barely audible, as if it were a very loud noise very far away. The wall faces stared with barely contained mirth as John barreled through, his bare feet still silent on the clutching floor.
As he ran, something flickered in the corner of his eye and he turned to look at the second room's couch. Just behind it stood a five-foot figure, too ovoid and too still to pass for human, its glossy face tilted towards him, its wide grin threatening to burst out of its paint. Beyond it, a much larger figure was frozen mid-lean, peering in to the side of the window.
The sound gradually became louder as he kept running, on to the first room, until he recognised it as a continuous scream. The first room was darker now, the sunlight blocked by a dozen glossy faces pressed up against the window, staring in. He wanted to add to the scream pressing in from all sides, but his mouth refused to co-operate. The carpet greedily sucked at his feet with each step he took until he could no longer move and stood, mute, in the centre of the room.
Movement flickered in the corner of his eye, and he fell into darkness.
John awoke with a guilty start. He'd fallen asleep on the couch again, and Emily was always telling him that was bad. He felt a familiar weight next to him and slowly opened his eyes to a small room with sombre furnishings. Sighing with relief, he sat up, which seemed to take considerable effort, and turned to apologise for drifting off again.
Expecting the stern expression that usually preceded a scolding, he was surprised to see a placid face leaning over towards him instead. Her bright, glossy smile mocked him as his world sank back into black.
