no idea

I don’t know the day or even the season. I only know that suddenly I was "there", in that house. The light was that soft milky white that it sometimes appears in the late evening just before it becomes completely dark. The windows were open and there was slight breeze that lifted gauzy thread bare curtains only to let them settle once again. The rugs were worn and stained. The wood floors had been abused over many years.
All of this was absorbed before I really took a breath. The hallway before me was impossibly long and might once have been described as "grand". Closed doors lined either side giving me a uncomfortable almost claustrophobic feeling. The walls were covered with wall paper that was hopelessly stained and torn. It was impossible to determine the original color or pattern. Even after running my finger across it the color still appeared to be a muddy beige. The air was stale and I tried not to think about what I might be breathing in.
My children were small and that made me a bit sad because they are not anymore. I could hear their excited chattering drifting through the rooms of the old house. I suddenly knew that for some reason this was going to be my house. I was not happy or excited at the prospect. I was filled with dread. I did not want to be here.
As I turned to follow the sound of my children I realized that every single door was open where only moments before they had been firmly closed. I decided to ignore it mainly because I was too scared to investigate. Suddenly I was standing in a small nook beneath the stairs, stairs that appeared to lead nowhere as the house was a sprawling one story monstrosity.
This overly large cubby hole was obviously intended as some sort of kitchen but was really only a glorified galley. It could not possibly be of any real use for a house this size. It contained an ancient refrigerator and stove, both with broken handles. The sink was rust stained and the miniscule counter was covered in a thick layer of dust. I was resigned to paper plates and a wrecking ball.
I could hear my husband talking to the children. It seemed that they had each staked out a room for themselves. I found myself standing in a small hallway with bedrooms leading off in every direction. I felt like I was standing in the center of a tower of some sort. I found my daughter in one of the bedrooms. It appeared to have been left abandoned hastily by its former occupant. There were linens on the bed and clothes hanging in the tiny closet. 
My daughter, amazingly enough, was about 9 years old. I was torn between soaking up her beaming childish beauty and exploring the room. Then I noticed a pair of shoes near the chair by the window. One was tilted on its side as if the owner had discarded them only moments before. There was an antique brush and mirror on the dresser. It reminded me of the one my grandmother had when I was a little girl.
I really did not like the feelings that were washing over me but I tried to dismiss them. I didn’t want anything to damage the excitement the kids were obviously experiencing. Then I saw a small sitting room, really a glorified closet, just off the bedroom that Lauren had chosen. There was a mattress on the floor. When I looked at her she shrugged and said that it was for Sam. For some reason she didn’t want him to be too far away from her. It was sweet, completely out of character, but sweet. I could understand the desire to protect him.
When I turned I saw him standing in the doorway. My baby was about three years old, all blue eyes and pale brown curls that made me ache to hold him. I could easily scoop him up into my arms where now I have to look up to meet his eyes. He turned and ran into the room across the hall.
I followed him and when I stepped into the room I couldn’t help but notice that it wasn’t as bright as the room Lauren had chosen. I reached behind me to flip on the light switch and almost wished that I hadn’t bothered. The room was in desperate need of a thorough cleaning. Dust covered every surface. There was a man’s suit hanging on a nail. The iron bed was beneath the window. A chest of drawers and a rocking chair with no arms were the only other furniture in the room. The closet was filled to the ceiling with stacks of paper. It appeared to be newspaper and old letters. There was no method to the storage system if you could call it that. When I tried to look at one of the papers I realized that the whole lot was wedged in there so tight that I would need a lot more time and patience to remove it.
While I was standing there contemplating the closet a feeling of foreboding settled in my chest. I actually rubbed my breast bone in an attempt to ease the sensation. It didn’t help. The moment that I decided to leave the closet for another day the heavy oppressiveness simply disappeared. The more time I spent in the house the more certain I became. I did NOT want to be here.
Each of the bedrooms leading off that bizarre hallway was basically the same. They were dusty and appeared to have been left just as they were many years ago. The personal objects that one would expect to find in almost any bedroom were still there. A brush, a comb, a handkerchief all had their place. I felt very odd standing there. It felt as if we were unwelcome intruders and that the rightful owners would appear at any moment.
It then occurred to me that the house must be a hot mess architecturally speaking. A tower without a second story? A hallway long enough for six rooms to lead off either side and wide enough to drive a horse and buggy down the center? A kitchen that would have been more appropriate for a doll house? All of the inconsistencies and just plain weird details were giving me a headache.
I found myself standing at the far end of that long wide hallway. I have no memory of walking. I only know that I was suddenly there. I could still hear the sound of children laughing and talking but it seemed to be coming from a great distance. That uncomfortable feeling was back. My chest hurt. I didn’t want to walk down that hallway but I had to in order to reach my children.
I took a deep breath and began walking. As I passed each room I felt compelled to glance through the open doorways. I was shocked at what I saw. The first room was occupied by a very old hospital bed. The occupant of that bed was so old that she appeared to be little more than a skeleton. Her hair was white and the little tufts stuck out in all directions. I shouldn’t be here. I felt like I should apologize. She looked at me with a mutinous expression.
I quickly glanced toward the door across the hall. This one was occupied by an elderly man. He was wearing black trousers and white t-shirt with gray suspenders. He was in the process of sliding his feet into a pair of crimson bedroom slippers He glanced up at me and scowled. His grip on his cane tightened until his knuckles turned white. I got the distinct impression that he would have chased me with that very cane if he had been physically able to do so.
Each room held more of the same. It seemed that I had stumbled upon some sort of "home" for elderly residents. The occupants were not only shocked by my presence but appeared to be downright hostile. I could see their lips moving but their words were lost.
Suddenly all of the forgotten "treasures" made sense. This had been their home and apparently still was. My children didn’t belong here anymore than I did. They were no longer the babies of my memories. Even my baby was a teenager. Nothing made sense. I didn’t want to invade the home of someone else. I didn’t want to live with that nagging fear that had taken up residence inside of me the moment I found myself in this place. I really didn’t want that hideous excuse for a kitchen.
I opened my eyes and looked at the clock. It was just after 3 am. It was then that I heard the faint meowing of our cat, Sebastian. He wanted to be let inside. I just hoped he didn’t have another dead mouse for me. I realize that he is trying to please me by showing his "skills" but I would really rather he found some other method.
I have mulled this whole thing over for the last few days. I still have no clue as to the meaning of any part of it. Maybe I ate something that didn’t quite set well with me. Maybe I have stress overload. I really don’t know. It was just too bizarre not to share.