Dream House Read Online Free

last night, this time without her black umbrella but with a pair of thick tortoiseshell glasses framing her petite face. Staring up at me, she once again raises her finger, then—without taking her eyes off mine—pulls her arm back until it is pointing towards the half-open gate.
    The wrinkles on her forehead deepen, forming an expression of acute distress.
    â€œHow can I help you?” I finally manage to say. “Would you like to come inside?” I gesture with my head to the warm parlour.
    But by the time I turn back to her she’s gone again, and the gate is closed.
    I shut the door, wondering why on earth this strange woman keeps appearing. But not for long, as soon my thoughts turn to worrying about getting something to eat and finding a bathtub to wash myself in.
    I remember reading “Bathroom” on a door right opposite the door to the cellar earlier on, so after snacking on a packet of crackers I find in one of the kitchen cupboards, I grab my pyjamas and set off in that direction.
    There I am again, back before those three doors—but this time I open the one to the right and start preparing for a well-deserved bath.
    I dump my clothes on the floor, turn the hot water tap full on, and, once the tub is full, lower myself into it, feeling myself relax for the first time since my arrival. The sensation is so sweet that I go one step farther: holding my breath, I let my head slide beneath the surface. With the water caressing me more closely than anything has in a long time, insulating me from the confusing outside world, I can hear every single movement my body makes.
    I can’t remember the last time I felt like this. So calm, without a single thought in my head.
    It truly is the sweetest moment I have experienced in the last few days—until it’s ruined by the bathroom light suddenly going out with a little fizzing noise, leaving me in what would be complete darkness were it not for the window high over the tub.
    I don’t want to let this get to me—I need this tranquillity to last a bit longer. And so, repeating to myself “It’s totally normal; there’s nothing to worry about,” I leap out of the water and flick the switch a couple of times until the lights come back on and I can climb back into the lovely hot water to enjoy another fifteen minutes of peace.
    Finally, when I’m on the verge of dozing off, I reach over the side of the tub and grab from the rack a large bath towel, which I quickly wrap around myself. And as I do so it occurs to me that I can’t stay here. The food is going to run out soon if nobody comes back, and there’s no sign of those regular everyday things you need, like a toothbrush. . . .
    Except that there is.
    A third, brand-new toothbrush, still in its unopened packet, is sitting right there in the glass near the sink, next to two others that have evidently already seen a bit of action.
    That’s lucky.
    I pull it out and put it to use, relishing the minty flavour of the toothpaste in my mouth before spitting out the frothy water and taking one last good look at myself in the mirror, where I see that I’m still looking exhausted.
    Then I leave the bathroom and climb into my soft bed.

DAY 4
    I N THE middle of the night, I’m awoken by a noise coming from somewhere inside the room.
    Inside my bedroom.
    I screw my eyes tightly shut and hope that it will go away.
    It doesn’t, of course. It’s still there—a sound like something scratching, scratching incessantly.
    I force my eyelids open and peek out over the covers to try to get an idea of where it’s coming from, only to realize that its source is much closer than I’d thought: it’s coming from inside the wardrobe.
    I clutch the top of the blanket tightly, and the scratching sound abruptly vanishes, leaving me staring at the wardrobe’s closed doors until, a few seconds later, somebody starts crying—so softly it