There was once a house sitting all alone. It sat surrounded by planes and dead chopped up trees. It sat all alone waiting for a day it would find a friend.

One day, a man came to the house. He was someone who had lost everything and everyone he ever loved. He was alone, just like the house.

The man moved in to the small red house, wishing to find a new start.

When the man entered the small house, he noticed the crimson red paint on the walls were just like the ones on the outside. He walked across the creaking wooden floor to see what was in his new house. There was a large open area with a old green sofa and a old tv that seemed to be hollow inside.

In the house there was a shelves full of antique porcelain statues. A kitchen with a fridge, a stove, a cabinet, wooden chairs that would creek when you sat on them and a pristine wooden table that looked brand new.

There was a bathroom with a bathtub and a first aid kit.

In the house, there where also two doors. One green and one blue. The man opened the blue door and saw small space with a bed, a desk with ink and paper, and a shelf that was covered in dust and cobwebs. The only source of light in the room was a small square window. When the man opened the green door he was met with a very, very small and cramped room. Barely big enough for one person. In the room hung a light bulb that shined brightly, even though there where no light switch in the entire house. The light bulb illuminated the only other thing in the room. A painting.

A painting of a woman dressed in a wedding gown staring out into a pond.

The man closed the door and went to bed. Since it seemed he had spent the whole day discovering his new house.

The next day, the man opened the fridge to see if there was something to eat. Though when he opened the fridge he was surprised. It seemed so much bigger on the inside than it did on the outside. It went so far back that it seemed like two grown adults could fit in it.

The man closed the fridge since it had nothing for him to eat.

The man turned to the white door to leave the house so he could go get food. But there was no white door. Instead of where the white door should be, there was a red door, blending in with the houses walls.

"How strange." Thought the man.

"I could have sworn that the door was white."

The man opened the door, expecting the cold morning winds of the outside he was instead met with a hallway.

The man swore in confusion upon seeing the winding hallway.

He quickly closed the door and headed to his bed chambers. For he knew he could get out of the window there.

When the man opened the blue door to his sleeping chambers he saw now that where there once stood a window, was now replaced by a painting showing the outside world.

The man swore and rushed out to the living room. However, with each step the man took to the living room windows, he seemed to only get further away. The man now sprinted as fast as he could. Yet he got no closer to the window. But he knew he moved for the distance to the blue door was so far away.

The man then rushed to the kitchen and saw that the windows there where replaced with poorly made drawings of windows. They looked like a child had painted them.

The man swore and shouted and punched the wall. He punched and punched wanting to break out. But all he did was stain the wall with his bloodied and broken hand.

The man winced and remembered there was a first aid kit in the bathroom. So he headed to the small Yellow door to the bathroom. Except the door was never yellow, and it was never this small.

Nevertheless, the man opened it and saw the bathroom. He crawled through the door and opened the medkit.

He poured some rubbing alcohol to disinfect it. The man knew it would sting. But not burn as it did now. He looked down and saw his hand had seemingly started to melt. Panicking, he took the bandage and rolled it around his hand. But with each layer I felt like his skin was being punctured by a thousand razors.

He looked down on the bottle of rubbing alcohol and noticed that the label was no longer the same. Hydrofluoric acid it read. The man then noticed the bandage. There where now small thorns on it. Like those on a rose.

"How did I not see this before?" The man thought.

He tried and tired to pull the bandage of but it was stuck on his skin.

The man crawled out of the door again and was now standing in the small cramp room with the painting. But the painting was different. The woman looked at him, and she was weeping.

Weeping for him.

Weeping for she knew what was happening to him.

Th man turned around and opened the green door behind him. Leading him to a hallway full of mirrors and paintings.

He ran through it and saw the kitchen from before. He was relieved to be able to sit down for but a moment. Though when he did, the chair started to scream. The man jumped up, putting his uninjured hand on the table to keep him on his feet.

Though the wooden table seemed to move under his hand. For it was no longer wood. It was a mass of swirling worms and insects.

The man screamed.

He ran and ran but the house just kept on stretching.

Then the man heard something.

A whistle.

A melody that brought him to tears.

But why?

Why did he cry?

Was he sad?

No.

Was he happy?

Definitely not.

Then why?

Not matter, the man was relived. For he now knew he wasn't alone.

He followed the whistling. Down the hallways, corridors and new-found stairs and ladders.

For in the distance he saw a shadow. A shadow of a person wearing a coat and hat.

He ran and ran, and eventually caught up. When the man looked up to see who was here with him, with him in this nightmare, he cried. For in front of him was an open door. A door of no color the man knew. It lead to a room full of paintings that seemed to stretch on forever.

They all showed different things. One showed a mountain, another showed a woman in a pit and one showed the house he was now trapped in. One showed the man looking a door he had not seen. In fact many of the paintings showed the man. In scenarios he had never been through and some that he had been in the past.

But what haunted him the most was the painting right in front of him. it showed a person, wearing a leather coat and a hat. On the parts of the person that showed its flesh, one could see markings burned into it.

But no matter how much the man tried he couldnt see its face.

In the hailstorm that was the echoing whistle that came from the strange painting, he heard the sound of a door open beside him. The man stood up, and walked back out into his living room.

A room with no windows or doors out.

So the man wept. Falling to the floor, he wept and wept. Screaming and cursing, but nothing could help him. For his voice was drowned by the whistling melody, and the house now happy.

For the house was no longer alone.

For the house now had a friend.

A friend it would never ever lose.