The House of Change - Part Seven

With a deep breath I turn away from the mirror, letting my hands fall to my sides as I slump my shoulders. Despite not wanting to admit it Emma was right, I needed her phone at the very least to properly communicate with her and maybe if I could get Mark's help we could rip open that door once again.

Pacing nervously back into the hotel bedroom I begin to look around, swallowing hard as I look over the clothes in the duffel bags. As I look at the two messy bundles of clothes spilling from the black and white bags respectively I can't help but wonder if Mark's clothes would fit me. He was only a little shorter than myself, and certainly better built, so they would easily cover up my shivering naked form. However, a subtle worry fights back against the thought as I wonder how he would react to that.

"He didn't notice anything..." I mumble before devolving into a coughing fit, cutting my sentence short as my voice grinds and shifts painfully. Rubbing my neck with my left hand, noticing a subtle softness slowly coming through at the tips of my fingers, I glance over at the soggy wet bikini with a grimace.

The House of Change - Part Six

 He cocks an eyebrow at me, glancing around the room a little as if looking for something or noticing that something was off.

After a pregnant pause he finally speaks up, "I thought you were just having a shower after the seaweed thing before heading back to the beach" the young man explains, a slight mocking smirk spreading across his lips as he remembers whatever incident he was referring to.

The House of Change - Part Five

As I step through the threshold of the strange doorway the world spins around me, my head swimming in a vague sense of vertigo as my footfall appears to linger in motion for longer than it should. It was like I had become suddenly grossly intoxicated, my vision warping and lagging behind me as my stomach churns nauseatingly with my body threatening to lose my lunch with each passing second.

However, as I feel the worn carpet under my boot on the other side every snaps back into clarity with a disorienting lurch. I stumble forward slightly, a scant few droplets of sweat resting on my brow as I try to force the memory of that intense nausea from my mind. With my stumbling steps I lean against the thick wooden door, the large block of sturdy-feeling antique structure flexing at the hinges as I place my weight on it as the other side mirrors the strain.

As I collect myself I realize the room I was in was...off. While I had exited my room through a door on the left side of my room I had emerged into Emma's room...also on the left. It was as though we had both been set up in the same room, with each other's abode only appearing to be mirrored while on one side or another.

The House of Change - Part Four

"I'm Emma" she states with a deep breath, her momentary deflation dissipating as she quickly recovers her imposing and confident bearing. "And that's my mom and...and...she died three months ago."

With her statement, there is a pregnant pause as it feels the air is drained from the room. I stand there dumb-struck, watching as the tall slender young woman tries to maintain her imposing and dignified posture despite the roiling emotions twisting her up inside.

"I..." I manage to stammer, the gears in my head grinding to a halt as I try to square up what she is saying with the reality of our situation. The whole idea of a long-lost sister was still on the table, but then why did she think my mother was dead? Why had my mom responded to her so casually, wouldn't she have been surprised to hear a girl's voice on the call? "That's..." I begin to croak, my sentence being cut short by the young woman supposedly named Emma.

The House of Change - Part Three

After taking a second to compose herself, her slouched dainty shoulders returning to their proud bearing, she glares back down at me. Growling at me her voice drips with a mixture of fury and nausea, her words needing deep breathes between them as she tries to fight back the urge to vomit.

"You...fucking pervert..." she growls, her eyes narrowing as she glares down at me in disgust. Her voice is purely melodic, the sort of sing-song voice you'd expect from a Disney princess despite the rage burning within her words.

The House of Change - Part Two

My bag is nowhere to be found, my heart sinking as I wonder if this is a two-way mirror or even just a simple window. On the other side and inside the other room I spy two poorly packed duffel bags, a wet gray bikini on the carpet, and a plastic tiara.

I can't help but wince as I stare at the classic cut bikini resting between the front door of the room and the open bathroom, the soggy and sand-covered steel grey material soaking the already terribly damaged carpet with seawater.

Sitting beneath the identically ill-proportioned bed sits two duffel bags, one black and well-worn after years of use while the other primrose pink bag appears either brand new immaculately maintained. Both are open, their contents slightly spilling out in clumps of clothing. The black bag spews forth tangled jean legs and a tight shirt with long sleeves in a mangled mess of blue denim and black cotton, bundled pairs of socks straining to be free after being haphazardly shoved into the duffel bag. From the pink bag a pair of clingy grey tights, a white drop shoulder broderie top, and a long red ribbon can be seen snaking their way to freedom ahead of a few sets of various ballet flats.

The House of Change - Part One

Groaning after a long drive I let my bag fall to the floor with a loud thud, the thin and threadbare carpet doing little to mitigate the impact of the heavy full bag. Throwing my head back I close my eyes for a moment, enjoying being off the road and stretching my legs after hours and hours behind the wheel.

I never would have made a trip like this, driving hours up the coast only to be heading back after a day or so, however with my mother's birthday around the corner I had been forced to make the journey in order to keep the peace. While the day had been filled with gorgeous summer weather I simply didn't have the energy to enjoy it, my mind turning to the fact that while I had to drive up I wouldn't be staying at the house. Thanks to her taking a recent interest in home design my mother had started to remodel the house herself, starting with the guest room. As it stood my choice was to sleep in a room without floors, the couch, or find a hotel.

Thankfully, despite the summer season causing most of the accommodation nearby to be filled up by tourists, I managed to get the exact room I had wanted. Thanks to losing my job at the local college a few months back my savings had been running low, if I was staying anywhere it had to be cheap and the Seaside Inn certainly met that bill.