The door was locked.

I had the key. It sat in my hand, cold and heavy. It was my key. I had made it. I had drilled the hole. I had filed the teeth. It fit.

The house was quiet. Too quiet.

My brother stood by the stove. He was washing his hands. The water ran red.

"Did you do it?" I asked.

He didn't look up. "The lock was jammed."

"It wasn't."

"I couldn't get in."

We stood there. The steam rose from his hands. It twisted in the air. It looked like smoke. It looked like breath.

I looked at the door. It was solid oak. It was old. It had been there for a hundred years. It had held.

"Who is inside?" I asked.

He shrugged. "No one."

"Then why are you washing blood off?"

He stopped. The water stopped. A drop fell. Tap. Tap. Tap.

"It's not blood," he said.

It was.

I looked at him. He looked at me. His eyes were wide. His eyes were empty.

"You know," I said.

"I know."

I put the key in the lock. I turned it. It clicked. It was smooth. It was perfect.

The door opened.

There was no one there.

The room was empty. The walls were white. The floor was bare. There was a chair. It was tipped over.

I stepped in.

"Come in," my brother said.

He was behind me. He had followed. He was close. I could smell him. He smelled of soap. He smelled of iron.

We walked to the center of the room. We stood still.

The air was thick. It pressed against my skin. It felt like water. It felt like weight.

"It's listening," he whispered.

I turned to him. "What?"

"The house," he said. "It hears us."

I looked at the walls. They were white. They were blank.

"It doesn't hear," I said.

"It does."

I shook my head. I was a soldier. I had seen things. I had killed men. I had held doors against the dark. I knew what was real. This was not real.

This was fear.

My brother was afraid. I could see it. It shook him. It made his hands tremble.

I put a hand on his shoulder. It was a small gesture. It was enough.

"We will go," I said.

He looked at me. He nodded.

We turned.

The door was closed.

We had not closed it.

I pushed it. It didn't move.

I pushed harder. My boots slipped on the floor.

"Open it," I said.

I tried the lock. I reached into my pocket. I pulled out the key.

I couldn't find it.

I searched my coat. I searched my belt. I searched my boots.

It was gone.

"Where is it?" I asked.

My brother stared at me. He didn't blink.

"I don't know," he said.

I felt a cold spike in my chest. It was not fear. It was anger.

I looked at the door. I looked at my brother.

"You took it," I said.

"No."

"You took it."

"I didn't."

I grabbed his collar. I pulled him close. His face was inches from mine.

"Where is it?"

His eyes were wet. He was crying. He was not afraid. He was sorry.

"I dropped it," he said. "In the well."

I let go. I stepped back.

"The well?"

"Yes."

There was no well.

I looked around the room. There was no well. There was no hole. There was no stone.

"There is no well," I said.

"There is," he said.

He pointed.

He pointed to the floor.

I looked.

The floor was bare wood. It was dark. It was wet.

It was sinking.

The wood was rotting. It was giving way. It was dropping into the dark.

I stepped back.

My brother was still standing. He was standing on the edge. The wood was cracking under his feet.

"Tom," I said.

He looked at me. He smiled. It was a sad smile. It was a true smile.

"I have to stay," he said.

"No."

"I have to stay."

He sat down. He sat on the edge of the void.

The wood groaned. It snapped.

He fell.

I lunged.

I grabbed his hand.

It was cold. It was slick.

I pulled.

He didn't move.

The wood snapped again. A chunk of floor fell away. It hit the dark below. I heard a sound. It was a thud. It was a splash.

"Let go," he said.

"No."

"Let go."

I held on. My arms burned. My legs trembled. I was slipping. The floor was moving. It was tilting.

"I love you," he said.

"I know."

"Let go."

"No."

The floor gave way.

I fell.

I hit the floor. It was hard. It was cold.

I was in the cellar.

The air was damp. It smelled of earth. It smelled of old stone.

I lay there. I was alive.

I heard a voice.

It was above me.

"Did you get the key?"

It was my brother.

He was alive.

I sat up. I looked around. I was in a small room. There was a wall. There was a floor. There was a door.

The door was locked.

I had the key.

It was in my hand.

I stood up. My legs were weak. My head was spinning.

I walked to the door.

I put the key in the lock.

I turned it.

It clicked.

It was smooth.

It was perfect.

The door opened.

There was a hallway. It was long. It was dark.

At the end of the hallway, there was a light.

It was yellow. It was warm.

It was the kitchen.

I walked toward it.

I walked fast.

I heard footsteps behind me.

They were quick. They were heavy.

They were not mine.

I turned.

My brother was there.

He was holding a knife.

He was smiling.

"It's you," he said.

It was not a question.

I backed up.

I hit the wall.

He was close.

He was very close.

I raised my hand.

I had the key.

I threw it.

It hit him in the face.

He staggered.

He fell.

The knife clattered on the stone.

I ran.

I ran to the kitchen.

The light was bright.

The door was open.

I went out.

I was in the yard.

The sky was dark.

The stars were out.

The house was behind me.

It was quiet.

It was still.

I looked back.

The windows were dark.

There was no light.

There was no sound.

I walked away.

I walked down the road.

The road was faded.

The paint was peeling.

The lines were gone.

I walked until I could not feel my feet.

I walked until I could not feel my hands.

I walked until I could not feel my name.

I was no one.

I was nothing.

I was the road.

I was the dark.

I was the silence.

I stopped.

I looked at my hands.

They were clean.

There was no blood.

There was no soap.

There was no key.

I looked at the sky.

It was clear.

It was empty.

I breathed in.

I breathed out.

I was alive.

I was alone.

I was free.

I turned around.

The house was gone.

There was only grass.

There was only dirt.

There was only wind.

I walked on.

I did not look back.

I did not need to.

I knew what I had done.

I knew what I had left.

I knew what I was.

I was the one who stayed.

I was the one who went.

I was the one who chose.

The choice was mine.

The road was mine.

The dark was mine.

I walked into it.

I walked into the night.

I walked into the unknown.

I walked into the truth.

The truth was simple.

The truth was hard.

The truth was quiet.

I carried it.

I carried it with me.

It was heavy.

It was light.

It was everything.

It was nothing.

I walked.

I walked.

I walked.

The road faded.

I faded.

We were together.

We were alone.

We were home.