I'm cold. So, so cold. Not freezing, sort of just a numbness in my bones. No matter how hot or how cold it is, I'll be cold. I don't actually remember my name either. I should probably be panicking, but I can't feel the urge to care.

These are my thoughts as I open my bedroom door for exactly the 8760th time. I've opened it twice each day, and today I turn twelve. For some reason, I can remember that, but not what day it is. I don't remember if I had parents either. Better check downstairs. At least I remember the layout of this house.

Walking down the stairs, I listen for creaks on the old floorboards in the living room, or the clattering of plates, or anything that would hint at life in the house. Not a single sound in this place. My foot leaves the final step with a resigned creak. Just as I reason I'm alone in this pitch dark room, a voice from behind calls out.

"Happy birthday Ecrom!" The voice calls, laughing. Soon I'm surrounded by voices, all laughing and calling out to me. I turn my head to see the voices, unable to discern faces in the endless darkness. For all I know this room could extend into infinity. As I'm about to call out, the windows are uncovered, and someone lights a candle on a birthday cake revealing a small dining room crammed with faces I barely remember. Moments later, the cake is put on the table with me sat down in front of it. After a minute of silence with no action from me, a child leans over my shoulder and blows out the candles in my confused stead.

There's a moment of laughter at the boy's antics and then everyone starts eating cake. I get mine first and take a moment to examine the cake. It's a normal-looking slice of cake, with a heavy gray frosting around the outside. Seeing the others at the table start eating, I take a bite of cake. It tastes... gray, almost like dust. I push my plate away from myself. Some faces fall, and the plate isn't touched. I stay at the table another moment, and then get up to leave.

I stride out of the dining room, guided by the dim light of early morning dawn. The first thing I notice as I step off the houses rotting wooden steps is just how colourful it is. I look up and down the streets but see nobody. After a moment of deliberation, I cross the street, making a beeline for a distant apple tree.

Instead of actually going around the houses or taking a detour, I just climb over the small fence that blocks me off from my destination. 3 minutes and a small scratch later, I'm lazing underneath an apple tree, letting myself bask in the sunlight's warmth and the grasses' colorfulness. It felt right. The feeling of tiredness I have fades away, and I feel a gentle stretching sensation across my face. I am smiling.

I close my eyes, for how long, I did not know, nor did I care. I could stay underneath this tree for eternity. All I know is that when I open them, something is in my hand. An apple. I take a bite, and a sweetness unknown to me invades my consciousness.

I sit there, stunned, as my mind attempts to comprehend a sweetness I've never experienced. Time blends together as I eat it. By the time I'm finished the cycle of biting the apple, shivering and attempting to comprehend it's taste, the sun has set. Swinging my legs and arms, I felt alive. I lumbered back to the house to rest.

The next day, I wake up far earlier than the rest of the house. The sun has barely peaked through my blinds. Normally I would lie here and watch the sun slowly make it's way up to my door, but today I find myself flinging myself out of bed, a jacket thrown on my shoulders and socks, much less shoes forgotten as I sprint out the house.

As I return to the tree, some leaves fall overhead. I sit down and wait for an apple to drop. and wait. I am painfully aware of time passing. While before I could have seen myself sitting for hours with nothing, now I feel every second, measured in leaves on the ground. I sigh. Some things are only meant to happen once, it seems.

Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

I leave the apple tree and rarely returned to it over the next year.

I am now 13. I have opened my door exactly 9490 times, twice every day. For my birthday my family got me a laptop, an old beat-up thing that was really only good for browsing the internet. I searched for a couple of things, like fruits and plants. Flowers were so beautiful. I decided that I would revisit my past today. Walking across the gravel lot, and climbing over the fence. I approach the tree with ease. I feel calm. I remember the importance of this tree, this attachment. I walk to the tree and sit. And wait. I didn't expect an apple, and even though the tree was full of green leaves, they start falling around me. Maybe it's a welcome of sorts?

an apple falls in my hand. It's larger than the one I had as a child. I'm larger. The tree is larger. The apple is larger. We all grow, keeping each other in equilibrium. I visited the apple tree every day afterwards. After a week of visits, the trees leaves turned orange and started dropping while I was gone. After 2 weeks, it no longer dropped apples. After a month, the tree had no more leaves. After 2 months of visits, I had my last. Visit number 62, I sat underneath the tree for the final time. I sat, and simply watched a single leaf drop from the trees' small branches. I leaned back against the trunk and heard an audible groaning from the wood. A moment of silence passes, and the tree falls to the ground tearing the fence around our home down. No one comes outside.

A feeling. A sense of loneliness - emptiness.

I walked back to the home, empty and drained, and noticed a sign hanging over the house. Clearing off the dirt and grime on it, it said 42 Payne Street, Hatori. I stride into the home, a finality to the opening of my door. It may be the last time I open it. I turn on the laptop and type 42 Payne Street, Hatori in the search bar. These are the words I see on the screen before me.

On January 24, 2001, The entire hamlet of Hatori died overnight, in an unprecedented mass death. There were no signs of struggle, of foul play, or of any actual intention behind the deaths. Investigators have managed to find out that somehow, at 4:27 am, all residents of this hamlet had their hearts stop. Months later, we received reports of people walking around the hamlet and living their lives normally. People who attempted to approach the previously deceased would not note anything out of the ordinary with them, however. If they went any further than the outskirts of the hamlet, they would also have their hearts stop, only to be found wandering the hamlet as well. Apparently, the cause of these incidents is...

Empty. Alone. Afraid. Confused.

That is what I feel. The feeling of dread, knowing that there is nothing alive in the world you can touch. Because no matter what you want, it will die, it's life drained into you, only to bow its head in eternal servitude. It's all comeback. I want to lie down in my bed and watch the sun's figure leave my room, but I force myself to walk downstairs. Looking at all the relatives of mine wandering our home, I spot the small boy, still unchanged after more than a year. Taking his hand I smile and say my farewells. He turns to me with a heartbreaking smile.

"It was fun being alive, big brother."

One by one, I let every single person in the house pass on. They would all say something as they faded away.

"I'm proud of you son."

"You did well."

"Come visit us sometime."

"You've grown so much."

"Goodbye, little nightmare."

"Thank you."

"Farewell."

"You had to find out eventually."

"I'm sorry."

"You did me proud, little Necromancer." said the last one. I didn't remember who she was, but those words stayed with me. A slow exhale, and a whispered farewell. I left the house. Not quite happy, not quite sad. I think the word for it was melancholy.

And with that, I left my home for 13 years and 2 months forever. Walking past the crushed chain link fence, I saw an apple drop from the tree. It was tiny, and grey. I knew instinctively, that if I bit into it it would taste grey, like dust. I ripped the apple open and took the seeds though. Maybe someday they won't be doomed to die.

> Originally written on Jan 22, 2020 on r/writingprompts 

>

> [WP] You grew up in a small town. You've never exactly been lonely, but you've had few friends. One day, you google your town and are startled to read that it's the most haunted place in the world and no one lives there. You try to laugh it off but then your neighbors begin to rattle their bones.