With every creaking step I took towards the stairs, I felt the floorboards just about ready to cave in beneath me. That haunted house only let the wind rustle its way in. By the looks of it, I couldn’t tell the last time a human had been here.

I’d already lost my camera in the forest on the way here. There was a bit of a climb before the house came into view. It was by no means small but it was very well hidden within the thick brush that surrounded it.

Inside, it smelled of ash and winter. Seeing the countless cobwebs that adorned the interior, I reckoned the place was full of foodstuffs for the spiders. Luckily, I didn’t encounter any of them. Even so, I dreaded going into the kitchen. It was an open kitchen with a large dining table, attached to the TV lounge—a space more like a hall than a room—lit by windows with tattered, odd-colored curtains that hung in strips like dirty cloth.

I wondered briefly if the lounge was the best place to put down what little luggage I had. The floorboards were dark, almost black, with traces of ash all over. I thought the place might come down when I walked.

I was supposed to stay longer, but without my camera, there was little meaning in looking for angles. The story I was supposed to pen down would have to rely on my own eyes. I figured someone else might be willing to venture in here with a camera and take some shots that could help me.

I undid the top two buttons of my overcoat and decided to check out the upper floor where all the rooms were.

It was a three-story house. I carefully made my way up the stairs. The countless handprints over the history of this house were still imprinted on the railing. Even in the dark, they seemed to be sneering at me.

I was careful. This was a sacred place. Most of the windows were covered, though the covering might have seen better days. Still, it didn’t help that the light barely got in. I didn’t have a torch on me since I didn’t expect such a cloudy day. Somehow, I managed to grope my way through the dark.

As I approached the second floor, feeling relieved to have gotten through the stairs unscathed, I looked at the corridor in front of me that stretched towards a dark end.

There were seven rooms: six on either side and the seventh at the corridor’s end.

Room 101, Room 102, Room 103…

The rooms were oddly numbered. Somebody had forgotten to add the rest of the hundred rooms in the house. Either that, or those hundred rooms had become a victim to whatever phantom lurked in that house.

Without pondering whether the former was more plausible than the latter, I made my way towards the first room.

Standing in front of Room 101, I placed my hand on the cold handle and took a deep breath. There was an odd feeling, I knew something had been lurking inside for a long time. I turned the handle slowly, and the door opened without any resistance.

Clothes.

That’s all I saw before closing the door right back, standing frozen, my hand clutching the handle tightly as I pursed my lips.

The rooms were all like that. I looked up at the dark corridor, feeling the weight of the air draped over every gap between the floorboards, seeping in from somewhere unknown.

I decided to explore a little longer before entering any of the rooms. I walked down the corridor towards the end.

Room 213. That was the number on the seventh room.

That was the number on the seventh room.

He wrote to me, “Elisa, I know I’ll be alright now. I wish you were here. Someday, I’ll get you out of that place, too. Wait for me.”

I still kept his note in the locket around my neck, almost like a curse. It was the last I heard from him.

My brother was 16 when he ran away. Maybe I was too young to understand why he didn’t take me with him. I was 10. I waited. He never came back.

When our mother was arrested, I felt a strange relief and thought he might finally come home. But there was no word from him. I didn’t know where to find him. Instead of signing his name or initial, he’d written, “From Room 213.”

Of course, I knew it was him from his handwriting—and because no one else in the world called me Elisa.

I lingered in front of the room, clutching the locket around my neck, unsure of whatever lay beyond the door. Was there really a need to unravel this mystery?

I reached for the handle but then turned and hurried back toward the stairs. Whatever was in there had to wait.

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On the third floor were six rooms from 201 to 206. A large window at the far end of the corridor brightened the space. I opened all the doors, one by one. Each room looked the same.

The first thing that’d come to notice was clothes.

Colorful, various-sized clothes, all for boys. They were the final trace of their inhabitants, lying forgotten on the floor. I wondered what had happened to their bones.

It was getting chilly and I thought about lighting a cigarette but the place was already filled with ash. I didn’t feel like adding any more to it. So, I tucked my hands inside my coat pockets and walked up to the window at the end.

There was a patch of green directly below the window. It might have been a garden once but now it was just overgrown weed. I imagined the place might have been beautiful once. The window latch was too rusty to open so I didn’t try opening it. Besides, I thought any forceful action against this house might bring it crashing down on its foundations.

I didn’t dare desecrate any of the rooms, so I didn’t step in. Standing in the doorways, I took in the artifacts those young inhabitants had left behind: books, posters, broken toys, sticks, even rocks—just the kind of things boys liked.

Of course, anything that looked valuable must have been scavenged from the trash. They hadn’t had any money. Most of the items were broken anyway.

The kids who ran away from home found shelter in that house. All those little souls with no home… that’s probably why there were no bones to be found.

It was impossible to tell from what was left behind, what could have driven those kids away. Every one of those items seemed like an attempt to find heaven. Children are like that, always looking for heaven. In the end, I can’t say if they found it.

I slowly made my way back, figuring it was time to pay my final respects. I slowly and carefully descended the stairs.

The second floor was much darker compared to the top one, so I had to wait for a while, listening to the sound of the house while my vision adjusted. Unlike the third floor, which smelled like the sun, the second floor smelled like dead leaves. Like a very heavy autumn sweeping through it.

My brother, Autumn… he loved the season. He loved the colors of the leaves. I remembered he had a book filled with leaves in every shade and shape. He collected them and would show me when he found a new species. It was like a treasure hunt. Those dead leaves were his gold coins.

So I supposed this floor suited him. I decided to open each door; they’d been closed for 17 years. Those kids who’d been waiting so long for someone to come were owed at least this much.

One by one, I opened all the doors, stopping briefly to take in whatever story the remains had to tell. In a way, it was lucky there wasn’t so much light. Sometimes, you can’t help wanting to close your eyes to some things. But I couldn’t look away, not anymore. Those kids deserved to be seen.

Room 103 was what froze me in my place. It had a twin pair of frilly dresses lying together on the floor, with a one eyed doll tucked between. By the bunk bed were three small red shoes, one missing its pair. On the table was a small chipped tea set with most of its articles missing. The heaven those kids were looking for, it was simply home, wasn’t it?

For a long while, I stared at the story the room told me. I felt the house was giggling, a sweet innocent giggle that the world had missed out on. And I thought I saw a 10 year old me sitting on the top bunk, swinging her legs, blankly staring into space, singing something, perhaps even… smiling.

Dust fell on my shoulder, bringing me back to the present, interrupting the illusion that room cast on me. Brushing it off, I moved toward Room 213 once more.

I placed my hand on the darkened wood, perhaps seeking some presence. I held my breath, placing my forehead against the door. Was someone listening to me too?

Reaching for the handle, I steeled my nerves as I slowly pushed the door open. And I froze.

There was no trace of him. No clothes, not his book of leaves, no paper or pen for writing me notes. Nothing was there.

I felt a little lost, as if I’d come uninvited or at a bad time. I paused at the doorstep, taking in the interior before I took a step in. And that’s when I noticed.

I could smell my brother in the air. Even after all these years, I couldn’t have been mistaken about it. I knew that instant that it was indeed his room. The last place he’d been. The last place where he was 16. And he’d been 16 since then.

Meanwhile, I kept growing all this time and became older than him. The brother that looked so much taller and stronger than me back then was now a mere boy. His scent and his image of walking around that room lingered before me like a ghost.

I noticed his window was wide open, as it always had been. Rain and snow had left traces on the table in front of it. He’d left the window open. There were leaves all around the room and something was growing on the side of the wooden table. I suppose my brother decided to let the forest devour him.

By now, I thought, he might have turned into an Autumn leaf.

I traced the rough surface of the wooden table, caked with dust and seasons. Looking around as I breathed in the final traces of my brother’s scent, I took off the locket I’d worn for 17 years and placed it on his table. I had no drink to share, but I couldn’t leave his grave without a gift.

After all, I was never going to see him again.

With my business finished, I left the room and closed just his door, since he’d always had the window open for himself.

I descended the stairs, casting a final glance at all the rooms, each reciting its story to me.

From the lounge, I picked my luggage and waited a moment in silence to hear the sound of that house. It had been awfully quiet all this time. But as I neared the exit, I thought it smiled at me.

Outside, the clouds had darkened. A storm was just around the corner and that wasn’t very lucky. I hadn’t prepared for such weather and being stuck on the hill in that state wasn’t my idea of fun. It was imperative that I hurried down to find shelter for the night, but for some reason, I didn’t feel like running away from that house

I slowly paced along, staring at the sky, watching the clouds form a devious plan, as the wind grew tumultuous every passing second.

Those kids had been erased from history. There was no record or memory of them left, except for that forgotten house which was now but a mausoleum. A place no one visited, where no spring came, where no flowers bloomed.

Whatever turbulence drove them to run away from life couldn’t have been strong enough to deny them their entire existence, could it? Even if life drove them downhill, how could they have disappeared so easily?

I stopped to wonder midway down the slope that led to the house. And as I stood on the slope unperturbed by the wind building around me, I turned around to look at the house. But it was completely hidden from view. I couldn’t see a hint of it.

And that’s when it came to me… the reason why they had never been found.