Nathan stepped into the kitchen, shut the door, and clicked on the range hood. The hum filled the space, its steady sound blocking out the rest of the world, and he felt a sense of calm settle in. It was like the kitchen door and that hum created a quiet bubble, shutting off the strange, unsettling world outside—leaving him with something that felt almost familiar, almost his.

This house was nothing like his own, yet this little kitchen had something that reminded him of the one he grew up with. As soon as he’d landed here, he’d done his best to set it up to feel like home. Each time he cooked, he could almost pretend he was back in his old life, that two months ago, he hadn’t walked out his front door into an unfamiliar city, filled with shadows and surreal scenes.

Sometimes he’d lose himself in that thought, half-expecting that if he looked out the window, he’d see the familiar street he remembered, bathed in the orange glow of a setting sun. But each time he checked, he’d only see the same barren plot of dirt, a few run-down houses nearby, and leaning poles with tangled overhead wires. The open skies he once knew? He hadn’t seen those here—instead, it was always either unbearably bright or so dim it felt claustrophobic.

Nathan shook his head, pulling down the blinds to block out the dim night beyond.

He slipped into his rhythm, rinsing vegetables, heating up a pan, tossing in garlic and onions before adding the main ingredients. The hiss of the pan filled the kitchen, bringing a steady warmth. In the background, he heard the low noise of the TV in the dining room, one of his only links to life outside these walls. When he’d first arrived, the news and local channels were his lifeline, and even now, he left the TV on in case it gave him a new clue to this strange town.

“Nathan! Can you turn up the TV? I can barely hear it!”

The sudden voice startled him, nearly making him toss food out of the pan.

Oh, right—Erin was still out there.

He wasn’t used to hearing anyone calling out while he cooked.

“Hold on!” he called back, a little sharper than he’d intended, muttering, “Does she ever stop?”

After a second, though, he found himself smiling. Maybe it wasn’t so bad—having someone around did add a bit of life to the place.

When the food was ready, he brought a steaming plate to the dining room. He set it down on the table, turned up the TV’s volume a couple of notches, and took a seat across from Erin’s frame. He wasn’t in the habit of watching TV during meals, but he figured Erin might enjoy it.

From inside the painting, Erin craned her neck, eyeing the food and the TV, muttering, “Looks good…”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Just some home-cooked stuff,” he replied.

“Hmm,” Erin said, her eyes darting between the food and the TV screen. But as he started to eat, she leaned forward, frowning. “So, I just sit here watching you eat?”

Nathan lifted a forkful, holding it just in front of her painting. “Want some?”

She glared at him but then slumped back, sulking.

Sighing, Nathan went back to his meal. After a few bites, he grabbed an empty bowl, portioned out some food, and set it in front of Erin’s frame. “There you go. Enjoy the smell; I’ll eat the rest after.”

Erin’s face brightened a little, and she leaned forward, her face filling half the painting. She studied the bowl as if it were truly there, as if she were sharing the meal.

Nathan glanced up mid-bite, catching sight of her focus. There was something surreal about it all—sitting across from a figure in a painting who seemed just as absorbed by the meal as he was. It felt like she was truly there, sharing the table.

He shook the thought away and focused on his food, occasionally glancing up to see her continuing to peer at the bowl with a quiet fascination. It was as if she were part of the household now, sharing in the small comforts of the day-to-day.

Once he finished, Nathan stacked the dishes and tossed them in the sink to deal with the next day. He was about to call it a night when he remembered the trash; no way could he leave that in the kitchen overnight. Bracing his sore back, he tied up the trash bag and made his way to the door.

Erin looked up from the TV. “Where are you off to this late?”

“Do I have to report every move to you now?” he shot back, holding up the trash bag. “Just taking out the garbage.”

“Oh. Well, hurry back,” she said, turning back to the TV. “Big house, you know? You never know what could sneak in.”

Nathan rolled his eyes. With the house’s creepy vibe, if anyone did break in and saw a doll moving around in a painting, they’d probably call the cops first. But he kept that thought to himself.

Pulling on his shoes, he grabbed the door handle. For some reason, déjà vu hit him.

Two months ago, he’d opened a door just like this and stepped straight out of his world.

Brushing it off, he shook his head with a grin and opened the door.

The crunch of dead branches underfoot broke the silence. Cold air hit him, sharp with a smell like decaying leaves and iron. The chill pricked his skin, and for a few seconds, he stood there, staring, mind blank.

He was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by jagged rocks and towering cliffs. Dark woods loomed in the distance, while steep ridges lined both sides of a narrow valley, standing silent and ominous like two giants leaning over to watch him.

He took a few shaky breaths, then turned to look behind him, hoping he’d see his house or even just a familiar street.

Instead, there was a pile of rubble, broken bricks, and what looked like the remains of an old, abandoned chapel. A rickety, half-broken doorframe stood amid the debris, creaking as the wind whistled through it.

Nathan’s voice came out as a low growl. “What… the hell is this?”

It hit him, then. Opening that door had somehow triggered the same force that had thrown him into this place two months ago.

Only this time, it had sent him somewhere even worse.

He wasn’t in a bizarre city; he was in the middle of nowhere.

Ahead, a dense forest stretched into shadow, and the cliffs on either side looked steep and unwelcoming. The only structure in sight was that crumbling chapel, its lone, broken doorframe swaying in the wind. If any place looked primed for bandits or monsters, this was it.

And all he had was a bag of kitchen trash.

A stream of curses crossed his mind, but before he could voice them, Erin’s voice rang out clearly in his head:

“Nathan! The TV’s out—when are you coming back?”