Chapter 6: The perfect house part 2

The Telephone

Part 2: The Cracks Beneath the Silence

The days that followed Sarah's discovery of the telephone grew heavier, as if the air in the house had thickened. The once bright and immaculate rooms of their modern suburban home began to feel… warped. It wasn't just a shift in atmosphere. Something—someone—was wrong.

Her parents still smiled too wide at the breakfast table, their morning greetings too rehearsed. Her brother, usually engrossed in his phone or headphones, now sat in silence more often, staring out the window like he was watching something no one else could see. When he did speak, his voice sounded dry, like the life was being drained from it.

But Sarah was the only one who seemed to notice any of it.

It began subtly. One night, as she lay in bed, the faint sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway outside her room. She brushed it off as her father pacing during one of his late-night calls. But when she opened the door, the hallway was empty. The lights flickered. She felt the floor vibrate slightly beneath her feet as if something had just stepped away.

In the morning, when she asked her parents if they had heard anything unusual, they simply shook their heads.

"Maybe you were dreaming, sweetheart," her mother offered, sipping her black coffee with a calmness that only irritated Sarah further.

"You should try sleeping earlier," her father added. "You've been looking tired lately."

That afternoon, she returned from school and found the living room had changed. The family photo above the mantle was missing. In its place was an old oil painting of a house—not their house—but one that looked similar and much older. She asked about it.

"It's always been there," her father replied casually, not even turning from the newspaper.

"We've never owned an oil painting," Sarah whispered, staring up at the unfamiliar image.

Her brother sat curled up on the couch, his expression dull. He said nothing. Just flicked the television on. But even the channel seemed off. Static. Just static, humming low and deep.

Sarah's nights became unbearable.

The footsteps returned. Sometimes they came from the attic above her ceiling. Other times, from inside her room. She once awoke to the sound of breathing just beside her bed. When she turned the lamp on, no one was there.

Then the figure appeared.

The bathroom was cold. Too cold. Sarah stepped inside, shivering even though it was the middle of July. The mirror was fogged over as if someone had just taken a hot shower. She hadn't even turned the water on.

She wiped the mirror clean—and gasped.

Behind her, for a split second, was a tall, dark figure. Not her father. Not her brother. Something else. Shadowy. Thin. It stood there, motionless, like a coat rack with limbs.

She spun around.

Nothing.

She screamed. Her mother came running.

"There was someone in here! I saw them! In the mirror!"

Her mother checked the bathroom, her expression calm, unnaturally so. Too calm.

"There's no one here, Sarah. You're just stressed. Maybe it's all that horror fiction you read."

"No! I know what I saw!"

Her mother placed a hand on her cheek. Cold. Too cold.

"Maybe you should stay off the internet for a while. Get some rest."

The next night, the furniture was different.

Not just moved—but wrong. The TV was placed on the floor, screen-down. The sofa was turned upside down, legs sticking in the air like a dead animal. Chairs were missing from the dining table. A cracked family photo hung sideways on the wall.

Sarah stood at the entrance to the living room, horrified.

Her father walked in behind her, briefcase in hand, and gave her a warm smile. "How was school, pumpkin?"

She pointed at the mess. "What... What happened here?"

He looked around, then back at her. "What do you mean? Everything looks fine."

Her brother came down the stairs. He didn't even look at the upside-down couch. He stepped over a broken lamp like it wasn't there and sat on the floor where the TV had once been, flicking an invisible remote.

Sarah backed away slowly.

She went to the kitchen. Her mother was chopping carrots, the sound of the knife rhythmic and stiff.

"Mom," Sarah whispered, heart pounding. "Don't you see it? The mess. The TV, the furniture. None of it's right."

Her mother smiled, not pausing the chopping. "You worry too much, darling. The house is just as it's always been."

"No it's not! It's not!"

"Your father says you're tired. I think so too. Maybe a nice nap?"

Sarah ran upstairs. Her room was the same, but now that was the worst part—it was too perfect. Untouched. As if no one lived in it. As if someone was pretending to know what a teenage girl's room should look like.

She began questioning everything.

Did they move the furniture? Did she? Was this a prank?

The next day, it got worse.

The dining table was upside down.

Her father sat on one of the legs as if it were a regular chair, reading a newspaper that had no writing on it.

Her brother was staring into the microwave, whispering something.

Her mother served dinner on a plate placed directly on the floor.

Sarah screamed. No one flinched.

"Why are you acting like this?! What's wrong with you?!"

Her father turned to her, smiling. "The world spins. We stay still."

Her mother echoed the same line. So did her brother.

"The world spins. We stay still."

The next morning, they repeated it again. The same sentence. Again. And again.

The house changed every day now. Drawers opened on their own. Windows showed nothing but blackness outside. Mirrors reflected moments that hadn't happened yet. And always—the telephone remained. Sitting in the hallway. Silent.

But Sarah had begun to feel its presence.

She passed it one evening and felt something behind her. She turned and saw her brother standing there, unmoving, staring at the telephone.

"Have you talked to it?" he asked.

"What are you talking about? It's broken."

"Not anymore."

She stepped back. "You used it, didn't you? That night. Who were you talking to?"

He didn't respond. Just walked away, humming a lullaby that sounded strangely familiar.

Sarah locked her room that night.

She couldn't sleep. The lights in her room flickered. Her phone stopped working. The footsteps returned—but this time, they didn't stay in the hallway.

They were inside her room.

Something whispered her name. Over and over again.

She screamed into the void, her voice raw with fear. "STOP! What do you want from me?!"

There was no answer.

She woke up the next morning to find her door wide open.

And the telephone… was in her room now.

Placed neatly on her desk.

She ran to her parents.

"We need to leave! Something's wrong with this house! Please! We need to go!"

But they just smiled at her.

"The world spins. We stay still."

Her brother stood behind them, eyes hollow. "The world spins. We stay still."

Sarah fell to the floor, screaming. Crying. She begged them to stop. Begged them to speak to her like they used to.

But it was too late.

They were broken.

The house was broken.

She was the only one who remembered what it used to be.

That night, everything in the house changed.

Again.

The ceiling was on the floor. Doors were gone. Chairs were nailed to the walls. Light bulbs filled the sink. The TV floated upside down near the ceiling.

But her family walked around like it was normal. They smiled. Ate food that didn't exist. Laughed without sound.

And Sarah…

She sat in her room, hugging herself, whispering, "I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy."

Until the telephone rang.

A voice of a little boy

"Sarah, come lets play house, and your the daughter the perfect daugther."