Take time to remember the self.
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Marina Chua was the classic wallflower—at 34, she was perpetually passed over, whether at work or at home.
Home was just as overlooked. After all, no one noticed abandoned terrace houses.
It had a memory like a sieve. One that sorted the maize from the chaff. The essential from the inconsequential.
Even the hallway seemed to erase her, as if the house chose who it wanted to retain–or dispose.
Everyone knew the drab, cookie-cutter house on the street—they didn’t bother with them.
But there was one room that no one remembered existed.
A room. Where shadows swallowed sound. It forgot people, including Marina—but never the walls.
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It was just another weekend. One Marina spent, as usual, unnoticed- in life, or in love.
Blending in with the walls of the home – and the room.
Being the must-be-in-order administrative assistant that she was, she decided that it was time for a little decluttering.
She started with the room few remembered – that she seldom did herself.
As she started sorting items –
They shifted.
Appearing.
Disappearing.
The house seemed to be misplacing her – like an old receipt.
Her mobile began to forget her passwords and encrypted fingerprints.
The walls and floorboards whispered names that weren’t hers –
Her family members.
Her friends.
But never hers.
They stretched – and pulled back, as if needling her mind.
Testing her mettle.
Corridors rearranged themselves, bending with uncertainty.
Hers.
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Wallflower though she was, she wasn’t defeated.
Marina decided to find out more about the property she had inherited from her father when he passed all those years ago.
On one of her forays into the home’s many back rooms, she discovered a small, nearly inconspicuous space.
The dust danced in the beam of her mobile.
A hidden alcove.
Lined with decades of family Polaroids, each of a person who had disappeared.
Then-
A blank Polaroid.
Labelled with her name.
An empty slot waiting for her face.
The room wasn’t teasing or frightening just because it could; it was a room waiting.
A predator, hungry for the forgotten.
A hunger she seemed to know.
Fear wrapped around her, a shroud creeping, waiting to strike.
🌑🕯️🪞🖤🏚️??️🗨️
She managed to shake the gripping fear off to make sense of the alcove.
And the blank Polaroid.
With her name.
She touched each of the Polaroids and the dusty shelves.
There had to be a way to lock them in place, to keep them from swallowing her.
Then she thought of the little, cherished memories.
Her dog. Her Mum’s signature fried noodles.
Her dad’s cologne, mixed with perspiration, when he returned from work.
Each memory made the room less hungry.
Weighed its menace down.
Finally, the corridors stopped bending. The stretching stopped.
🌑🕯️🪞🖤🏚️??️🗨️
As she recalled her dog Benj, her mother’s noodles, and her father carrying her in his arms when he returned from work, the room stilled.
Every recalled detail punched a hole in her darkness.
With each recollection, the walls settled into place.
The holes became larger.
She grasped the life buoys of her memories-her lifelines.
And she knew–the room victimised.
Not those who remembered themselves or their places in the world.
Rather, they wanted the souls who felt-
Invisible.
Forgotten.
But she had won the battle between her mind-
And the room’s predatory instincts.
The holes widened-
Then vanished.
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Marina left the room, still weary.
Still on edge.
But she chose to report it to the Town Council for its-
For want of a better word-
Defects.
Several weeks passed. She chose to live fully, tapping into her passion-
Cooking.
Sharing meals with friends.
Discussing recipes.
Watching the Food Network Channel or teaching cooking classes.
Then a stall selling “Char Kway Teow” (flat noodles in soy and oyster sauce).
Receiving rave reviews in the Straits Times.
She chose to be seen again, leaving the house to wallow in its own hunger.
Insatiable need to swallow-
Those who felt forgotten.
Not Marina.
Her life was no longer dimmed at the edges.
She remembered it.
Herself.
🌑🕯️🪞🖤🏚️??️🗨️
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Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.
If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!
Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.
The Getting Literal Writing Alcove 