I was looking back at myself.
Wall-to-wall.
Everywhere.
Eighteen
A picture of me around three-years-old in matching braids and a yellow dress stared back at me. The polaroid had long been sepia-toned, but my smile was bright and cheery. Another of my mother as she pushed me on a swing at the park. A school photo from third grade, another from sixth. Someone had categorized my entire life into snapshots. Each one hung on the wall haphazardly with thumbtacks, and many looked like they’d been there for years. In fact, this room looked barely used judging by the layer of dust on every surface.
But why was I here?
Was this the room Tav had been searching when he twisted his ankle? I immediately dropped to the floor and looked under an old wooden desk for any sign of the rifle. If someone really was watching and using the smart house system to do it, they would know I’d found this room.
Or was that one of the surprises?
“I have to get out of here,” I said to myself as I flung a small closet door open. More boxes were stacked to my waist, no indication that any had been moved recently.
“What is going on at this chalet?”
“Dialing emergency services.”The voice of the house echoed through the surround speakers and down into this basement cave.
“What? No, wait—what emergency services?” I tore the nearest polaroid off of the wall, a copy similar to the one I’d found in Tav’s wallet upstairs, but this one from a different angle.
I slipped it in my back pocket and cut the lights in the event one of the security cameras was watching me.
I didn’t bother with the other lights, only ran up the stairs, determined to get to the bottom of the emergency services the house apparently had access to. By the time I reached the front door smart screen, the border of the normally black screen was blinking red, the wordemergencylit along the top.
I punched the screen a few times, but it was unresponsive to my touch.
“What emergency services? A snow plow? A helicopter? I need a helicopter to get off of this stupid rock.”
“Emergency averted.”
The screen stopped blinking and faded to its usual black.
“Wait, no! Help me! I need a helicopter.”
The screen remained black.
“Emergency! Call emergency services!” I spoke clearly, and then resorted to yelling.
“Emergency averted. Emergency averted.”
I tapped the screen again, wondering if the wiring was going haywire or if one of the switches downstairs had triggered this.
“Emergency not averted. Come back,” I begged.
“Emergency system deactivated.”
Two deafening beeps sounded through the house and then the screen turned off completely. No more blinking red dots, no more tiny recorder symbols in the corner.
“Hello?”
The house was silent.
“Hey! Draw me a bath!”
My voice echoing off of the rafters was my only reply.
