An Empty House
There’s something about being in an empty house that unnerves me. I feel it when I’m in an apartment too, but it’s far more pronounced since I moved into an actual house again. I absolutely hate the feeling of being alone, and I don’t mean alone as in not with someone, but alone as in nobody, not even strangers, are around. I start to get this creeping expectation of someone or something lurking around the corner; odd echoes of childhood fears and bogeymen. There’s a sense of emptiness, that there’s nobody there to share the experience of that place at that time. Perhaps it’s a fear of disappearing; of not having anyone to see me disappear. Whatever it is, it’s creepy, and the larger the space, the odder it is.
It’s not all bad, I guess. When nobody’s there I have liberties to do things I wouldn’t normally. I can masturbate with the sound turned on high from the porn movies… hell, I can masturbate with my door open. I can walk around naked (which I often do since it’s enjoyable). I can go into rooms that aren’t mine and look at things that aren’t mine and figure out elaborate stories about the little things people keep hidden away. I can spread myself out, leaving things in different parts of the house and wandering from place to place for whatever fits my fancy at that moment. I can rule the house. But every time I think about taking advantage of the emptiness, that feeling sweeps over me; the paranoia that even in my own house I’m not really alone.
I remember the first time my parents left me home alone. It was kind of stormy and the house was dark and empty. I took Gatsby, our fluffy orange tabby cat, and holed up in my Dad’s office. The door stayed shut, so occasionally Gatsby would paw at the bottom to go out, but I didn’t feel comfortable alone. I played an online MUD (Multi-User Domain) on CompuServe set in this old vampire castle, so that certainly didn’t help things. Regardless, for 4 hours, I didn’t leave that room, and when the garage door finally went up, marking my parents’ return, I still stayed nailed to that chair until they came and got me.
Even now, when I’m home alone, I often hole up in one room or another. I may wander into the kitchen for a snack, which I then take back to my den of antiquity, or completely move to another room, but I’m very stationary when I’m alone. It’s why I like having roommates. Only someone else can keep me from cocooning myself away for eternity.