The Town With No Name That Once Had One

As Eleanor stepped out from the door of the house, she was immediately hit by a wave of cold, moist air that sent a shiver through her. The clouds had grown darker since she first arrived, turning from a dull, light gray to a more threatening shade. She looked up, immediately regretting it as her mind imagined hundreds upon thousands of eyes staring at her, constantly changing so as to make it impossible to pin down a single one, like an optical illusion that she felt was impossible to ignore. She tried anyway, of course, keeping her eyes to the ground as best she could. That cold, damp ground. The cold air forced her to clutch her hands around herself, pressing her scarred hands tightly against her body as she made her way across the withered lawn.

The front gate stubbornly remained closed as she tried to press her thigh against it. With some annoyance, she brought her hands out from the relative warmth of her arms and planted them firmly against the gate. With a grunt, she pushed on the gate with as much strength as she could muster. It let out a grinding squeal in protest, finally giving up and swinging open. Eleanor didn’t even bother closing it behind her again as she stepped into the street.

Her confidence, holding on by a thread as it was, withered away like the grass as she looked around, trying and failing to gain a sense of direction. The layout of the town was actively working against her, with nothing of note as far as she could determine, not even a sign to mark the bus stop from which she’d arrived. Every house looked identical, and had she not been standing in front of it, she wouldn’t have even been able to point to her own house without seeing the number in front of it.

No, she corrected. It wasn’t hers.

She started walking. Slowly, at first, but as the wind began to remind her of its presence she walked firmer, more confidently. She stared down at the ground, hiding her scarred hands underneath her arms, refusing to let the wind have its way. She would make it out of here. Even if the world was against her, she would just keep on walking until she found her way out. It seemed like a monumental task, but she had to trust that she could do it. She’d seen the alternative.

Unfortunately, she still had a long way to go, and the drab, unchanging scenery around her was starting to get to her even now. No landmarks had been forthcoming after several houses, and that wasn’t something that seemed about to change any time soon. She paused in her walking, the wind slowing down to a gentler but still uncomfortable breeze, and leaned over a fence to peer at the number on the house closest to her.

Number four hundred and twenty three.

That couldn’t be right. She checked her pocket for the address slip she’d placed there. Nothing. She checked the other pocket. Nothing but her unmarked house key. Maybe she misremembered? She had been sure of the number; she’d certainly checked it enough times on the bus.

With some hesitation, she continued walking. She squinted as she did so, trying to see an end to the street, an intersection even, but the gray road and faded houses seemed to stretch on forever. It wasn’t surprising anymore. After some time she slowed again, starting to shiver as an uncomfortable moisture seeped into her clothes and her skin, compounding the cold of the air around her. She chided herself for not having the sense to grab a blanket while she was still inside. Determined to find some sense of her location, she stopped again, leaning over an identical fence to look at the house number.

Number four hundred and twenty three.

She stared at the number. It was wrong. The wind seemed to laugh at her, getting colder for a moment and throwing a droplet of water onto her face. The number was wrong. This whole place was wrong. She’d seen other numbers before, when she first arrived. There was a four hundred and twenty two, a four hundred and twenty four, and in the middle was four hundred and twenty three, her house. No, someone’s house, not hers!

She’d been able to put a number on the problem before. If she kept walking, she could have gotten to house number two, then house number one, and then she’d be out. As long as she kept walking, kept putting one foot in front of the other, she would be free. The other her had just been too lazy, too lost in despair to do anything, but she wouldn’t be like that. She could find a way, there was a finite number of houses. There had been hope.

Now that she was outside, she understood. The fixed number of houses had been nothing more than an illusion, a mirage designed to keep her from realizing the scope of her fate. The other Eleanor had probably tried already. This is what they had meant. She cursed the other Eleanor for not telling her, for not being more clear about what she meant. Her anger didn’t last, though. It’s not like that knowledge would have done her any good. It was the town she should be upset at. Still, it was comforting to have someone she could blame.

She clenched her fists. This place wouldn’t get the best of her. She couldn’t let it win. It wanted her to stop, to give up and go back inside to spend the rest of her days wasting away with no end in sight but her own. She would keep walking. Even if it was pointless, she would keep walking. She’d gotten out of seemingly hopeless situations before, after all. It was all just an illusion, a trick designed to keep her complacent and miserable. Even if she never escaped, it would at least be a spit in the eye of whatever forces had contrived to trap her here. The only problem was, she’d need supplies to keep walking. And there was only one place she’d seen any.

She turned towards the gate, fearing what she was about to do. She just needed a few things. A blanket, some food, some water. She would come back out and keep walking. But as hard as she tried to deny it, tried to justify away her reasoning, she knew it wouldn’t be that easy. She knew how easy it would be to become trapped, just like the other version of herself had been. But she was already trapped, wasn’t she? She was trapped in a world that hated her, in a town that would never let her leave, and in a mind that betrayed her at every turn. It would be easy to give up, to become nothing and eventually fade into the clouds. It wouldn’t happen to her.

Not again.

She brought her hands out and placed them on the gate, bracing herself and letting loose a mighty shove. The gate shot forward and slammed against its hinges, offering nothing in the way of resistance. She was taken aback at the gate’s willingness to let her in, but still walked through nonetheless. She made her way across the lawn, slowly at first—until a particularly biting gust of cold wind sent her scurrying to the door, opening it and stepping in with a single motion.

The inside of the house was warm, just as she remembered it. It was better than the cold of the outside streets, but the warmth was hardly comforting. She wanted a home. A real home. It seemed as if the life was slowly draining out of her just by being here, and from what she’d seen that fear wasn’t entirely unjustified.

The version of herself that had been here before was merecifully gone, the kitchen table cleared and the chair haphazardly put away. Cereal would keep well for a long trip, so that would be a good place to start, she reasoned. She hoped that the version living here wouldn’t mind. Was it really stealing if she was taking it from herself? Who knew. Certainly not her.

As she grabbed the knob to the pantry where the cereal would be kept, a thick layer of dirt and crud came off on her fingers, and as she pulled open the door she had to hold back a sneeze as a cloud of dust came wafting right at her face. It stank of rotting wood and dead cobwebs, like even the spiders had given up on this place long ago. There was nothing inside.

Eleanor was sure she’d put away the cereal here. Or, wait—she thought this was where she’d put it. Or where it ought to go. Whatever, it didn’t matter. The problem was that it wasn’t where it was supposed to be, and she would need it.

She opened the other cabinet. This one was empty too. Where else would she keep food? It made no sense. She opened the refrigerator too for good measure, but still there was nothing. There hadn’t even been a reason to go back inside in the first place. She could have just kept walking.

She took a deep breath. In, then out. Water. She could still get water. Water and a blanket. She needed those more anyway. It was fine. She was fine. She cupped her hands underneath the sink and turned it on. She suddenly didn’t feel thirsty when a thick, gray sludge slowly oozed its way out of the faucet. She held back the urge to vomit at the rancid smell it gave off, quickly shutting the faucet off again and stepping away.

Deep breaths. She could still get a blanket. Anything warm. She moved through the living room and toward the stairs, quickly making her way up to the gray and featureless hallway above. She averted her gaze away from the bathroom as she made her way to her goal: the bedroom.

The floorboards creaked as she made her way to the door. She slowed, running her hands along the peeling paint on the walls. It was an odd thing, really; she could only half remember seeing it here before. It felt right, like it was how it had always been, but at the same time there was something deeply wrong about it. She could almost remember fixing it at one point, but she hadn’t been here long enough to…

How long had she been here, anyway? It must have been just a day or so, right? That couldn’t be right, though. It felt like a lie, constructed by herself to keep her from seeing something. From seeing the truth. It made sense though. She hadn’t been here all that long. The dark clouds that kept her from keeping track of the days certainly didn’t help. Then again, wouldn’t it still be obvious when day turned to night? Obviously it had been less than a day then. That explanation didn’t sit right. There was something wrong with it, but no matter how hard she tried, she could find no error in her logic. It just didn’t make sense for-

A dry, hacking cough snapped her out of her whirling thoughts, reminding her that she wasn’t alone in this house. She still had to somehow get a blanket from the other version of herself. While she was using it, it sounded like.

She was starting to think this wasn’t a good plan.

She slid her hand to the door, gently pushing it open. The smell of stale air hit her subtley, like it had gotten just a little bit harder to breathe. As she slowly moved to enter, she got a look at the figure lying on the bed.

It was her, naturally. She had been expecting as much. She didn’t look quite the same as before, though, in a way that Eleanor found difficult to pin down. She had the same withered, sallow body, shriveled and weak in a way that was hard to look at. Her muscles seemed even more atrophied than before, shriveled up to the point that the bone was the only thing that defined her shape. That must have been it.

The other version of her was splayed out over the bed covers, her arms and legs jutting out at random as if she’d been thrown onto the bed like a doll and never bothered to move afterwards. Her hair, long and greasy, was spread in every direction around her, and her breaths were shallow and weak, like even that effort was too much for her.

“Hello,” offered Eleanor weakly as she crept inside.

“Hey.” Eleanor glanced around the room, waiting for more, but realized that was all.

“Do you know why I’m back?” she continued.

“Mhm.” The other version of herself hadn’t moved at all, even her mouth barely putting in any effort to speak.

“So can I have your blanket? It would be very useful. I’d be able to keep warm while walking.” With a twinge of sarcasm, she added, “You know, the thing you said was pointless.”

The other version seemed to try to shrug her shoulders, but it only amounted to a small twitch.

“Don’t care.”

Eleanor nodded, then hesitantly moved to grasp the edge of the covers. She gave a small tug.

“Um, would you mind moving a bit? I don’t want to take the covers while you’re on them.”

The other version twitched her head as if trying to shake it.

“Can’t anymore. Pull.”

Eleanor raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

The other version didn’t answer, just lying there limply. After waiting for an answer and getting none, Eleanor slowly began to pull out the covers.

It was much easier than she expected. The version of herself in front of her hardly seemed to weigh anything, offering no resistance to being jostled and rolled. As she grabbed the side edge to keep pulling, however, she accidentally pulled a bit too hard, and the other version of her went tumbling over the side of the bed, landing on the floor with a sickening crack.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to!” Eleanor yelped, dropping down in an instant to check for injuries.

“I’m fine.”

“No you’re not!” she cried. To her horror she saw a reflection of her own arm twisted back unnaturally, a puddle of blood beginning to form underneath what she realized, with a gag, was the stained white of bone. “I can help you, just stay calm!”

“It’s pointless. Leave me alone.”

“No, I need to help you! Look, I don’t know how, but-”

“GO.”

The version of her had growled deeply, putting more force into her words than seemed possible from her shriveled form. Eleanor stumbled backwards into a shelf that wobbled with dull trinkets caked in dust, a soft cloud of which floated towards her to invade her lungs. A snowglobe fell to the ground with a soft thud, the snow inside whirling in confusion at its disturbance.

She whimpered. It wasn’t right. She couldn’t do this. But the version of her lay there glowering at her, a seething hatred that was a far cry from what she had seen just moments earlier. The eyes gave her no choice. She swallowed and slowly nodded, backing away towards the door while clutching the blanket in her hands.

She closed the door behind her, then made her way back downstairs as her alarm turned to irritation. If she didn’t want her own help, then fine. That version of herself was broken anyway. If she didn’t even trust herself to help, then who would she? The answer was obvious, of course. No one. There was a reason that Eleanor was stuck in her own tiny room, drowning in fading memories that even she had little connection to anymore.

There was no point in wasting compassion on the hopeless.

She shut the door, pulling the blanket tightly around herself as she stepped into the frigid air. The wind was biting now, angrily whipping at her for daring to defy it. She held her head down to combat the now-constant mist that seemed to be thrown at her face in waves and waves. This place wouldn’t get the best of her. She had to be stronger.

She came to the gate, throwing herself at it without hesitation. She bounced off, and the gate stayed firm. It was even more immovable this time. She took a few steps to the side instead, getting a running start before jumping over. Her leg scraped against the wood painfully, but she made it over, her makeshift cloak flapping behind her. The wind grew stronger still, but she defiantly pulled the blanket back around herself, daring it to try to take it from her. She had a plan now, and something as small as the wind wouldn’t stop her. Every house was different, right? Then she’d find what she needed in the next one over.

She fought against the wind, but she didn’t have to go far. Just one house over. She passed through the gate, which now squeaked on its hinges, and made her way towards the familiar door. As she turned the handle the wind threw open the door and slammed it against the side of the house with a bang, sending her scrambling to grab onto it again. As the door rebounded towards her she grabbed the handle and pulled backwards, slowly but steadily leaning her way into the house. With one last pull the latch clicked into place, and she simply stood, catching her breath against the tightly shut door, rattling against the indignant gusts of wind outside.

As her breath returned, she straightened and turned around to see her kitchen. It was in far, far better condition than she’d last seen it. The dull grays of the room had been meticulously scrubbed and polished to a much more presentably clean gray. The table and the chair seated at it were both shined to perfection. As she approached the sink, she found a single plate and fork propped onto a dish rack with a still-wet sponge beside them, and silently thanked the universe for giving her the occasional good fortune. She just needed to find a bottle, and she’d have both water and food for the trip.

Opening up the cup cupboard, standing on her toes to reach the high shelf where the bottles were kept, she managed to just barely grab the tip of a metal water bottle. She stretched even further, moving it a bit more, then a bit farther still, then yelped as she slipped on the polished floor, sending both her and the bottle crashing to the ground. She cursed at herself, grabbing the bottle before standing back up.

“Don’t, don’t move.”

The shaky voice came from above her as she stood on one knee, bottle still clutched in her hand.

“Drop the bottle. Please?”

Eleanor did as she was told, and the bottle fell to the floor with a clang.

“Okay, um… Stand up, and then turn around.”

Eleanor did so, and was unsurprised and unimpressed to find another version of herself brandishing a kitchen knife as a weapon. The grip was shaky and weak, her face terrified and nervous, as if a stern glare could destroy her last shred of confidence and cause her to drop the knife and run.

“At least you seem more motivated than the last,” muttered Eleanor. The other version of her gasped.

“You-You’ve been outside? Why would you do something like that! You’re going to get us killed!”

Eleanor scoffed.

“At best, I’m going to find a way out of here. At worst, I’m going to get myself killed and be free of this place. Just me. Not you. Understand?”

The other Eleanor cocked her head in confusion, lowering her knife.

“But aren’t we-”

“No. No we aren’t! We aren’t the same!”

The other Eleanor squeaked, backing herself into a corner as Eleanor advanced forward.

“We aren’t the same person, and I’m not going to be like you either! If you’re not spending every waking moment trying to escape, then you aren’t doing enough! Guess what? I’m not okay with just sitting down and rotting here like the rest of you! I’m going to make it out of here. I’m going to be free again...”

A sniffle came from the other version of her. Tears began to form at the edges of the other Eleanor’s eyes as she slowly sank to the floor in a ball of choked sobs. Eleanor’s face softened from contempt to pity, and she squatted down to meet her own form. She held out her hands, and the Eleanor gladly accepted the gesture, rising up to meet herself in a hug. Eleanor tightened her grip as the tears now flowed freely and noisily, her shoulder becoming wet as she struggled to keep herself from falling backwards as the other her leaned in, pressing all of her weight against herself.

There was a solidarity to the action, one that she hadn’t felt since before even coming here. This other version of her was letting out all the emotions that she herself wanted to feel, but now she was here to give comfort. Eleanor hadn’t allowed herself the luxury of breaking down, of lamenting her situation since getting trapped here. If she did, if she stopped for a moment to consider the hopelessness of her condition, she’d never have a chance of escaping, trapping herself in the exact self-doubt she saw displayed before her.

And yet, even though she knew it would be poison to empathize with this Eleanor, she still found some comfort of her own in helping. Here she could make a positive difference, however small. Someone’s life, even this deformed version of her own, was made a little bit better because she was there to help. She smiled. When was the last time she did that?

Eleanor sat, holding the version of herself as the racking sobs slowly decreased to a low shudder, hugging herself tighter as the shudders too came to an end. The two of them sat there, holding each other in silent acknowledgement of their shared understanding. It was enough for Eleanor, just sitting there with someone she could recognize, but eventually the other Eleanor spoke with shaky breaths.

“How did you do it? How did you keep going? How are you still going? It all just seems so pointless, but… Here you are. You didn’t stay put.”

Eleanor didn’t really have an answer for herself. She hadn’t really thought about it, and she really, really didn’t want to. After all, if she couldn’t find an answer, then… What? Well, she knew what. It was right in front of her, clutching her arms tightly and begging for the answer she never found. No, it was best not to think about such things.

“You don’t know, do you?” Eleanor nodded. The version of herself wiped a hand across her face. “I think I get it now. It’s just your own way of coping, isn’t it? You don’t want to accept what’s right in front of you, so you go on anyway like it’s not there. It’s all just false hope and painted dreams.” The other Eleanor in front of her tilted her head up, staring into her eyes, wet lines still shimmering down her face. “I wish I could be like you.”

Eleanor pulled herself in for another embrace.

“Me too,” she whispered. “Me too.”

The other Eleanor hugged back. This time it wasn’t just Eleanor comforting this other version of herself. They were both comforting each other. They were stronger together, it was true, but Eleanor knew it couldn’t last. She couldn’t stay here forever, or she’d be just as trapped as the other her. Maybe this Eleanor would find her own strength eventually as well. Maybe they would meet up after escaping, two copies of the same person. What would that even be like? Would they just be constantly interrupting each other with the same thought? She giggled. They both did.

“You know I’m already a part of you, right?” said Eleanor’s reflection, her voice taking on some confidence. “In some way, at least. If I understood this whole thing, I wouldn’t be here. It’s just, well… I feel like you’re a part of me. A part I ignored. And if that’s true, then I know I’m a part of you somewhere, somehow.” She huffed. “Look, just get out there, okay? I’ll be fine. That’s my point. I’ll be fine. It’s hard to explain.”

Eleanor laughed.

“Trust me, I know.”

“Well then, there’s nothing left to talk about. Get out there and escape, fulfill your dreams, do whatever you set your mind to.” Her reflection began busying herself with the preparation of the supplies Eleanor had been searching for. She filled the bottle and packed several sandwiches into a pouch, like a mother fussing over her daughter before the first day of school, and placed the pouch around Eleanor’s shoulder. “There. You’re all ready. Well, you were ready before, but now… now I feel like I’m helping. You didn’t need any of this stuff in the first place, but it makes me feel better.”

“I know,” Eleanor replied. “One last hug? I feel like we’ve known each other for a long time.”

“Yes, I know,” the other Eleanor said, giving one last, brief hug. “We have.”

Eleanor approached the door, then turned to look back at herself before opening it.

“Thank you.”