By the Rules. A liminal space inspired short story

 

                                                                           By the Rules

The clock on the nightstand read 3:30 AM—just a few minutes past the hour that always felt like the cusp between night and day. Leta turned over, pulling the blankets tighter, eyes fluttering as the last vestiges of sleep tugged at her consciousness. For a moment, she thought she had drifted off, but the silence felt too thick, too still. The hum of the city outside, the usual rustling of the trees in the wind—everything was… missing.

She blinked. No, no, she was fine. It was just the night, just the quiet. She sighed, stretching and feeling the faint pull of sleep again. But something was wrong.

The shadows on the walls weren’t where they should be. The light filtering through the curtains seemed too bright, almost unreal, and the clock seemed to tick louder, as though counting down to something.

She rubbed her eyes, sitting up. Her bedroom, so familiar, now felt distant. Wasn’t the bed always angled differently? Wasn’t the dresser closer to the wall?

Confused, she swung her legs off the bed, the cool wood of the floor sending a shiver through her. She stepped toward the door, hesitated, then opened it. The hallway stretched out before her, but the floor creaked beneath her feet as she moved forward, the echo strange and too sharp.

When she stepped into the dining room, she paused. Something was off. Her house looked the same but different, like everything had been moved an inch to the left. Thinking she was just tired, she rubbed her eyes and turned to head back to her bedroom. But the hallway, the one that should have been just beyond the dining room, was gone. The space where it had been was just… empty. Walls with no doorway.

She froze, her breath catching in her throat. What was happening?

Panic began to creep in. Her heart pounded as she rushed to the front door, the only other exit. She needed to get outside, get some fresh air. The world inside felt wrong.

She opened the front door and stepped outside. The air was too warm, too crisp, but it didn’t feel like the night air. She stepped further into the yard, the grass beneath her feet unnaturally green and soft. The sky was bright—unnaturally bright—and the world around her seemed too perfect. The blue sky was peppered with white, puffy clouds.

She turned back to the house. But the door—the one she had just exited—was gone. The house itself was gone, like it had been erased from existence. In its place, a blank expanse of street stretched out in every direction. The houses, too neat and too symmetrical, seemed to watch her as she stood frozen.

A voice crackled through the air, coming from nowhere, yet everywhere. An announcement.

Rule one: Do not speak to anyone.
Rule two: Do not accept food or drink from anyone.
Rule three: If you hear footsteps behind you, run.
Rule four: Keep moving.
Rule five: Always remember to wear your watch.

Her pulse quickened. The voice echoed in her head, repeating the rules, filling the air with a constant, insistent hum. She could not shake the feeling that she wasn’t alone, that something or someone was watching her. But when she scanned the street, the only movement was the faint rustling of artificial trees, swaying in wind that did not feel quite right.

Leta forced herself to take a step forward, heart thundering. She needed to find answers, some way out of this place. There had to be a way to fix this, to get back to her life, her house, the normality she had woken up expecting.

As she walked down the sidewalk, she noticed a woman standing on the porch of one of the houses. The woman was still, her face too pale, too blank. Her eyes locked on Leta’s that felt too intense, too knowing. Leta wanted to turn away, but something about the look made her hesitate.

Then, without warning, the woman lifted a hand, offering her something. A mug, with steam rising from it, the faintest scent of tea wafting through the air.

Do not take it.

The voice echoed again, sharp and cold.

She took a step back. The rules were clear. Don’t accept food or drink from anyone. She couldn’t afford to break them. Not now. Not when everything already felt so wrong.

The woman did not move, her hand frozen mid-air, waiting for a response. But the longer the silence stretched, the more unnerving it became. The woman’s gaze never wavered. Leta couldn’t bring herself to speak, not knowing what would happen if she did.

Then, the voice rang out again.

Rule four: You must always wear a watch. Do not forget it.

Leta glanced down at her bare wrist and felt a shiver run through her. She hadn’t even thought to put one on. Was it important? Did it matter? What happened if she ignored the rules?

A chilling laugh echoed faintly in the distance. She snapped her head to look, but there was nothing. Just the rows of identical houses, the vibrant colors too bright, too unnatural. The world around her felt like a scene from a dream she couldn’t wake up from.

Turning, she walked faster, the weight of the rules hanging over her like an invisible chain. She couldn’t stop. She couldn’t slow down. Not when there was so much to uncover.

Then, up ahead, she saw someone. A man, dressed in a matching blue-and-white striped pajama set. He was walking briskly in the same direction, but when he heard her footsteps behind him, he broke into a full sprint.

The panic was instant. His legs moved faster than hers, but she could feel it—the fear. The desperate need to escape. Escape from me.

She realized what was happening. The rule: If you hear footsteps behind you, you must run.

Her heart pounded in her chest. The man was running from her, as if she were the one to fear. But she wasn’t the one running. She wasn’t the one escaping. It was him.

The realization hit her like a cold slap. She wasn’t alone here. There were others trapped in this place too.

But she couldn’t do anything. She couldn’t call out to him. She couldn’t even wave him down. The rules. She could not speak to anyone. The helplessness washed over her again, and her mind screamed in frustration.

The man’s figure grew smaller as he sped further into the distance, and soon he was lost to the bright, unnatural horizon. He was gone, leaving her with nothing but the sound of her own footsteps and the oppressive silence that followed.

She could feel her own body still moving, urging her forward. The place was changing around her, too. The houses seemed to shift slightly, the colors growing brighter, more vivid with each step she took. And yet, there was no escape. Only the hollow echo of her footfalls.

She forced herself to stop. She had to stop. Her mind was unraveling, pulling her toward an unknown fate she couldn’t even begin to understand. But no matter how hard she tried to stand still, her feet seemed to have a mind of their own. Each step was like a command she couldn’t refuse. She was being pushed forward, deeper into this bizarre version of the world, unable to resist the pull.

As she moved forward, she saw something else—something that made her stomach twist in knots. It was another person, standing alone in front of one of the houses. This one wasn’t running. This one was still.

A woman. Her hands were clasped in front of her, her face expressionless, almost vacant. She was staring straight ahead, but her eyes—black and shiny—seemed to be seeing something far beyond this place. It was as though she was staring into an abyss, and whatever she was looking at, it wasn’t this world.

Leta’s breath caught in her throat. She felt compelled to move toward the woman, as if some unseen force was guiding her every action. She tried to hold herself back, but it was useless. She had no choice but to take another step, and then another, until she stood just a few feet away from the figure.

Now she was close enough to see the details of the woman. Her eyes were like two black holes in her face, her arms seemed too long for her body, and her fingers were out of proportion to the rest of her. Her hair was mousy brown and disheveled, her ponytail frizzy.

The air between them was thick, unnerving. There was something about her presence that felt wrong. She wasn’t moving. She wasn’t speaking. She was just standing there, lost in her own mind.

It was then that she heard it—the faintest sound of footsteps behind her. Too soft at first to be real, but then they grew louder, more distinct. Someone was coming up behind her. She could feel it. The rule.

If you hear footsteps behind you, run.

But when she tried to turn around, to escape, her legs wouldn’t move. The force that had been pushing her forward, compelling her to keep walking, was now gone. Her feet were locked in place, her body trembling.

The footsteps behind her grew closer, louder, until they were right there—just behind her, too close. And then, without warning, the man from earlier appeared in her peripheral vision, his face twisted in panic as he sprinted past her. He wasn’t looking at her. He was looking ahead, eyes wide with fear.

He didn’t acknowledge her at all.

She watched, helpless, as he darted past the woman, his form disappearing into the distance. Her chest tightened with something between frustration and dread. She had seen him before—she was sure it was the same man. She had seen him running away from her, right? But now, he was running away from nothing.

Was everyone here trapped in the same way? Were they all slaves to the rules, unable to speak, unable to fight back?

The woman continued to stand, her eyes still locked on some unseen point in the distance, her fingers twitching ever so slightly as though they, too, wanted to follow the man.

But she didn’t move. No one moved. And the silence hung thick, like the world was holding its breath.

Leta tried to force herself to speak—to cry out, to warn someone—but her throat was dry, her voice too far gone to make a sound. The rules were clear. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t break them.

Then, from the corner of her eye, she saw something else—a movement. A faint flicker of motion just beyond the horizon. Someone was walking toward her. It was a girl, young, with long hair and a bright, eager smile, holding something in her hands.

A cup of tea.

Her heart hammered in her chest, panic rising within her like a tidal wave. This couldn’t be happening again. Not now.

But the girl was moving closer, not noticing the woman standing beside her, the one frozen in place. As the girl came within reach, she raised her arm, extending the cup toward the woman as if offering it. The smell of the tea wafted in the air, thick and inviting, a temptation she couldn't ignore.

Her instincts screamed at her to refuse, to turn away. But what if—what if she could break the rules? What if that was the key to escaping? To going home?

She felt the weight of the rule press on her chest. Do not accept food or drink.

But it was so hard. The longing in her gut to take the cup, to taste the warmth of something real, something that wasn’t this sterile nightmare, was overwhelming.

Her mind screamed at her again. Don’t do it. It’s a trap. They’re all a trap.

And then, in a heartbeat, the girl took a sip. The moment the liquid touched her lips, she vanished. The girl was gone, just like that, as if the world had swallowed her whole.

Leta froze, her breath catching in her throat. Her legs shook. Her heart dropped into her stomach. She had seen it—the girl had disappeared. There was no trace of her left. She hadn't even had a chance to scream.

She should’ve said something. She should’ve stopped her.

But the rules—always follow the rules.

Leta stumbled back, the weight of it sinking in. She realized that the moment she had thought to warn the girl, she had become just like the others—helpless, powerless. Trapped in a world of constant waiting, never allowed to help, never allowed to speak.

And that could be me next.

She was shaking now, her body cold, her mind spiraling as the hollow silence enveloped her once again. The world around her seemed to warp in time with her racing thoughts. The rules pressed down harder than ever, tightening their grip on her.

And then, an announcement blared through the air, crisp and final.

Time is running out.

Time. Running out.

She couldn’t stop. The world wasn’t giving her any choice. She had to keep moving, keep following the rules. She didn’t know what would happen if she stopped, but the sense of urgency was unmistakable. The rules would never stop, not until you obeyed every single one.

She sprinted down the street, the world becoming an indistinct blur. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she couldn’t stay here. Time was running out.

The houses loomed larger and brighter as she ran, their colors more vivid now, like the world was heating up in some invisible oven. Neon pinks and electric greens twisted around her, as if mocking her attempts to escape.

She found herself at the door of a house—an odd pink one, with fake flowers scattered around the yard. She didn’t know why she stopped, but she did. Her hand reached for the doorknob, trembling as she turned it, entering the house without even thinking.

Once inside, she slammed the door shut behind her.

The moment the door clicked, she realized her mistake. She’d sealed her fate.

Rule four: Keep moving

She stared at her trembling hands. Her fingers were too long. Too bony. Just like the woman who had offered her the tea. Just like the figures she had seen walking the streets, lost and forever caught in this strange place.

She looked toward the window, her reflection staring back at her with an eerie, unnatural smile. Her face was locked in a grin, wide and wrong. It wasn’t hers.  She let out a sigh and opened the door, the knob warm in her hand.

Her hands were shaking as she reached for the teacup on the porch, trembling fingers curling around the delicate china. Her eyes darted across the street, and she saw someone walking in the distance—a man, his eyes vacant, his body moving like a machine.

But before she could even think to take a step toward him, the words left her lips without her control.

“Would you care for some tea, dear?” she said, her voice a whisper in the otherwise empty street.