Mom locked me home
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Your mother’s final act wasn’t a hug or a goodbye—it was a deadbolt slamming behind you. The house you once called home now hums with secrets, every creak a taunt. Her handwritten notes cling to dusty shelves, equations bleeding into grocery lists. That flickering lamp? Its base twists open, revealing a key stamped with your childhood initials. The grandfather clock’s pendulum swings too slow—count the gaps between ticks, and the floorboard beneath it groans open. Clues fester in plain sight: a family portrait’s eyes scratched out, the pattern on the wallpaper repeating a Morse code plea. Solve her riddles fast. The air’s getting thinner, and the front door won’t stay unlocked forever.
