I'M NOT A SEARCH AND RESCUE VOLUNTEER

I’m not a search and rescue volunteer. I don’t know who this girl is or why she thinks I am. I don’t know why she’s asking me for help, or why I feel deathly compelled to answer her pleas.<br><br>I found her inside the little girl’s room. Rachel, I think she said her name was. She was sitting on the bed, combing the long locks of hair on her porcelain dolly.<br><br>When I walked in, she looked up with the saddest expression on her face. I think she might have been crying, but that’s only a guess. I couldn’t smell her tears; I never can. Still, her face was wet and haggard, and her voice cracked as she spoke. When she asked me for my help, I was astounded. I had never met this little girl before. Neither of us were real, but we were both residents of this imaginary house. The shrine of a family that never was. <br><br>*Why would she think I’m here to help her*, I wondered, before answering in my best faked tone, “Of course, dear. I’ll do everything I can!”<br><br>She smiled at me. It was pathetic. Then, she stood up and handed me the dolly, and scuttled away. I pursed my lips, wondering what I should do. The dolly was heavy in my grasp. I could tell it was real, unlike the objects in the house that were conjured up by my mind. This was something brought from the outside. <br><br>I set the dolly aside and screamed after her. “Wait--what’s wrong? Why do you need help?”<br><br>She didn’t turn around. She just shouted back at me. “Mr. Solomon is gone! My mommy and daddy are fighting! And I saw a monster!”<br><br>As I crept down the hallway, the house around me began to warp and writhe. The walls throbbed like veins, and a sickly light emanated from some unseen force. The ground beneath my feet began to rot and disintegrate. It was like the house was dying. <br><br>And in the center of it all was the dining room where--well, where the trouble often started. I didn’t even have to see it. I could smell it. I could smell them.<br><br>Part of the table was on fire. The other part was covered in blood. I ignored the horrible stench and pushed aside the curtain of flames to look into the faces of the family. The man and woman stared at each other across the broken table, each one pointing at the other in accusation. There was no sign of a monster. Though, if I was being totally honest, I might have smelled something. That wasn’t important. I couldn’t just ignore the family.<br><br>I tried to shake the feeling. After all, I’ve seen this couple fight a thousand times. It was a never-ending nightmare. Sometimes, the fire would engulf their faces. Other times, the blood would pour from the father’s nose onto the tablecloth and it wouldn’t stop. The house would warp and change, and sometimes the man and woman would be different people. But it was always the same fight. Any time the warping got bad enough, the house would turn itself back around. I had no idea how or why it happened that way, I only knew that it did.<br><br>But something was different today. Something that made me feel very, very bad. I could smell--no, that wasn’t right. I *felt* something that I had never felt before in the house. I felt fear. I felt like something was coming. I felt the presence of people who didn’t belong here. <br><br>I had to get out of there.<br><br>I ran from the house, out into the forest, but when I got there I realized I had no idea where I was going. Neither the house nor the forest were real. There was no search and rescue base to run off to. I had no car to drive. And even if I did, I had no idea where I was supposed to go.<br><br>I wandered the forest aimlessly, my mind reeling at the new sights and smells around me. I passed through thickets of rose bushes and swatted at low hanging tree branches. I followed the sound of running water until I found a river.<br><br>I stared down at my reflection in the river. It was the first time I’d ever thought to do something like that. I was a man in a yellow SAR vest and canvas pants. I was a completely useless thing in this house of pretend. I thought back to that little girl, and my stomach sank. I was the only one who knew something was wrong. I was the only one who could save the people in the house. And I had no idea where to look.<br><br>How did I end up here? How did I become a SAR volunteer? <br><br>I thought back to all the times I’d played the part. I searched for survivors in the wreckage of the dining room. I sniffed around for dead bodies in the walls. I answered the pleas of a little girl with a dolly. I’d been doing this for years. I’d been doing it since I first arrived in the imaginary house.<br><br>But how did I arrive?<br><br>What happened before then?<br><br>I tried desperately to think back to my life before this place. I wanted to remember anything, but there was nothing. I couldn’t even remember when I’d eaten last. My teeth felt clean. My stomach didn’t hurt. I didn’t feel thirsty. I didn’t feel anything at all. I was a blank slate. I didn’t even know my own name. The little girl had called me search and rescue, and that was the only name I had to go by.<br><br>Part of me liked it that way. There was a freedom in not having a past. I could be anyone. I could go anywhere. I could save anyone. As long as I didn’t have a name, I could dream up anything I wanted. Anywhere I wanted. Any *when* I wanted.<br><br>But another part of me ached for the life I didn’t have. The life before the house. I had no idea how long I’d been here, or when I might leave. I had no idea if I’d ever see the real world again. I had no idea if I’d ever see other people again. <br><br>I shook my head. I couldn’t give in to those thoughts. Not now. I had a little girl to save.<br><br>I thought back to what she told me. The house, the family, the monster. All of it swirled in my head as I trekked deeper into the forest. I walked for hours, following no particular path. If I had to guess, I’d say the house was somewhere in the northwest. I could... well, I couldn’t exactly *smell* it. But I could remember the way the air tasted when I was there. I could picture the trees that surrounded the house. I could see the blue spruce that towered over the others. There was something about it that I couldn’t quite remember. But it was important.<br><br>I lost count of how many hours I walked, but eventually I heard something. At first I thought it was a river, or a stream, or maybe even a waterfall. But then the sound grew louder and I realized it was something--or someone--else entirely. <br><br>It was a scream. Shrill and blood-curdling, a scream of pure terror. It had to be Rachel. And I knew exactly where it was coming from. I could picture it in my head. <br><br>The blue spruce near the house, where a little girl was pinned to its base by iron spiked. Her head was twisted at an unnatural angle, and a thick stream of blood was running from her nose onto the forest floor.<br><br>I sprinted in the direction of the sound. I could hear Rachel’s pleas growing louder and more urgent. She was begging for Mr. Solomon. I didn’t know who that was, or where he was, but I knew I would be there soon.<br><br>I crashed through a thicket of bushes and came into the clearing, where the horrible scene hung before my eyes. The little girl was pinned to the tree just as I’d imagined. Mr Solomon was nowhere to be seen. But there was something else. Something horrible. Something that made me want to scream.<br><br>Mr. Solomon wasn’t the monster--I was.