An Unsuccessful Move

I'll tell you a story; some will find it strange, others crazy, but it's a fact I find very hard to argue with.

I had to move into an apartment. My old apartment, although it had an improved layout, was in a less-than-ideal neighborhood, so I decided to move into an older building, but in a good location.

Strange things started happening already during the first week. I began to notice that my electronic devices, even regular watches, would occasionally malfunction. They never showed the correct time, never—not even my computer or microwave. Instead of minutes, they would count down to hours, the minutes would jump, and sometimes they would show, for example, "96," which is basically impossible. As someone who's very familiar with technology, I tried my best, but it was no use—the watch was constantly showing the wrong time.

 Little by little, I began to notice that my room, and the objects in it, were changing somewhat. They seemed older or more worn, but it felt like they weren't mine anymore. Even putting on my coat felt different. Even the change in my pocket created an uneasy feeling. Something was clearly wrong with the things in this apartment. I decided to ask the neighbors about it, but no one opened the door, no one at all, even though the lights were on in the windows in the evenings and I could see people walking around.

The worst thing started on the weekend. I woke up because it was too quiet. Usually, my computer hums and my clock ticks, but this time, everything was too quiet. The computer wasn't working, the clock had stopped and showed three o'clock—meaning it had stopped during the night. I wound it, but it didn't respond. Okay, so I put the clock away.  But it turned out that not a single mechanism or appliance in the house worked anymore, as if they were all empty inside, no matter how you twisted it. I couldn't even open the window, damn it! Everything seemed to move, but it didn't work at all. I felt completely terrified in that house. I tried to open the door, but it wouldn't open—the lock twisted and turned, but nothing happened.

I ran to the pantry, grabbed an axe from there, returned to the kitchen, and smashed the glass with it, feeling that at least it was breakable. Quickly getting dressed, I climbed out the window with the axe and ran down the street. There was no one around, not even a wind was blowing, the traffic lights weren't working. I didn't understand what was happening. After running a block, I was surprised to find myself back where I'd come from. Not knowing what to do, I kept running. I ran until, helpless, I leaned against a pole. And suddenly, I saw a trolleybus.  A regular trolleybus, route 12, the one I used to take home to my old apartment. Without thinking twice, I got on and rode. Along the way, I got so drowsy that I passed out, axe in hand.

I woke up in my old apartment. Everything was exactly the same as a week ago. I looked at the calendar—it was the very day I decided to move.

A month later, I finally decided to go there, to that strange house. It turned out there was no house there...

I don't know what it was. But the axe from that very apartment is still in my house.