E
The listing said "Spacious." That was an understatement. The House on Ash Lane grew a new room every night.
Arthur bought it cheap. He explored the ground floor: kitchen, living room, study. Normal.
Then he opened the broom closet. It wasn't a closet. It was a ballroom with a crystal chandelier.
The next night, a door appeared in the ballroom. It led to a jungle conservatory with real parrots. The night after, a spiral staircase descended into a wine cellar that stretched for miles.
Arthur was delighted. He invited friends. They got lost. "Meet me in the 4th Library," he'd text them. "No, the one with the green books."
But the House was hungry. It wasn't growing for free. It was feeding on Arthur's memories. He forgot his mother's face to pay for the swimming pool. He forgot his first love to pay for the observatory.
One day, he woke up in a bedroom he didn't recognize. He walked through a hall of mirrors, a desert courtyard, and a clock tower. He couldn't find the front door.
"Where is the exit?" he screamed.
The House didn't answer. It just grew a new door. A door to a nursery, waiting for a child Arthur no longer remembered he wanted.