Folyosó Spring 2026

Zaránd Lánczi

I never thought I would meet a famous person from history. But this morning, János Damjanich was standing in my yard. He was wearing a fancy shirt with many buckles on it. He was looking at my 2005 Suzuki Swift as if it were a scary monster.

“Where is the horse for this small box?” he asked loudly. He looked very annoyed.

I told him it was my car. He didn’t look happy, but he got in the front seat. His long sword kept hitting the door and the radio. It took him a long time to put on his seatbelt because his buckles were in the way.

“Drive me to the Zagyva river!” he shouted. “It is time to push the imperial forces into the stream!”

When we started driving on the road, he got very scared. “Why are there so many horseless vehicles?” he asked. He saw a man in a t-shirt driving next to us. “That man is not dressed properly! He looks like he is in his pajamas! Stop the car and tell him to put on a coat!”

Then, the GPS spoke. A woman’s voice said, “Turn left in 100 meters.”

Damjanich jumped and almost lost his hat. “Who is that?! Is there a tiny woman living in your ’CAR’?” he yelled. He started poking the screen with his finger. “Come out, little lady! I am the General of the Hungarian Revolutionary Army! You must show yourself!”

I told him it was just a computer, but he didn’t believe me. He thought the “voice in the box” was a magic spy.

We went to a fast food place. He talked to the server for five minutes. He gave a long speech about how important Hungary is and how it should be protected from future peril. The person working there was very confused.

Damjanich ordered a Happy Meal. He was very disappointed when the toy was a small plastic car. “I wanted a horse,” he said sadly.

Before he left, he was eating a McFlurry and wearing a paper crown. “The future has too much noise and too many small cars,” he said. “But these cold sweets are very good.” Then he disappeared.

Zsombor Górán

I looked at the manor before me with awe in my eyes as I slowly drove through the elegantly decorated gates into the courtyard. The courtyard was adorned with thousands of flowers and magnificent shrubbery in the shape of various animals. The blazing sun perfectly illuminated the black brick building making it seem as if it were from a movie. But I wasn’t here to linger around. I had a flight to catch later that day. I parked my car right next to the giant spruce door whose intricate patterns of gold and silver reminded me of flowers . As I got out of my car I saw the true size of this estate . The fence that I came through went on as far as the eye can see and even beyond that. I knew I was meeting a rich buyer, but nobody told me the extent of his wealth. I went up the small staircase to the front door and was looking for a doorbell when the doors slowly opened and a butler greeted me. He was an old man, roughly sixty years old, wearing a tuxedo with wrinkly hands and a strange hairstyle, a result of his not having much hair yet still insisting on styling it like he was in his early twenties. He coldly greeted me and asked me to follow him. The lobby was a work of art . In the centre there was a grand staircase leading up to what I can only imagine was some sort of living room. There were also two hallways just next to the staircase on either side.The walls, unlike the outside, were covered by a layer of old and faded wood, which absorbed most of the light coming from the outside, thus making the lobby surprisingly dark. The walls were covered with several paintings of wildly different looking people in suits without any obvious connection between them. There were at least fifty pictures placed there, from what I can tell. From the ceiling hung an enormous old-fashioned chandelier that looked older than the ones found in museums. The butler urged me to follow him through a hallway on the left side of the building. The hallway was dimly lit with several windows cowered with thick cotton curtains. We walked past several identical-looking doors, the only visible difference being a small number made of most probably silver. After walking for what felt like an eternity we finally stopped and entered a small room. The room itself had no windows nor any other entrances. In the middle sat a small fireplace with a small fire that was struggling to light up the room. On either side were old bookshelves which were about a hundred years overdue on replacement. There was a blood red carpet with a table and a few armchairs on it right in front of the fireplace. The host was waiting impatiently at the table . He looked like a tall yet slightly chubby middle aged with a thick and nicely cut beard and mustache. I  couldn’t tell much else about his facial expressions due to the low light. As soon as he saw me he greeted me warmly and asked me to join him for a coffee. I confidently walked up to him, shook his hand, then sat down across the table. Soon afterward, the butler came, carrying a plate with two tiny cups with golden trims on a plate. He put the coffee on the table next to me and swiftly left . The host started making small talk and was insistent on telling a few stories about the latest new redecorating of the mansion. I was not there to waste time, so I took out the small metal box that I had been carrying around for the better part of the day. It was a heavy and dusty box that resembled a simple chest . It had a tiny keyhole on the front and several engraved patterns on the outside. The only thing it was lacking was the key itself. He pulled out a briefcase from under the table and placed it on the table, which shook as the heavy suitcase hit it. Without any words being said I handed over the box and picked up the suitcase.After a few seconds of silence I stood up and walked out the door, leaving my coffee untouched. I wandered through the hallways on my own. I must have taken a wrong turn while leaving because I ended up in a very unfamiliar part of the mansion. The walls had even fewer decorations than before, nor any windows. I walked around and around in circles . After a while I heard a door opening not far from me .  A short and slim person came out dressed in a black cloak.  He hurriedly walked down the hallway in the direction I think I had come from. I didn’t have time to ask for help but from the way he was walking I could already tell that I should leave him alone.  The door he had just emerged from wasn’t closed properly. Curiosity got the better of me . I walked up to the door, looking around in case someone was around. I saw nobody, so I ever so slightly opened the door so there would be a small gap which I could see through.  The room was illuminated by a few candles scattered around the room . I could barely make out anything inside but saw a glimpse of a figure moving inside. The room had this weird pungent smell of sage mixed with something I couldn’t  put my finger on.  There was also a faint noise coming from inside . It was like someone was whispering. Against my better judgement I opened the door a little more. I saw at least eight people kneeling in a circle around a small podium. They were wearing identical black robes with the hood placed over their head.  There was a small item on the podium. On closer inspection it looked like the box I had just sold to the host of the mansion. Then someone stepped into the candlelight from the shadows. He was holding a tiny red pillow with a sort of small chain on top of it. He stopped a few inches from the podium and placed the pillow down on it. Then he took the chain into his hands . There was a small key attached to the end of the chain. He slowly and gracefully opened the box. Shortly after that the people kneeling in a circle started to whisper in sync  . The whispering grew louder each second until it became close to shouting. I couldn’t make out a single word they said during it. It was like they were repeating a few phrases. Their voice was somewhat melodic yet unexpectedly unpleasant to listen to. At the same time it was mesmerizing, and I couldn’t take my eyes off them. Even though I didn’t understand what they were saying, a chill went down my spine. In the meantime I heard another noise coming from the hallway. As I looked around I saw a familiar face. The butler was standing a few meters from me, staring at me emotionlessly.  He didn’t say anything about the room, just said to follow him. Having been lost here for the better part of fifteen minutes I didn’t hesitate to take his help. I was uncertain what I witnessed but it would have been rude to ask. We were walking in hallways I didn’t recognise at all. It also looked like each turn we took led to an even dustier hallway.

After a short time I felt something was wrong. I started smelling the characteristic scent of sage as we got closer to our destination. The butler kept on walking like nothing was out of the ordinary. It also felt like someone was looking at us, but I didn’t see anyone else. After a while we found an especially dark hallway with several of the lamps placed on the wall not working. When we were walking towards it I heard a faint noise coming from the darkness. I stopped dead in my tracks as I saw the reflection of a pair of eyes inside the darkness.This is the point where I started to panic. I swiftly turned around and started running in the opposite direction. The butler, realising I wasn’t following him, started to chase me. I hid in one of the many rooms as he went straight past me. I didn’t want to find out what he would do if he caught me or what would have happened if I had followed him into that dark hallway. Luckily as I got out of my hiding spot I recognised the hallway. The exit wasn’t far at all. I retraced the steps I had first taken to get to this location from the frontal entrance. And I made my way to the frontal entrance. The butler was nowhere in sight and the doors were wide open. I didn’t stop running until I got in my car. I broke the speed limit a few times just to get away faster from that place. I am not sure what I had just witnessed but at least I am glad I made it out unscathed with the briefcase. I wish never to come back there ever again.

Tamás Elter

Last summer, I visited my cousin in Budapest. My parents wanted me to spend some time away from home after a hard school year. At first I did not want to go, because I wanted to stay with my friends, but later I changed my mind.

One afternoon, my cousin was at work, so I went for a walk in the city alone. It was very hot and there were many tourists everywhere. After some time, I got tired and took a bus back to the apartment.

At the next stop, an old man got on the bus. He had a guitar case and sat down near me. After a few minutes, he started quietly singing “Blowin’ in the Wind” by Bob Dylan.

I knew the song because my English teacher had showed it to us in class before. Back then, I thought it was just an old song, but now it sounded different.

The old man asked me if I knew the song. I said yes, and then we started talking. He told me that when he was young, songs like this were very important to people. They helped people talk about freedom, war, and problems in society.

Before he left the bus, he showed me an old photo of himself with his friends at a music festival. He smiled and said that music was a big part of his life.

When I got home, I listened to the song again on my phone. This time I listened more carefully to the lyrics. The song made me think about the world and how people still search for answers to many problems. Since that day, whenever I hear “Blowin’ in the Wind,” I remember the old man on the bus. I learned that even an old song can have an important message.

Sára Timár

History is what encourages me to stay curious about this world, about society. I often drown in my thoughts, and I strongly don’t mind it. I wonder how people lived back then, mostly in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. How my relatives lived their own lives who couldn’t  even have a clue I exist but I know that they did.

I’m in a house, long abandoned, but still not completely rotten. I am in the living room, inspecting every corner but also wondering how those people who lived here used up their spaces as their home. This room has a large interior height with a sparkly chandelier. Typically in the corner, there’s an armchair and a reading lamp. The dust is so visible, especially the way the sunlight makes the specks seen as the sunbeams peer through the old, stout window. The scenery of this is absolutely appealing, and it’s ten times better if I even picture a livelier version of this room, with people laughing together and talking for hours.

Making my way to the kitchen, the tile is cracked, it’s supposed to be white but not anymore. This place reminds me of those kitchens that appear in the rural houses. There’s a wooden, small table with only two chairs. There are some cabinets and the cooker, with many many pots and pans, all of them too rusty to be touched. Once there were some colors to these pieces of furniture, fruits on the table and fresh coffee, lunch  about to be ready, with its smell wandering through the rooms. I hear chattering, laughter and multiple pleasant dinners. Neighbours being guests. Now I see a dark, grey, forbidden room.

I sigh as I step into the bathroom. I hate abandoned bathrooms. They are too spooky, which makes my stomach upset. I think I like to look at modern, comfy bathrooms, which highlight the great hygiene. I feel like this bathroom was once a stylish one too, because there are many nails in the walls. The people who once lived here might have loved to hang things from the wall, or maybe fix a running plant against it. I imagine it stunning. I even picture a girl who loved to sing in the shower and look at herself in the mirror. Now, there’s basically nothing left of this. There’s the shower cabin, and a bathtub, too. It is so old, yellow and cold. There isn’t a proper chandelier, just a light bulb hanging from the ceiling.

Suddenly, everything is so quiet. I daydreamed so long that I forgot I’m all alone here. I only hear my footsteps in the foyer, some glass pieces breaking under my shoes. It feels nostalgic. I go back to the living room, where I am able to hear the cars passing, and the life outside this flat. I decided to go down and take a look at this home from outside. The building itself is grey, yet again, but its style is historical. It is so unbelievable that once there was life inside and outside at the same time. Now, it’s just taking up the tiniest space on this planet, no longer in use.

Mira Melinda Csépe

On the edge of a quiet village stood an old house. It was large, dark, and very silent. People said no one had lived there for many years. Some said strange sounds came from inside at night. Others said the house was hiding a secret.

One rainy evening, a girl named Anna  stood outside the house. She held a small old key in her hand. It belonged to her grandfather. Before he died, he told her only one thing:

“There is something hidden in that house. Find it.”

Emma had always wondered what he meant. Tonight, she was going to find out.

She slowly opened the front door and stepped inside.

The first room she entered was the bedroom. It was large but strangely empty. A tall bed stood in the middle of the room, covered with dark red curtains that hung down like heavy blankets. The sheets were neat and cold when Emma touched them. Two narrow windows were covered with thin curtains, and only a little light came in. The room smelled like old perfume. It was very quiet, except for the soft ticking of a clock on the wall.

Tick… tick… tick…

Emma looked around carefully, but there was nothing unusual there. Then she heard a small sound coming from downstairs.

She followed it.

Emma walked into the kitchen. It felt warmer than the rest of the house. A large iron stove stood against the wall, still giving off a little heat. The smell of burnt wood and old spices filled the room. The floor tiles were rough and cold under her feet. The pipes in the walls made a soft knocking sound as if something was moving through them. Even though the room should have felt comforting, there was a strange silence that made it feel abandoned.

Then she heard it.

Knock… knock… knock…

The sound came from inside the wall.

Emma stepped back, frightened. Suddenly, she noticed a piece of paper on the table. She was sure it had not been there before.

She picked it up.

It said:

“Look behind the books.”

Emma’s heart beat faster.

She quickly left the kitchen and went into the living room. It was big, with tall windows covered by heavy dark curtains. The walls were painted faded gray, and old paintings hung on them. A long velvet sofa sat in the center of the room. In front of it was a wooden coffee table covered with old books and candles. The room smelled a little like smoke from the stone fireplace.A wooden coffee table stood in front of the sofa, covered with old books and candles.The room felt warm from the fire, but the silence made it scary.

Emma looked at the tall bookshelves along the wall.

She pushed one gently.

It moved.

Behind it was a small hidden door.

With shaking hands, Emma took out the old key and put it into the lock.

Click.

The door opened.

Inside was a tiny stone room with no windows. The air was cold and smelled of damp earth. In the middle of the room sat a small wooden chest covered in dust. When the door closed the room became completely dark and silent.

Then Emma quickly lit a candle so she could see something.

Emma walked toward it slowly.

She opened it.

Inside she did not find gold or jewels.

She found letters.

Many letters.

They were written by her grandfather. Emma sat down and began reading. The letters told the story of the house. Her grandfather had grown up there. He had hidden these letters so his family would one day know the truth, that the house was not evil or haunted. It was simply lonely, full of old memories waiting to be found.

At the bottom of the chest was one final note.

It said:

“Emma, if you are reading this, you have found the secret. This house belongs to you now. Fill it with life again.”

Emma smiled.

For the first time, the house did not feel scary.

It felt warm.

It felt like home.

Outside, the rain stopped. Soft sunlight began to shine through the windows.

And the old house behind the hill was silent no longer. It was awake again, ready for a new beginning.

Márk Gál

…and I entered the room with Mr Jan Erik Johansen. 12m², that’s the area of a casual office. Its area is evenly distributed on a rectangle, furnished with a shady brown pine desk, a black swivel chair and an armchair composed of the same color. The paint of the wall is a cappuccino brown painted by a not-outstanding painter who made some mistakes, but as many as a very not-outstanding painter does. The LED lamps and a white rectangle framed window provided just enough light to read, but the room was neither gloomy nor vibrant. The documents on the desks were organized, but I didn’t have the feeling that Johansen was a man diagnosed with OCD and that he couldn’t stand it if there was one match that wasn’t lying along with the others. I felt that the place felt way too sinisterly mediocre, considering that it had one HP laptop, which is a very common brand. You might hope that its room number would be something unique, but I have to disappoint you: it is just 26 (not even a prime or a quadratic number).

I was thinking, why had Equinor promised me 20 million NOK plus a 200 thousand NOK wage for the job? -What did they mean under “setting up and organizing crude oil production under extraordinary circumstances”? – I was asking the college. 

– Well… I think you should extract it from PET bottles.

– Ha ha… very “funny”!

He opened his laptop, dragged out a program that was hidden in the Recycle Bin, and started to run it, than put the documents away from the desk’s shelf, which turned out to be secretly a sensor that activated something only when this protocol was performed the exact same way. The computer popped up the site where I could register using a code that was on the paper they gave me.

– But be serious, can you tell me what my job to do here is and not just doing something like I didn’t exist? – Asking him very nicely like a true gentlemen who is very patient.

– I’m on it. You know by making that something I can answer your question. Now could hold your lower jaw and tongue in the same position till I finish? Thank you!

It was a very heavy task to do, but somehow I managed. He registered me and then something weird happened with the part of the wall where the not-outstanding painter made not outstandingly many, but a few mistakes.  I was just lifted up, and a gloomy hallway appeared.  It also included a steel stairway leading down way so deep I could hardly see its end. I failed to continue the mission which Johansen had entrusted me with. The gravity pulled my jaw a minimum of 20 cm if not more.

– I told you something! – he yelled at me with cynicism. – Now you may have some questions for instance… why those lamps, those useless pieces of scrap, do not work when I ordered them recently?!  Well I want to know that too! Even their blasted warranty has not expired, because than I would understand why those damn Chinese made it like this! – Yelling madly like a father who had entered the shop and realized at the cash register that he forgot to bring his coupons and just left the shop. 

That was the first question which came to my mind! – I answered calmly and brutally honestly. – Look, there is the switch, I assume you forgot to turn on!

You are a nervy savior, Mr. Olsen!  It seems you know what is what here more than I do!

While we were walking down the stairs he told me that at the end there would be a tremendously large underground that transports both personnel and crude oil. It made sense to me, since there were headquarters in Bergen where the black gold was also extracted, but the enormous gates sealed a more meaningful secret, or so I thought.

Well behind these steel gates there is your future, our future, Norway’s future, maybe the world’s future… – the colleague said.

After 15 minutes of waiting and chatting, a smaller crew of our scientists arrived, and we opened the seal. Behind it there was huge whatchamacallit, having a hole in its middle and tons of coils and wires around it. When a scientist turned on it I saw a reflection of a meadow with a lake. It turned out that I was looking at Minnesota and this monstrosity was a portal, but not just any kind of portal. With this we could jump into a new dimension of our world where the reserves of oil were much more. But there are twists. The portal can change to new dimensions or new places in that dimension and it wasn’t completely stable, so if someone entered at a wrong moment they might get through with just half of themself, but the most important fact is that the in the dimensions there are quirky physics and many times reversed ones.  We can filter some of these traits, but we can’t remove all of them, so this is what “extraordinary circumstances” means.

Just to mention some of them from my first expedition: the crude oil in D1 wasn’t a fossil fuel that needed eternities for extraction and refinement; instead it is generated in less than a year. However, in the USA, where guns are allowed, here were the fewest crimes committed particularly by guns, but in the homeland gunshots occur more times than you here a birds sing a day, where firearms are prohibited even for most cops. But this was just a slight one. In Iraq, there is stability and women keep harems of men, and top models that barely weight 50 kg often kidnap masculine men and rape them… What I found outrageous was that those who lived no more than 20 years spent more time in the sunlight than prisoners and also hated to scroll on kotkiT.   How dare they! And they also prefer to eat vegetables over anything.  Or that the USA is actually a communist state which very oddly not collapsed and was led by a man named Trotsky from Mexico. (Yes the leaders of the countries mainly lead the country from the outside of their own.)  Apart from these silly social changes there are biological, physical and chemical ones, too.  Gravitation mostly works, but sometimes it just vanishes. Chemical reactions happen much faster; probably this is the main reason why there are so many of those mixtures of carbon and hydrogen. And probably the oddest one of all is that many animals (humans included) are old when born; as time passes they become younger and younger, and people usually die young. (This is why I said “lived no more than 20 years” and not young people instead)

After we arrived back some of the particles we brought with us from the New World started to glitch the atmosphere. Luckily we sent them all back to their original place, but unluckily we still need to find a solution to this issue of bringing oil to our world.

Léda Karmazin

It is the year 3038, and I live on Venus.. Around five hundred years ago, Earth launched the Hydrogen Fleets. Scientists had realized that the only way to make Venus livable was to send billions of tons of liquid hydrogen from the atmosphere of Jupiter. Overpopulation was not the reason for Venus. The real reason was that on Earth, the arts such as literature, poetry, writing, and drama had been banned. It was forbidden to practice them or even speak about them. So, this is the reason I am here on Venus. Music and poetry are everything to me. They move all the people who do something related to the arts onto Venus because everyone else finds it stupid. They don’t understand it.

Anyways, I’m 37 years old, and I currently don’t have a job. I live in a communal house with nine other people. The house is small, but we get along and the atmosphere is always vibrant. There are two rooms in the house. Yes, two rooms for ten people. You heard it right.

The first room has all the instruments you can think of: guitar, piano, trumpet, saxophone, flute… EVERYTHING. The air is a bit dusty in this room, but it adds a vibe. There is one rule in the room: you are not allowed to speak at all. You can only communicate your feelings through music. If you dare to speak in this room, you are instantly kicked out of the house. I know this doesn’t sound so good… ten people… small house… rules… But the reason I’m here, and everyone else is too, is because we want to train ourselves. Our inner selves. All ten of us have been through rough times because of our fields of interest. We have been completely moved to a different planet because our hearts burn for something they will never understand like we do.

We have been moved away from our families, friends, and close ones. Alright, I’m going to stop. No need to make this story emotional. So, the house… the second room is a bit more interesting than the first one. It’s a room filled with mirrors and sand. Sand on the skin and body tends to calm people down. That’s why it’s there. The mirrors show you what you will be in your next life. But it’s not permanent; if you enter the room again three years or even three months later, the mirrors may show you something completely different. It all depends on your lifestyle. Today I stood in the sand and mirror room again. This time, it didn’t show a frog or a slug. It showed a word.

MŰVÉSZET.

I didn’t know what it meant, so I translated it. Art….

I had never thought of art as a living thing. As a being. But it is. We fail to realize what impact it has had on us, how deeply it shapes the way we feel, think, grieve, love, and survive. Art is not decoration. It watches us grow. It changes with us. And maybe, in return, it changes who we become.

Szonja Lengyel

The auction listing only showed three images of the property. Two of them were blurry images of sparsely furnished rooms, darkened by age and neglect. However, the third was different. It showed the exterior of the apartment with two enormous arched windows rising above the street, the carved details’ edges softened by age, yet still mesmerising to look at.

The flat was located in the older, quieter district of the city, pressed between two newly renovated buildings, their pristine appearance almost mocking the facade that was visibly carrying the exhaustion of decades. Cracks spread through the pale exterior walls, on which even the paint was worn dull by the years of rain. I fumbled with my keys, as I hadn’t paid attention when the auction clerk was explaining which key belonged to the apartment. Finally, after successfully opening the door I immediately went for the stairs, each step quick against the worn stone steps, the sound echoing in the empty stairwell. I had butterflies in my stomach since the gavel slammed down, but by now I couldn’t tell if it was due to excitement or unease.

I snapped out of my train of thoughts as I reached the second floor. My eyes were scanning for the number 7 as I made my way down the corridor. I found the brass number plate hanging at eye level on one of the identical crimson doors a little further along. I inserted the key, turned it twice, my hand on the worn doorknob, but hesitated before entering. This is it, I thought, my very first apartment. I gathered my courage and entered, stopping at the threshold and taking in the dim hallway that stretched before me. There was silence. Not the empty kind, but the kind that lingered in the air, like a vow. I took another step inside and closed the door behind me, sliding the keys in my pocket. I looked to my right, where a set of double doors stood, slightly ajar.

I pushed open the old door which gave way into the living room. As I stepped in I was immediately hit by the strong smokey odor of cigarettes, even though the apartment was last lived in eight years ago. The hardwood panels creaked under my feet, as I made my way to the centre of the room, stopping by the low coffee table. An ashtray stood on it. A cigarette still burned, smoke slowly curling into the air. I froze for a second, staring at the smoke, as it made no sense. The apartment was supposed to be empty. I told myself it was probably left by the estate agent or someone checking the place before the auction.  I slowly spun around to take the whole place in. The yellowy wallpaper was tattered, peeling in places, like a snake shedding its skin. The missing parts of the wallpaper revealed the cracking paint underneath like a dry desert. On the wall opposite me, there were two large windows. These were the reasons I had decided to take a look at this apartment in the first place. A faint movement caught my eye. The curtain shifted a little even though the air was still in the room. The ornate, arched windows that allowed the afternoon light to illuminate the room were like portals connecting the bustling street with this time capsule of a flat. I gazed at the dust particles dancing in the air, and my line of vision shifted towards the wall behind me, where the greyish shadows of a tree outside appeared, as if it was a grand mural painted by the golden sunrays, its leaves gently swaying in the breeze outside.

For a moment, the smell of cigarettes emitted by room’s furniture faded and I remained alone with the windows,which stared back at me, glowing like a pair of curious eyes. My daydreaming was disrupted when I heard a distant sound, almost as if a cabinet door had opened and closed. I turned around and decided to head to the kitchen.

The kitchen was conveniently located left from the hall, just opposite the creaky oakwood double doors of the living room. It was surprisingly spacious, uncharacteristic of houses from the era it was built in, however it was just as run-down and hollow as the rest of the house, solemnly waiting for its owners to come back and bring life back to its gloomy state. Green square tiles lined the walls, some of them cracked or chipped in places. The cabinetry was painted an obnoxious orange-like color, as though someone had tried to mix apricot and rust. A few of the cabinet doors were scratched, and there was one slightly misaligned, sagging on its hinges as if the house itself had given up. Mocha and white chequered tiles covered the floor in perfectly uniform rows, seemingly flawless, but that appearance was broken by the stained and uneven grout threading between the chessboard of tiles.

A small table sat under the window; a pot of white lilies stood on it, beginning to wilt due to the lack of water. It surprised me that the lilies were alive. Someone must have kept watering them. But why? My attention shifted to the sink, as I thought about water in the plant. A coffee cup sat beside it, already placed there, as if it had been used recently. I hesitated as I thought again; The apartment was supposed to be empty. I didn’t look through the empty cabinets to find another one. Instead I filled the cup with water and returned to the plant, telling myself it had probably just been left behind by someone. Still, my hand trembled as I watered the plant. Standing by the window, I noticed that the lace curtain framed the glass like a spiderweb. As I turned away, the hanging cabinet door shifted slightly, settling back into place. The cigarette smell that had slowly seeped into the walls of the entire apartment was mixing with a faint echo of spices that had once filled the air. After taking one last look at the kitchen, I reached for the door and went on to explore the rest of the flat.

Once I had finished exploring the other rooms of the apartment, I finally reached the end of the hall, where the bedroom awaited me. Entering the space I was met with a cold stillness, despite the room having warmer tones. I had been told that the bedroom is the strongest echo of the person who used to live there. The room was tiny, yet the absence of time made it strangely expansive, even though it was fully furnished with antique pieces.

The bed was the centre of the space, its wood was dark and worn, however the ornate carvings shaped like floral motifs remained sharply defined. The walnut colored shellac had become brittle over time, flaking at some parts. The finish had worn thin on the edges, dulled from glossy to muted with age. The bedding was pale rose, ruffled at the edges; it matched the three enormous pillows positioned against the opulent headboard. There were two additional decorative pillows with embroidered pillowcases showcasing tiny careful stitches. The final layer on the bed was a cotton quilt, soft to the touch. The quilting lines were slightly raised, made with pale pink thread for contrast. The patchwork squares had different colors and patterns. Some were muted raspberry, while others had a blush shade. A few squares had floral patterns on a white background, the flowers outlined with the same pale pink stitch. The quilt lay heavy and still while the canopy above it stirred at the slightest breath of air. It swayed gently, like wings, as if a colossal moth had settled over the bed. The ivory color was softened yet ghost-like as though the fine lace was from another world, woven into delicate motifs, looping like tiny vines.

The vanity had the same walnut, time-softened wood as the bed. The top was worn, covered in small nicks and scratches. That’s when I noticed something was off. The room was completely untouched in a way that felt unnatural. Perfume bottles with yellowed labels, a hairbrush, a comb with bent teeth and a shallow pale yellow colored dish holding silver rings all lay motionless on the vanity. Personal items, things that shouldn’t have been left behind, yet they were still here. I noticed the faint fingertips on one of the bottles. Someone must have handled it recently, maybe during a cleaning before the auction. I opened one of the drawers out of curiosity and found a velvet lined box. I cautiously scooped it up, opening it with care to find a pair of pearl earrings, perfectly matched like two identical moons. A pearl necklace was placed beside them, clearly part of the same set. I wondered about who they belonged to and where they came from. I gently placed the box back and closed the drawer with a scrape of wood sliding against wood.

I looked at myself in the oval mirror, which was clouded slightly at the edges. As I was about to look away, I noticed something behind me in the mirror, a shape passing through the hallway. I turned quickly., but the hall was empty. I told myself the flat was supposed to be empty. I took a deep breath before turning towards the window. It was just like those of the living room. The same arch, and the feeling that it held more than just aged glass. The curtain was like a silk waterfall spilling from the arch, the material pooling softly on the floor.

I sat down in the chair belonging to the vanity, admiring the light that the curtain filtered into soft broken patterns across the room. I realized this was the only space in the flat where the smokey odor couldn’t reach, instead there was a sweet rosey scent lingering in the air, soft and persistent, like a presence that has never truly faded.

The last piece of furniture in the bedroom was a bookcase. Dust covered the wooden shelves, which buckled slightly under the decades of knowledge. The leather-bound books have faded, deep crimson to brown, and blue to stale grey. The unopened pages had yellowed, the golden lettering on the cracked spines wore off, becoming hard to read. I ran my hand along them, stopping at one that seemed oddly out of place with no visible wear. I tried to gently pull it off the shelf, instead I heard a distinct click and the whole bookcase opened up inward with a groan, like a long-closed door.

The room on the other side was small and dim, lit by a round window. The space was sparsely furnished, the floorboards bore marks and scratches as if furniture was moved out in a careless hurry. A few chests remained, their contents spilling out in a messy pile, like a river breaking its banks. Clothes, loose papers, crumpled photographs were scattered around like fallen leaves after a storm. The walls were occupied by shelves, some only half secured, while others had tilted at strange angles, their contents slid to one end, like trees after a landslide. They carried old journals, a lot of them, framed photos, faded, the glass shattered like spiderwebs, leaving tiny shards that glistened like diamonds in the few stubborn sunrays that broke through the window. It seemed as though someone was here before me, someone who should not have been. They were looking for something, but left in a hurry. Who were they? Why were they here? What were they looking for? I looked toward the circular window as if it held the answers to my flood of questions.

I heard a creak outside the room. I rushed outside, slamming the bookcase shut behind me. Only once I reached the middle of the hallway did I finally stop. Where did the noise come from? The kitchen. No. Not the kitchen. The living room. The cigarette smell drifting from it had grown stronger, fresh again, as though someone had lit another cigarette moments ago. The double doors were wide open, almost as though they were inviting me in.

I stepped into the space slowly. At first I thought the room was empty. Then I noticed the figure standing beside the window. A man leaned casually against the frame, one hand in his pocket, the other was holding a cigarette between two fingers. He took a slow drag, smoke curling upwards in the golden light. He did not seem surprised to see me. His eyes followed the passing cars below on the street. “You took your time,” he said quietly, then turned to face me, taking another drag from his cigarette as though he had all the time in the world. The afternoon light caught the sparkle in his blue eyes for a brief moment. A slow, almost amused smirk spread across his face as he looked me over. “Would you like some coffee?” he asked, his tone warm and casual, as if we had known each other for years. The words caught in my throat. My mind was screaming for me to leave, to run and never look back, yet I could not move.  He shifted his weight slightly, waiting. When I still said nothing, he inhaled from the cigarette again and smiled faintly.

 “You look exactly like her.”

Zalán Kaposvári

I was walking in a nature-dominated region. Forests grew vividly wherever I looked. It was so peaceful, calm and so devoid of human and artificial sounds and noises that I started to feel home in this completely abandoned area of the world.

During my tour, the hand of my watch reached another ten minutes when I noticed an unusual sound. A human one. So I went to investigate the source of the action which generated excitement in me. Fortunately, it did not take long to get there. But the sight was quite uncommon, just as the sound suggested. A magician made it, and with a purpose.

“You have finally come,” he said. “I have a task for you, specified only for you.”

“But I am only a tourist here, I came from the city, thus I can’t take on any tasks in this deep forest,’” I replied.

“That’s even better—don’t worry. Your job will only include a special tour into a house. You have to search for something there. Something special,”’ he said. His voice got progressively slower.

“Okay, maybe that’s good news, but what exactly I am supposed to find for you?” I asked.

“Not for me. You will be searching for something that you need personally. Don’t worry. You will find it…eventually,” – he told me at an even slower pace.

These were all the important and really helpful instructions for a type of quest I had never heard of. In fact, the wizard’s manner of speaking was quite strange and unsettling, as he repeated many things over and over again in a slow, indifferent, bored tone. After having introduced me to “the rules of the game,” the strange magician started to give me a brief description about the place I was going to visit.

So I decided to take on the mission, and began to tread the path of an unknown destination.

While walking on the road, I felt that I was somehow destined to take part in what I hoped wasn’t madness, just as I was destined to find the asset I was looking for. I felt a chill running down my spine when my eyes grew familiar with the area the wizard had just described.

The house was situated in the middle of a clearing. I wouldn’t have been more surprised either, if that house had stood in the exact middle of that circle-shaped place, as the infrastructure itself was so special, indeed. For this house is known for its spectacular symmetry (hence its name, House of Symmetry). It did not reflect the size and scale of a massive building, nor was it rich with architectural marvels and impressive decorations the cathedrals in the cities were armed with. I had always found relaxation and peace in simply gazing at the marvelous and breathtaking wonders that sparkled and glittered in the golden glow of the sunshine.

The house itself was somewhat small—or rather, it looked like a medium-sized cabin. I expected the least from its inside; what kind of magic could such a building with one room show me?

Anyway, I mustered up some courage and stepped inside the house I was destined to enter. I found myself at one of the ends of a corridor. It was not like one I had imagined of a regular hallway, whose walls generally lacked nice paintings of picturesque streets and other natural scenery, as well as portraits of famous historical figures, leaders, kings and emperors, who formed our present. This hallway contained the entrance to two different rooms.

I entered the one on my right. This room was a special one, indeed, especially since that it was so bright that rarely can people equal that same ”bright” mood. Looking around, I found myself surrounded by an abundance of quality birch furniture, each with a unique glance of laughter and brightness. Even the window frame gladly took part in this beautiful parade of happiness. For it was the one which called upon the playful breeze to take a tour in the lively space of this cheerful room.

I suddenly realized that my heart had created an immediate bond with the atmosphere of this room. I felt I wanted to live here. And it didn’t even sound so strange. But then the Sun probably took a different position, so everything inside became even brighter. Nevertheless, I somehow knew it meant something. I recalled the wizard’s words: the place where I was going was not one fond of truth; instead, it reflected the opposite nature of things. Maybe he meant that all rooms hide their true nature beneath a cloak of deception? This way, the lively and happy room is instead one infected by a set of dark furniture resonating with disheartening gloom? Immediately my fear of potential danger depleted me of any motivation to progress with my mission. Thus, I quickly ran out of the room and desperately rushed into the one opposite without careful consideration.

It seemed to be a reasonable possibility that I had made a reckless decision, as this room embodied just the same series of thoughts and ideas that I had imagined of the first investigated room. The walls were completely obscured by the tight and meticulous arrangement of the dark pieces of furniture there. They may have been made of dark oak, at first glance. They all haughtily absorbed even the few rays of light that filled the room. With a mocking, menacing demeanour, they all stared at me with their uniform yet menacing gazes. The window frame was different, though. It did not possess a dangerous atmosphere, nor was it willing to be integrated in the evil sect of the other contemptuous pieces of furniture. This was the attitude which beckoned me to approach the lonely window frame. It was indeed lonely, as getting closer, I noticed it lacked the friendly, warm and kind partnership of a window pane. I seized the unexpected opportunity and decided to have a look outside, to find out: why came this gloomy darkness? I did look out the window, and my face felt dissatisfied: this environment lacked the pleasant, playful breeze which had so delightfully visited the former room. The sight provided was a further reason to call this place a grotesque “home.” The nice forest clearing was somehow turned into a field of complete devastation. The lifeless scene of withered trees and dry bushes had transformed the once inviting forest opening into a desolate sight. However, the sky looked otherwise. In the absence of clouds, the stars filled the sky with a twinkling dance reflecting a harmony of total innocence and calmness. The glowing moon seemed to be glad to have been joined the dazzling parade. Although the dangerous conspiracy of this room’s interior imbued me with pure fear, the sky somehow still provided me a cosy spectacle, which gave me enough courage to press on with the mission.

I stepped out of the second room and decided to have a closer look at the other end of the hallway. I was a bit confused, though. The end did not appear to have any kind of door. And as I walked further down the hall, this strange fact became undeniable. There was nothing there, just the wall – the very wall that brought this special corridor to an end. However, at this very moment, all the experience I had gained so far echoed something in my mind. Although I was not able to distinguish the different sounds, I still managed to sense that this wall waiting patiently in front of me was not a wall. It was instead its opposite: a door! Therefore, I began to search for a handle. I expected it to be resting around a place where the door knobs are usually located. Believe it nor not, despite the complete absurdity of the phenomenon, I managed to get hold of a solid part of the air. Perhaps, this was the one that functioned as a handle. I pushed the door handle, and the “wall” opened! I immediately rushed in.

However, the sight that unfolded before me completely startled me. The same lovely green trees smiled at me the very same way as they had when I first arrived at the house. The glade was surrounded by a relatively shorter set of lush trees and creepers. They were the ones that covered the thick and mighty trunks of the ancient-looking, sky-high pines. Their height greedily blocked out the sunlight, so this small area bathed only in dim light. I became more than confused by this point: could this be the third room of the house? After all, it seemed like a reasonable possibility, since the wizard told me that this building consisted of three rooms and a secret one. And asif summoned by my very thoughts, he suddenly appeared.

He told me that I had found what I was looking for—or, at least, what I was supposed to be looking for. I found it; I saw the perfect symmetry with my own eyes, and thus the “true” embodiment of perfect balance. And now, he said in a proud, solemn voice, I should come, because he was about to show me what kind of picture this earthly reality paints of itself. It took only a moment for me to feel unable to see, after which the wizard pointed towards the very same house. He urged me to have a look inside. I didn’t hesitate, I opened the same door in a slow pace. What I found inside was simply astonishing. Inside, the true, complete, authentic inner image of this small, insignificant building suddenly appeared. Complete mayhem reigned. Everywhere I cast my eyes, everything was laughing in my face at the incomprehensible chaos and disorder that reigned inside. It was a heartbreaking sight to see such an untidy, disorganised scene. I caught the sight of some pieces previously belonging to the first room I visited. They were not resonating with absolute perfection. There was no gentle breeze which once so sweetly, so warmly, and so playfully danced with the birch furniture. Their whole lacked the relaxing cheerfulness they once had. And those dark pieces, once part of the second room, were no longer glaring with a terrifying gaze either. All the same, I missed the soothing scenery of the sky, which shrouded the horrible landscape of the apocalypse with a uniquely sparkling set of glimmering stars and the glowing moon.

The strange wizard was standing behind me, speechless. Yet I felt that all the experience he had provided me with, all the sights he had shown me, were speaking instead. Looking at the tangled mess of light birch and dark oak, I finally understood. There was no absolute joy, nor absolute terror. Only this chaotic, intertwined reality. The house hadn’t hidden the truth; it had merely torn it apart into flawless illusions. A pure tour of deception it was, indeed.