Pennyboy always thought houses were just... houses. Simple buildings. 

Houses had walls.
Doors.
Roofs that kept rain out.
Corners that didn’t echo.
Bedrooms that stayed exactly where you left them.

So on the day he discovered a house that moved, Pennyboy decided the Wychwood had gone too far.

The Door in the Middle of the Path

He and Parlock were following a deer trail when Pennyboy walked face-first into something wooden.

“Ow—!” He rubbed his nose. “Who puts a door in the middle of—”

He froze.

It was a door.

Free-standing.
Perfectly upright.
No hinges.
No frame.
No house around it.

Just a simple door with a brass knob.

Pennyboy whispered, “Master…”

Parlock had walked on but now he turned, looked, then closed his eyes.
“Oh no.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“This is not a door,” Parlock said.

Pennyboy stared. “But it’s… literally a—”

Parlock repeated, “This is not a door.”

Pennyboy stepped back. “Master… what is it?”

Parlock sighed heavily.

“A mistake.”

Pennyboy groaned. “Yours?”

“No. Older.”

He tapped the wood. The door shuddered. And the forest trembled with it.

The House Arrives

A low rumble shook the ground, as though earth was shifting, sighing, waking.

Behind the door, reality rippled.

And a wall grew.

Then a second.

Then windows blinked open like sleepy eyes.
A chimney pushed upward through nothing.
Beams stretched.
Stone blossomed where no stone had been.

Within moments, a cottage—small, crooked, yellow—stood in the middle of the forest path.

Pennyboy grabbed Parlock’s sleeve.

"I feel like... it's looking at me."

Pennyboy found he could not look away.

"It thinks you are someone else." Parlock answered.

The house settled on its foundation with a satisfied groan. The front door swung open invitingly.

Pennyboy whimpered. “Master… is it trying to EAT us?”

“No,” Parlock said. “It’s lonely.”

The Invitation

A warm golden glow spread from inside the cottage.

Cozy.
Comforting.
Smelling faintly of cinnamon and clean laundry.

Pennyboy’s knees weakened.
“Master… I think… no, I definitely do... I want to go inside.”

“Of course you do,” Parlock muttered. “That’s how it gets you.”

Pennyboy clung to a tree to stop his feet from carrying him to the little house. “It’s… calling me.”

“Don’t listen.”

“But it smells like home.”

“It wants you to come in,” Parlock said. “It is very inviting. And it would take care of you.”

Pennyboy swallowed. “Master… what is it?”

Parlock looked at the house with something like pity.

“It is a Hearthborn. A creature born from a dozen abandoned hearths. It wandered for decades looking for a family. But families moved. Parents died. Children grew. There was a tragedy that the house didn't understand.”

“A tragedy?”

"A favorite boy, lost. And it has never been the same. It still looks for him but it has become a danger to these woods."

"How is a house dangerous, Master?"

Parlock nodded toward the open door.

“It simply keeps whoever enters.”

Pennyboy wondered if that was so bad. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of fresh bread and daisies.

Why Parlock Refuses to Enter

The house pulsed with warmth. A glow promised soft candlelight and warm fires.

A soft voice — not quite a voice, more like a memory of one — sighed from inside:

“Come home… Trent.”

Pennyboy’s breath hitched. “Master… I think it knows my name.”

Parlock stiffened.

“Did it say your name?”

“It… felt like it did. Like it knows who I am. Maybe... maybe it is my real name?”

Parlock grabbed his shoulder.

“It's not. Step back.”

Pennyboy obeyed but his whole being resisted. He considered breaking out of Parlock's grip and diving through the door so he could curl up on the soft rug and nap. Must not give in...

Parlock lowered his voice.
“Listen to me carefully.
A Hearthborn house does not harm people.
It shelters them.
Forever.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Pennyboy whispered.

Parlock stood in front of him, between Pennyboy and the Hearthborn. He forced Pennyboy to look at him and not the house.

“It keeps them warm. It feeds them dreams. It locks the doors. It hides them from the outside world. And it never, ever lets them leave, if it can help it.”

A shiver ran down Pennyboy's spine, but he wasn't sure if it was anticipation or terror. 

“Master… were you ever inside one?”

Parlock didn’t answer. Not at first. Then, softly. he said, “Yes.”

Somehow Pennyboy knew that would be the answer before he even asked. But the important question was the next one.

“How did you get out?”

“Well, I just asked nicely,” Parlock said with a sarcastic tone.

“That isn't true.”

Parlock sighed. “Of course not. I shattered a window with a fire spell so strong I nearly burned myself. And even then, it tried to mend itself around me. But physicially getting out isn't the hard part. It's remembering that you should get out, that you want to get out. ”

Pennyboy stepped even farther away but he desperately wanted to go closer.

The House Chooses

The house creaked.
Boards shifted.
The door widened.

“Please…” it murmured.
“Cold outside… come…I will warm you...”

Pennyboy clutched Parlock’s arm.
“Master, it’s begging.”

“Yes,” Parlock said. “It is trying to convince you to come in. It's lonely. It feels abandoned and betrayed.”

Pennyboy whispered, “Master… how do we stop it? What will make it go away.”

Parlock drew in a breath.

“We talk to it. Directly and honestly.”

Pennyboy blinked. “Talk to the house?”

“Yes. You must be polite. Firm. Clear.”

“Clear about what?”

“That you already belong somewhere else.”

Pennyboy walked forward and knelt before the door. He took a shaky breath.

He whispered:

“I’m sorry.
But I can’t live here.
I’m not… ready to settle down.
I have a master.
And a life not finished.”

The house quivered. The warm glow dimmed. A long, low creaking filled the air — the sound of heartbreak in timber.

Then the door slowly closed.

Not angry.
Not spiteful.

Sorrowful.

The House Moves on

The cottage shuddered.

Walls folded inward.
Roof sagged.
Stone dissolved into moss.
Windows blinked out like candle flames.

Pennyboy whispered, “Master… is it dying?”

“No. Hearthborn don’t die. It will seek another occupant.”

The front door — the last remaining piece — trembled.

It whispered:

“…goodbye…”

And collapsed into dust.

Pennyboy’s throat tightened. Tears welled up hot in his eyes and he blinked quickly to try and make them stop.
“I feel… awful. Like I just lost something really important.”

Parlock nodded.

“Hearthborn creatures teach us what loneliness can build.”

Pennyboy wiped his eyes.

“Master… will it find someone else?”

Parlock rested a hand on his shoulder.

“I hope not.”

“Why?”

“Because the house only wants a family to hold and keep safe. People don't need safety as much as they need to make their own choices. A Hearthborn steals lives; it imprisons them with hot food, comfortable beds and warm fires. It's a lovely prison but a prison all the same."

Pennyboy swallowed hard.

They stood in silence as the wind carried the last motes of the cottage away.

And the Wychwood, for once, felt truly, honestly sad.