The Lost Summer

Well, I just got back from the doctor's office. There's nothing physically wrong with me, I've just been asleep for two months. TWO MONTHS. I've been in some sort of coma since the night of May 26th. And can you guess where I woke up? That's right! The third floor, AGAIN. I'm still spitting up chunks of dust even now. There weren't any sets of footprints leading to or from me, but given that the footprints from the previous visit are gone, I'm left to assume that I was moved there on the first-

Why am I even still talking about this? I should have been out the house when that stupid door first
appeared (which by the way, is back right where I put that red X). None of this is explainable anymore, and I don't like that ONE BIT. I'm packing my bags and leaving tommorow morning, and I'm not coming back without a pair of bulldozers and a wrecking ball; then I'm burning the rubble.
I'm sorry Grandfather, but whatever's going on isn't right, isn't NORMAL. I know this house must have a lot of memories for you, (well, must have HAD a lot of memories) and I don't want anyone to think that I'm being rash about this. I've spent a good few days mulling over my options, and this is the only way out that I can see. I only hope that you can forgive me for what must be done...
iaskthesameofyou