A room with wallpaper of eyes, and I was the only one who noticed them moving

I'm standing in a house I don't recognize, and the wallpaper has thousands of eyes, like peacock feathers gone wrong. Nobody else in the family sees them blink, but I watch one, then another, until all of them are looking at me at once. The last thing I remember is one eye, larger than the rest, slowly closing—not in sleep, but like it's letting me go.