A House With Legs and Tentacles

A House with Legs and Tentacles

When the butler opened the door, I knew something was wrong about this house. He was a stocky man, maybe in his late sixties, or his early seventies. His wrinkled hand clenched the door handle with a death grip, as if he was terrified of something, as if he was warning me of something. But I dismissed this observation as mere superstition.

On the outside, everything about the house was overwhelmingly conventional. The drawn curtains were an average shade of blue. The house was coated with a light tan paint. The grass was neatly trimmed, and a single rosebush decorated the front. Nothing to suggest the home belonged to a psychopath.

Compared to the outside, the inside of the home was chaos. Furniture littered the room, as if tossed around by a child. Mounds of books leaned dangerously over seemingly priceless artifacts.  The smell of brimstone and incense filled the air.

I was ushered inside by the butler, who then continued with his responsibilities in another room. I waited. Hours seemed to pass as I sat there. Nothing stirred, no clock measured the passage of time, so for all I know, I could have been waiting hours, or even days. It could have been relaxing, but there was something off about the place, something that did not match up.

Maybe it is the smell, I thought to myself. The smell of incense permeated the air, depriving me of oxygen. The sulfuric air made it hard to breath, restricting me to shallow breaths. Yet the smell was not the reason…

It was the silence. In the silence, everything became sinister. The books became tomes filled with satanic rituals and blood magic. The furniture grew legs and tentacles, waiting for the chance to swallow me whole. I stood up as quickly as possible.

In the stillness, the silence, everything moved and made noise. The couches and chairs began inching toward me, inviting me to sit down and relax, as if nothing was wrong. The burning wood in the fireplace tried its best to sooth me with its hypnotic whispers. What are you scared of? The whispers said. Why are you frightened? What is stopping you from relaxing? Just calm down, everything will be fine.

What was I scared of? The books? They were just encyclopedias, novels, and journals, completely unremarkable. The furniture? The chairs, tables, couches, and desks were unmoving, inviting even. The Silence? Nothing but a product of the home’s isolation.

I walked calmly over to the window, intending to open the drapes to let light in. I grabbed the curtains, but failed to open them, for I saw something: a music box.

I laughed in delight. I use to have the same one as a child. Unfortunately, I lost it sometime after my tenth birthday. I picked up the box, and wound it up.

A soft tune came slowly into being. A nice jingle, dispelling the silence. I closed my eyes, and sat on a chair, finally relaxed. I hummed to the melody as long forgotten memories came to the surface. I saw my parents, happy, with the radiant sun illuminating everything with joy. Warmth flowed up my arms as I breathed the refreshing melody in. My spirit floated above my body, basking in the sound of the music.

The song ended.

Immediately, the warmth vanished, I choked on my own breath, and my spirit slammed back into my body. In response, my arm shot outward to rewind the music box. The table tipped over, causing the box to crash against the ground and break.

The chair wrapped its tentacles around me. I struggled as much as possible against my captor, but it only tightened its grip. Just relax, came the whispering again. Struggling will only make it worse. I began to relax my mussels, and the pain subsided. The chair pulled me back and reclined.

I saw a tendril slither above me. It was white and pristine. The light reflected off its long, thin tooth, almost needle like. It angled down toward me, and slowly descended to my arm.

It will not hurt for long, said the voice, No more than an instant of pain, and you will be better. The tooth burrowed in my arm, causing me to gasp in pain. I tried to struggle, but the tentacles and voice made me stop, threatening to inflict more pain. I felt the tendril’s venom enter my veins, and it withdrew its tooth, leaving a speck of blood on my arm, which was quickly wiped away by another tentacle. My body became numb as I stared dumbly upward. The tentacles holding me loosened their grip, but I did not have the energy or will to take my chance.

Two wires with reflective discs floated above gracefully my head. Lightning flashed between them. The discs slowly descended to my head, intending to latch on and send the lightning through my skull. I could not allow that to happen.

I grabbed the nearest vase and smashed it into the wires. Managing to escape the grasp of the tentacles, I ran to the next room, trying to make it to the door. The butler appeared in front of me.

“Sir,” he said, “why do yo—” I picked up a fireplace poker and ran him through with it. He fell to the ground, dead. A swarm of beings clocked in pristine white appeared from nowhere. I tried to fight the daemons off using a lamp as a club. I surprised them by suddenly bolting for the front door, and ripping it open…

Only to be shocked by a long dungeon hallway. One of the daemons tackled me to the ground. The wires came back, and successfully clamped on to the sides of my head.

A tingling sensation filled my mind, and the dungeon hallway slowly rippled, becoming white and pristine. Light rained down for above. I was helped up be the daemons, now people in white coats.

See? said the voice, That wasn’t so bad, was it?

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