Steam surrounded her as she watched the ceiling fan above her slowly disappear. She shivered violently as a clammy cold began to press down on her. It was as if death was drowning her. Slowly, she sank into the wooden floor beneath her. The once solid matter had taken on a spongy quality. One last gasp of air and she was swallowed up. Soon the floor regained its original qualities before letting out a loud burp. Its five other occupants faced the same fate as the woman. The house was empty and ownerless once again, at least that's what it thought.
Tomas Keese, the twenty-seven year old son. He'd spent the past seven years in prison. No one was quite sure of the crime, but it didn't help his position in the affluent neighborhood. Parents who remembered the man pulled their children inside as he walked past the enormous houses. The once scrawny, blonde haired, gray-eyed man had changed drastically. He'd become a walking mass of muscle with a buzz cut and dead eyes. Prison had hardened him.
This was no social visit he was going on. He was going to trash the house he grew up in. He was the black sheep of the family. His parents were ultra conservative republicans while he was as left wing as a person could get. His brothers and sisters were into Euro-Pop and he was the local metal head. He'd listen to the light station before he picked up one of his sibling's CDs.
The five residents of the household were well-established members of society. The girls played tennis, always wore skirts an inch above the knee, and ate like it was a burden. The guys were golf champions, meat and potatoes men, and made sure there was always a starched pair of kaki pants in their closets. Tomas was "a burden to society". He didn't care if his shirts were ironed, if the alcohol was cheap, or if his girlfriend was a stripper. He was that kind of man and would never change that.
He stood before the whitewashed home that had been his own personal Hell. Tomas never liked the fact that he was an outcast in his own home. That was why people said that he was "unadjusted". Well, that was what he assumed. The large mahogany door towered above his 6' 7" frame as he took a deep breath. He wasn't ready to set foot in the house just yet. He had taken precautions to make sure they weren't home. The car port was empty, the light on the alarm system was blinking, and all of the windows were locked.
Tomas stalked around the back of the house to the pool area. It was twice the size of an Olympic pool with an ultra springy diving board. Granite busts of Lithuanian kings surrounded the walkway that surrounded the blinding white swimming pool. He looked down to see that the ornate masonry hadn't changed since the last time he had been in the Keese home. Stone flowers were still in all their glory as where the mythical animals that surrounded them. He looked into the crystal clear waters of the swimming pool. A slight breeze caused the water to ripple over the mural of mythical Atlantis that graced the bottom of the pool.
Memories of long ago summers filled his mind as he gazed around the pool area. One look at the lush grass behind the white fence gave way to a rush of memories. He was five and sitting on the grass playing with his toys. It was the middle of summer, but he was all alone outside. His brothers were inside playing video games, his sisters were out on a shopping spree with their mother, and his father was on a conference call in his office. It wouldn't be the first time he was alone.
Tomas was twelve and it was the height of August. He refused to stay inside because he thought that the pool was the perfect place to be. He swam in the pool all alone. It wouldn't have been that bad if he hadn't almost drowned. He was in the middle of doing laps when he suddenly got a Charlie horse. He creamed and splashed, but no one came. He bobbed beneath and above the surface. Water was quickly filling his lungs. Tomas was two seconds away from drowning when the pain disappeared. He franticly swam to the edge. Tomas spent what felt like an eternity coughing up water. He later found out that his oldest brother had heard him but done nothing.
Anger filled every fiber of Tomas's being. He picked up the skimmer and slammed it into one of the busts. One by one they toppled to the ground. He had never felt that angry in his entire life. It was only after every bust was in pieces that he was ready to enter the house.
He wiped sweat from his brow as he approached the front door. More memories flooded in. He was fourteen and was on the porch just after dropping off his perspective girlfriend at home. He'd forgotten his key inside the house and had rung the doorbell about ten times. It was about midnight when he had gotten back, so he knew that they would probably be asleep. They would open the door for him as soon as one of them was ready.
Three hours passed when he finally saw a familiar white Mercedes limo pull up into the carport. He ran over to it just in time to see his mother in a little black v-neck dress emerge from the car. His father, his brothers, and his sisters followed her. All were in top formal wear. Angry, Tomas ran to them and flung questions at them. All they did was push past him and entered the house. He found out the next morning that they were at a surprise party for Tomas's grandfather. Ever since missing the event he never knew about, his relationship with his grandfather quickly swirled down the drain.
Tomas shook his head, trying to get the memory out. That was then, this was now.
"At least I have a key this time," he said with a smirk as he pulled a plain silver key out of his pocket. His favorite brother, Marco, had sent him a copy after the family had the locks replaced. Of coarse, his parents had no idea of this exchange.
Tomas carefully slid on a pair of leather gloves before opening the door. A blast of cool air hit his overheated body. It was a welcome feeling after walking so far in the stifling heat that was the norm for the season. Carefully, he closed and locked the door behind him, thus beginning his walkthrough of his old home.
"Neat . . . as usual," he scoffed as he scanned the sparse living room.
His family had never been one for frills. Simple white sofas sat on a pure white area carpet. His parents' and siblings' countless degrees adorned a far wall and a giant plasma screen television hung above a massive fireplace. Other than the occasional end table, the room had nothing else.
Tomas moved over to a sofa and sat down. The cushions adjusted to the shape of his body immediately, giving him a sense of comfort. That feeling didn't last for more than a split second. Something wet had begun to ooze from the cushions. He jumped up and spun around to see a clear, thick liquid recede back into the couch.
"That was strange," he mused before moving on.
He moved through the rest o the house, avoiding sitting on any furniture. He saw scattered signs of . . . something. A slippery spot here skids mark there. It wasn't until he saw the rug that ran the length of the upstairs hallway that he realized that something wasn't right. It was crooked and wrinkled, like someone had done a shoddy job of laying it out. Tomas bent down to lightly touch the fabric. Wet, just like he thought. There was something strange about what was going on. Either his family had decided to spray down all of their furniture with a fire hose, or it was time for Tomas to run. But the twenty-seven year old was never one for doing the latter.
He was about to get up when he noticed scratch marks on the frame of the door. He moved over to them for a better look. A human definitely made them. He touched them and the wood gave under his index finger. Tomas fell back with a gasp, his hands sinking into the wet carpeting while his feet did the same on the floorboards. Suddenly, faces appeared in the walls, stretching out the white paint. Tomas was shocked to recognize them.
"Mom, Dad, Marco, Jill, Aella, Ceallagh! What-"
"There's no time, you have to get out!" Marco screamed franticly.
"Why?"
"There's no time to explain, just get out before it devours you, too!" Aella replied.
"There's no reason for that," a cool voice said from behind Tomas.
He jumped up to see a man about his height dressed in a long purple velvet overcoat, pressed white shirt, slick black ants, and shinny dress shoes. His deep fuchsia eyes glared at Tomas through a loose piece of gelled, black hair. The stranger took a step closer to the ex-convict, but Tomas didn't flinch. He'd learned how to stand his ground.
"Nice to see you join us, Tommy," the man said in a cool voice.
"Tommy? No one calls me that!" He went at the man, but was seized by two long, thick tendrils of plaster, which the man had summoned with an elegant snap of his fingers.
"You must learn to control your anger, Tommy. That's what created me."
Tomas stopped struggling and glared at him. "What do you mean?
The man let loose an elegant chuckle. "All those years of venting your hate of your family to the walls made me . . . me.
Tomas opened his mouth to say something when yet another tendril wrapped itself around his mouth.
"Now, now, Tommy. Don't interrupt. I'll answer all of your questions soon enough. You see, my dear boy, after being talked to enough, walls begin to take on the feelings of the person who talks to them the most. After all those years of venting, they had a consciousness of their own. In case you haven't figured it out, that consciousness is I. In fact, I embody every feeling you have about this poor excuse of a family. After some time of thought while you were incarcerated, I came to the conclusion that the best way to sort out all of those nasty little conclusion was to put you all in the same place for a little while. So I engulfed every single life form within these walls. Only I didn't realize until a few days ago that I was missing one. So, Tommy, are you ready to join your family and begin your quality time with them?"
"Hmmmm! Mmmmh!"
"Don't worry, it'll only be until I'm knocked down. What do you say?"
"Mhmh!"
"'Yes'! Wonderful!" The man snapped his fingers and the tendrils began to pull him into the spongy walls. Tomas's resistance was futile. He was inside the wall with his family within seconds. His last sight was the man's smiling face.
"Good bye, Mr. Keese. I hope we see each other very soon." He clapped his hands and the house's consciousness was one with its frame once again.