Hilltop House

House, Eight

A carousel goes round and round, a ring of laughing mouths, and when it stops, the kitten cries, for it has lost its mouse. The clever fox within resides, a'waiting in his house.

Something has happened; something that doesn't sit well with me. Something that tests our devotion to one another.
The girl opened my door to him, a tall, ugly young man, painted in more colors than I am and dressed like a sideshow act from an infernal circus. Some small morsel within envied his affect, perhaps the fact that he had decorated himself with a wild abandon I could only imagine, my own design reflecting the mercurial whims and moods of whatever person chances to inhabit me. But whatever interest I took in his aura immediately evaporated when, the moment he entered, he displayed a wolfish grin, took hold of my darling, and pulled her up against his lanky, odorous body. Absolute disgust quavered throughout my entire being; I had a difficult time keeping still, and even my supreme effort couldn't stop the hanging lamp in the kitchen from swaying a little. They didn't notice, though. They were too involved in themselves. Or, at least, he was too involved in her. To my delight and relief, the girl shoved him off, reprimanded him (though not quite as firmly as I would've liked), and endured his smug response. What words they exchanged were muffled; I was too inflamed to listen. But my dear's reaction to his advances calmed me enough so that I could begin to think rationally about what was happening.

I was quickly apprised of the fact that this person was the one with whom she'd been communicating, the one who'd angered her, the one whose grotesque imitation of a furred animal I'd refined to soothe her angry heart. What exactly her relationship with him was, I couldn't be sure. She was certainly piqued by his presence, though the agitation of her words and actions was discordant with the agitation in her body. She spoke sharply and averted his advances, but I have become so familiar with the way her organs beat, the way her blood moves through her, the way her skin reacts to the slightest change, that I knew--I knew--she wasn't altogether displeased with his gestures. And indeed, her angry retorts lost their edge as his own actions and words softened, and she allowed him to grow physically closer as he followed her into me, even so much as to let him take her hands. It was a small mercy that she didn't bring him into our room, our sanctuary. If she had, I surely would've punished such a breach of trust, such a violation of our privacy.

As it was, she brought him into the front room, and they stood looking out the picture window. I should say, she looked out the picture window; he was more interested in examining everything else, examining me.

He touched and shifted the stuff--the couch, the books on the shelves, the television, the end tables and chairs and carpet, a potted plant--none of which bothered me, as nothing movable is actually a part of me. But when he ran his hand over my wall, when he touched the glass of my window, when he stomped like a petulant child on my hardwood floor (purportedly in an attempt to aggravate the ghosts he perceived were within me), I flickered the lights ominously. He took that as a sign of haunting and became almost gleeful, but my darling—I knew she'd understand. She sensed my rising discontent, and she sedated him, got the boy to sit on the chair next to the couch. Once he'd settled, they talked with one another a bit, and my senses steadied; I was able to focus on what they said to one another.

He told her he'd missed her, he thought of her all the time, he'd been broken when she'd stopped talking to him. He said he was sorry for being so forward but that he'd been unable to help himself, that she was too much, and he was too lonely without her--and on and on and on. Such nonsense! I was sure she'd see through it. I am sure myself that if I'd not begun to tune him out, I would have cracked another window.

But I listened more closely when my darling spoke, interested as I was in how she'd react to his obvious bluster. And I did, in fact, feel gratified when she demurely avoided his questions about her feelings toward him, where they stood. She told him rather disinterestedly (if I read her correctly and I do believe I did) that she was glad he'd come but that he most definitely couldn't stay with her. Thank whatever fate or destiny may be watching from above! Her command mollified the dark rage beginning to turn within me; oh, she is a subtle creature, wily in a way I hadn't anticipated, working all the while to keep our secrets safe. And she held firm, my delicious creature, even as he argued with her. He began to grow quite volatile, in fact, and I would have had to intervene when his words grew heated, when he leaned a little too closely toward her, had they not both become distracted by her small device's signal.

Something drew them out, then; I could not tell what exactly it was, but shortly after staring at that device, they conversed briefly, rose, and left. I watched them walk down the street, surely to that other boy's house, the one who invaded me so long ago--the one I frightened. (I still gain such pleasure thinking of the terror I instilled in him.) And it's where they are now, I can only surmise, as this new arrival's unkempt vehicle is still parked outside of me.

All of this happened some time ago--perhaps a few hours. I grow lonely without her the longer I wait. We've been spending so much time with one another as of late that I fancy I grow physically ill at her prolonged absence. I'd flare my lights, but I don't believe she'd see it. It would likely draw attention from some unwelcome quarter. But it's as if I only now realize how reliant I've become on her presence. I've held her within my walls for a few weeks, now; she's left only to step outside for a moment, once, to go down the street to that boy's house. Otherwise, she's been constant, and this anxious separation is proving tortuous.

I do not like to think of this unwelcome, devious person invading our space, but I especially do not trust him with her away from me. Within my walls, I could watch him, and I could act if something drastic were to occur--oh, I'd risk all manner of discovery if it meant ensuring her safety. But he's taken her beyond the vigilance of my walls, and there is nothing I am able to do about it. His behavior indicated his intentions for her . . . I've seen enough of my past inhabitants (and intruders) to know the look in his eye, the movements of his hands and placement of his body, the slyness in his tone--to know what he wants. I do not trust anything about him, and she's a lamb, my darling, so innocent! Even if she possessed the desire to escape him, she could not possibly have the physical strength to fend him off should he be determined, especially as she's unwell.

It is torment to be rooted here, powerless to protect her!

I've been spoiled; I know that, now. The two, the mother and daughter, are far more isolated than anyone else I've housed. Even my first held dinner parties and teas, hosted holiday gatherings and such. The singles who followed them were either so dull as to warrant none of my attention or were social beyond my initial expectations. But these two, they are curiously alone, seem to prefer it that way, and I've benefited from it. I'd never have come so far with the girl in so little time had it not been for her receptiveness to me, her tantalizing hunger for attention, for my embrace. I wonder whether, had I not been here, she would be all right, for without me, the girl would be terribly alone. The mother is rather useless. In fact, the woman has a distinct air of instability. I worry her insecurities could, at any moment, shift to reality. She's been the one I've most feared could take my darling from me, just simply by moving out. But now, the woman's threat is mild in comparison to that of this new person; I'll need to deal with him.

I've made the decision; when he returns--and surely he will; after what I've seen in him, he'll return--I'll have to pull myself together and exterminate him. Because I will allow no one to harm her.

I've made her mine; we belong to one another. And I must remind her of that.