The Things in My House

There are sixty-eight cameras in my house and no blind spots. I had to pay extra for that last bit. Not to mention that I had to spend three days in a hotel while Civilian Militia Security Services, or CMSS, cross-examined every corner of my house searching for any holes in their air-tight security. Long story short, I may have to skip groceries for a while. Regardless, I’m happy. 

Around two weeks ago I started to notice strange things around my two story–plus a basement and an attic–house. I figured something frisky was happening, but tried to ignore it. When things got a little too hectic, I called CMSS. Now, as the giant panic-room monitors began to hum to life, filling the air with the smell of new plastic, fancy fans blowing electronically heated air through my hair, I knew that I made the right decision. 

Take that, Ma! This was totally worth it!

Sitting smugly in my fancy leather swivel chair–another necessary expense, I promise–I relaxed my frazzled bones and exasperated muscles with the hottest cup of coffee ever known to man. 

I quickly understood why that lady sued McDonalds back in the day. 

The monitors shed bright light in the otherwise dim panic room, located in my attic directly above the master bedroom. I liked it up here. In fact, I loved it up here! Way more than I did in my cold bedroom or anywhere else in the house. The only thing that it was missing was a toilet, but I’d remedy that as soon as I had the money. 

Beep! Beep! Beep!

A gentle alarm sounded on the control panel, signaling that movement had been detected somewhere in the house. “Monitor 14,” it read. Shaking slightly, I placed my coffee aside, promising to return to the sweet embrace of caffeine in only a moment. 

I flipped a few switches and monitor 14 took center stage. It was the foyer. The front door was secured. Each of the eight bolts, the chain, the deadlock, and the doorknob were locked tightly. I knew this as a fact, having checked it no less than fifteen times before retreating to the panic room. The light was on, the dark being something loath and too foreboding for my tastes. 

Nights were not my favorite.   

I watched the monitor for a while. Waiting for something to give. The artificial intelligence powered motion detector was state of the art. Perfect in every way. The most expensive that money could buy. There was no way a bug, a rat, or even a glob of dust could trigger it. No. Not to mention that my house was immaculate. Rats and bugs would simply starve to death within my polished floors, my airtight cabinets, my cupboards and electrically-sealed fridge. 

“Something else must’ve triggered you,” I whispered, leaning forward, back rigid with anticipation. My coat rack was looking suspicious, the tweed jacket that I wore to school each day attracted the shadows like a magnet. I stared at the screen, waiting and watching for movement, but . . . nothing! There was nothing! 

Letting loose a sigh of relief, I took my now moderately-hot coffee and sniffed it. Good! No poison! I thought giddily as I drank a sip. It was almost too hot to drink. 

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Another alarm blared. This time for monitors 13 and 14. Hunching over, punching buttons in annoyance, the screen flickered to my kitchen. The lights were off there, but I could see the foyer lights through an archway. My eyes followed the calm carpets that accentuated my beautiful hardwood floorboards, leading to the perfectly placed tile of the kitchen. I switched to monitor 14, getting a view of the other side of the dimly-lit kitchen. The center island was vacant, sparkling clean in the gentle moonlight that drifted in from the window. The stove was likewise the same and so were the counters. 

“Nothing?” I asked myself, worry began to take hold. Did I spend all that money on faulty goods? Maybe Ma was right . . . 

Something moved. 

Something in the corner. On the counter between the fridge and the microwave. 

“A rat?” 

I switched cameras to a better angle, zooming in on where I had seen the shadows dance. 

Nothing. 

“Son of a biscuit!” I leaned back in exasperation, just about tipping my chair over. “That’s the last time I trust CMSS!” 

Regaining composure, I took another swig of coffee, watching the monitors closely as the night ticked by. The motion detectors would shout frequently, but each time I’d find nothing. 

CMSS would be receiving a roast via Yelp come the morning. 

Hours ticked by and my supply of coffee drained. A new cup was brewed and a bathroom was visited. As the clock struck the witching hour I fell back into my now very uncomfortable leather chair and fought to keep my eyes open. 

Beep! Beep! Beep!

“Ugh!” I groaned, leaning forward and keying in the code for monitor 25. The image formed, showing the master bedroom that was just beneath me. I had stopped by there to use the connected restroom only a few minutes prior, so the system was probably just lagging. 

Everything was normal. My bed was perfectly kept with pressed sheets and fluffy, never-used pillows. I could almost smell the lavender that surely perforated the room, an incense gift from my Ma in the vain hope that it’d soothe my anxiety. But, as my fingers moved to quell the screen, something rustled in the corner. Wiping my eyes clear of fatigue, I zoomed in on the disturbance. Sure enough, as with countless times before, there was nothing out of the ordinary. Just the coat rack. My tweed jacket firmly hooked to it–as it always was between the hours of 6 PM and 6 AM. 

“Of course.” 

Just as my fingertips brushed the return key . . . a realization hit me. Chills conquered my jellied spine as my heart fluttered like a trapped butterfly. Quickly, I swapped to monitor 14. 

The foyer was well lit. Empty, except for a large locked door and a coat rack. My tweed jacket hung from it. 

“O-oh my. That’s not good,” I chuckled nervously to myself, setting my shaking coffee mug down before its contents found my lap. I switched back to monitor 25. 

“Oh fudge muffins . . .” I groaned weakly. 

The coat rack was gone. 

Am I . . . Am I hallucinating? 

Beep! Beep! Beep!

I nearly fainted, my heart pounding against my chest. Monitor 26 was showing movement now. I switched to it, the soft night lights illuminating the hallway just outside the master bedroom. Its field of view showed the stairwell, the bannister, and the attic access door. 

“Oh fo shizzle,” I shrank into my chair. 

There was a coat rack by the door. Tweed jacket included. 

It cast a long shadow on the wall, one that surely didn’t belong to just a tweed jacket and a coat rack. No. There was something wildly wrong here. Stories of bigfoot and the wendigo and mothman and teen mothers and witches and blairs and found footage and . . .  and . . . The Hide Behind!

I forced my eyes open wide, refusing to blink, staring intently at the rack. Something was behind it. I could feel it! 

Nothing stirred. My eyes strained and hurt and dried. The urge to blink overcame me and . . . it was gone!

“OH GOOD GRAVY!!” I shot up, horrified. 

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! 

The whole dang control center was lighting up like the fourth of some demented July! Motion detectors were setting off on all cameras!  I yelped, spilling my coffee all over the floor. 

Mm! Smells good. Wait. NO! Focus!

The monitors frantically, spastically popped on and off the screen. Glimpses of every room, every nook and cranny, each with a coat rack and tweed jacket, flashed before my eyes as I looked on in abject terror. The lights grew brighter, miniature suns that shattered each screen one by one. The overhead bulbs drowned the room in yellow, exploding in a cascade of broken glass and . . .

Then it was dark. 

The backup generator stuttered and hummed. Something scuttled behind me. Backup lights along the panic room floor flooded the bottom of the room in eerie red light. 

A coat rack and tweed jacket greeted me, enshrouded by red luminescence, standing between myself and the sealed panic room door. A small black hand stretched around the wooden rack, leading to something hiding behind it. The tweed jacket’s arm stretched out for me as the whole ensemble took one. step. forward.

I knew tweed would be the death of me.