My pristine kitchen window framed a gorgeous golden-pink portrait of the sky as the sun dipped beneath the rolling farmlands to the west. I swiped a finger along the frame and admired Mrs. Mender's handiwork when it came up clean of dust. A month earlier the sill had harbored a streak of filth and insects I could never stand to touch myself, but all my problems had gone away since I let the maid into my life. Now the carpets were vacuumed, the sink was clear of dishes, and I could stand to look at the toilet for the first time in years. She even arranged my books!
I opened the cabinet for a mug to fill with fresh coffee. I sighed with happiness as my eyes played across the rows of unblemished ceramic and glass waiting to greet me. "Worth every penny," I said to myself.
Deep, brown liquid life flowed from the percolator, the glorious and bitter scent filling my heart with warmth. I sipped and sauntered down the dust-free hallway to the den, where my old dog lay panting on the floor beside the couch, nosing at the space beneath. The massive leather seat was much too heavy for Mrs. Mender, and so I couldn't be surprised if it still held a couple morsels I had dropped in my sloppy late night meals. It occurred me as I watched my chubby beagle try to crawl beneath the furniture that I should pull the couch out and finish the job myself.
After all, she had done so much for me. It would be a shame to leave such a blemish on my perfect home.
Setting my mug on the table, I wrapped my hands around the closest arm of the couch and pulled. It was heavier I remembered, or else the fabric caught on something held fast to the corner behind it. I leaned over to peer down the back, and a strange cry filled the air as I knelt on the cushion. Startled, I quickly leapt backward and tensed.
From beneath the couch arose a weak cry muffled by the overstuffed leather.
Adrenaline surged through me. My renewed strength strained against whatever fingers held the couch in place, and the muscles in my arm began to throb and ache. Giving it one last go, I shot forward and knocked the couch back to startle it from the grip of whatever lay beneath, and then I grabbed the side of the furniture and nearly rolled backwards with it.
The couch pulled away from the wall to reveal a shivering, yellowed mass of flesh drenched in the sweat of fear. I couldn't help myself but laugh as my dog dove on it, and the thing began to scream.
Living in a house of monsters isn't hard if you learn to handle them. You've got to show them you mean business, and you can't be afraid to break a few bones while you establish boundaries. Or while you spill a gallon of purple monster blood up and down the walls.
After all, if worst comes to worst, you can always hire a maid.
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