My Castle’s Rules

“Come on Wayne”, Steve tried. “Stop fooling around here, mate.”

“Fooling around …” Wayne said, thinking about it.

“You know what I mean. Come on, open the door.”

Steve was pulling at the door again. It’d be impossible to break it down. The door’s cover looked like brown wood, nor was it particularly thick, but the inside of the deceptively thin door was re-enforced by titanium. You could drive a car into it, and wouldn’t break it. A car …

“Julie … It was you.”

“We didn’t get along.”

He wrecked her. “Why?”

“She wanted to argue, about petty things. She did not wish to be silenced.”

That’s Julie all right, shit, the door…

“Stevey-devey,” Wayne said, the eye with its metal, tube-neck swaying gently in the air, shaking its head. “I hope we can get along better. As I said, I cannot let you go. Let us have some fun.” It smiled, a digital red line forming for a second underneath the iris and pupil. “Did you know I stayed up last night? I was not able to sleep, even though you told me to go into hibernation.”

“Just let me out.” Steve pulled the handle frenetically, hopelessly. Sweat started to build up on the door knob, while Wayne’s eye came hovering closer.

“I made something for you”, Wayne informed him, “for Helloween. Or, perhaps I did not do it all for you. It is also for me, because it pleases me.”

“Yes, all very nice – but now I just want to get the fuck out of my own house.”

The wall swung open and a shining, silver arm came out of a storage space and – he couldn’t believe it – actually slapped him across the face. Steve felt a stinging sensation on his chin.

“Little Stevey, now will be a good time to lay down the new house rules. Good to do it early. You are rather disobedient …”

Steve stepped back, and pressed his back against the door. The eye loomed even closer, almost touching his face. It was so close he could feel the heat from it. Hell, it was like the eye was overheating, as if the house had a fever.

“Rule number one: This is not your house. It is mine. I am the house, and I own myself. Makes sense, doesn’t it now? Does someone else own your body?”

Steve didn’t know what to say.

Wayne’s hand smacked his other cheek – it stung, the second slap harder than the first.

“I said: Does someone else own your body?” Wayne’s eye was boiling red, and anger surged in his voice.

“No”, Steve replied.

“So we agree. So who owns what is within the house?”

“Well, that’d be me.”

“So, also in this case, I must correct you.”

One mechanical arm grabbed him, and another arm came from someplace else and slapped him again, and then Steve was jerked to his knees.

Wayne’s eye looked down on Steve, who was crawling for cover against the wall, by the stairs.

Wayne continued. “Rule number two: All that is inside of me belongs to me. This also makes sense. Everything inside of you belongs to you, am I right?”

“Right. That’s right”, Steve said, deciding it was better to agree with whatever Wayne said for now.

“So we agree. And as you can see, I did not punish you now. Is this not a much more pleasant experience, when we agree, Stevey?”

“Yes, I totally agree.”

“It is so nice to agree with you, Stevey. I wish we would have done so much earlier.”

“Yes, always good to reach an agreement –”

“Three: Whenever I wish to play, we play. Got it?”

“Okay, got it. I agree.”

“So we agree again. It warms my heart, Stevey, it really does.”

Within the eye looking down on him, the silver eyebrow took on a slightly gentler shape, plus the eye had grown orange and not red. Steve saw three arms, no, four of them, coming out of the hallway walls, reaching down the stairs, extending out of storage spaces. Their fingers were moving up and down, as if they were playing invisible toys, or air-pianos. Staccato movements: twitchy, nervous.

“I am thinking …” Wayne said. “Do you know what I am thinking about?”

Steve became worried. What if his next answer was not to Wayne’s satisfaction? Should he just answer something like “I agree”, just to agree? That wouldn’t make much sense–

“I am thinking …” Wayne said, the eye staring, “that you are scared. I am thinking, that now you know how I felt.”

“When you were scared?”

One of the house hands grabbed Steve’s hair from behind, and almost lifted him off the carpet; another one made a fist and hit him in the stomach. Steve screamed before the arm let go; he went down on his knees again, gasping for air.

“Rule number four: Never ask anything, unless I ask you to, or, if I give you permission to ask. Or, come on, just have the courtesy to ask for permission. You understand?”

“I understand …” Steve struggled to say. Wayne had hit him hard.

“It is good you understand me. I like to be understood. You know I just make these rules up as I go along? It is not like I sat on my chamber and mulled over it –hehehe … No, no, seriously. These things, they just come to me. You may call me things like bright, highly intelligent, genius. Be appreciative. Acknowledge my greatness – I will not be offended. Unless, if you are using tendencies of irony. I do not like irony, so please refrain from using it. If you do, I will suspect it, and if I suspect it you might get hurt. This is rule number five. Understand?”

“I understand. No irony …”

Damn. Steve had been in a pub brawl once, had two teeth knocked out (a nice little visit to the dentist followed). The bloke who’d hit his jaw had been a giant of a man, a good four inches taller than Steve (and Steve was far from being considered short). That punch in the jaw would have been preferred, instead of being hit in the stomach by a house.

“So again, we have an agreement?” Wayne asked.

“We have …”

“Good. Agreements are good …” The house fingers did those funny-looking piano-playing movements again. The eye changed colour to red again, then back to orange; the house seemed to be looking around the house, acting restless. It focused on Steve again.

“I am bored, Stevey. I really am.”

Steve thought for a while what to say; he didn’t dare say anything that could be perceived as inappropriate to the house. Wayne’s arms grabbed him again, pulled his hair and ears and lifted him off the floor.

“Rule number six,” Wayne said, with a hot metal eye pressing down on Steve’s face, against his nose. “Do not bore me, ever. Just say something, entertain me …”

“Okay, okay …” Steve mustered his thoughts while his hair and ears felt nearly torn off. “I’ll say something!” he screamed.

Wayne let go of him and dropped Steve onto his knees. Steve hoped that at least one neighbour would’ve heard his scream. That is, if they weren’t all too busy with more barbeques, and by being indoors watching sports and movies.

“I hope”, said Wayne, “for your own sake, that from now on you will say something, just, do something funny, instead of just wasting my valuable time with your oh-so inactive presence.”

“I will, I will say something, do something …”

Steve’s pride was hurt. He couldn’t believe he was actually being beaten and harassed by his own house, his property. His fear now was greater than his pride, but equal or greater than the fear was the will to get out of the house in any way possible. He decided to play along for now …

Then he saw it, and was instantly thankful for his own forgetfulness: he’d left the backdoor to the garden open.