DAY 1
Raymond sat alone at the kitchen table. Permitting himself a few moments of respite
between chores, he stared blankly at the wall, allowing his mind to wander. It had been three weeks since his master had
left for his expedition after promising to return in a matter of days. Such conduct was unlike his master who’d proven
himself fastidious, sometimes ruthlessly so.
Without his presence, the modest house felt empty, with one of its
bedrooms and the master’s study now unoccupied.
Except of course for Raymond.
What else would I
do? How else do people occupy their time
except in service to their masters? he thought as he waxed the wooden
floorboards of the corridor.
All food related chores were the first to disappear – as a
scarecrow, Raymond had no need to eat.
It was a pleasure denied him by his creator, though he had often
marvelled at the transformative nature of food, its innate ability to bestow
comfort and satiety. First tier chores
such as sweeping, dusting and the washing of dishes soon gave way to more
complicated, second tier tasks like washing windows, cleaning gutters and
re-tiling the roof. Using a not
inconsiderable amount of elbow grease (if his body had produced such a
substance), Raymond maintained the house spectacularly.
One afternoon, there came a knock at the door. Raymond was immediately suspicious, knowing
that his master would never knock as he rarely left the house without keys. Curious, he opened the door to reveal a
surprising sight – a giant stick insect, stood upright, attired in formal suit
and tie.
‘Good afternoon sir’, said the stick insect as he extended his
arm in greeting, ‘My name is Julius Wallwork, Esquire. Might I have a moment of your time?’
‘Of course’, stammered Raymond, as he shook the man’s hand
and ushered him into the entranceway.
Remembering his manners, Raymond struggled to suppress his fascination
with the strange man’s appearance. There
were of course many and varied sentient creatures in the kingdom, but he had
lived a life mostly indoors and had rarely been exposed to such zoological
diversity.
Julius Wallwork made his way inside the house, proceeding
down the short corridor and into the kitchen where he politely sought
permission to sit at a small table.
Raymond replied in the affirmative as Julius placed a scroll and a small
wooden box upon the tabletop. Through
his buttoned shirt and sleeves, Raymond could catch glimpses of the man’s
peppermint coloured thorax.
‘Mister Raymond, I represent Angus & Altman. We’re solicitors, specialising in property
management and estate planning in this general vicinity’.
‘Okay’, said Raymond hesitantly, still wondering why such an
elaborate fancy man would stoop to converse with a lowly scarecrow.
‘I’m afraid it’s my sad duty to inform you of the death of
your master, Kevin’, Wallwork announced as he presented Raymond with the box
that he had brought with him.
Raymond carefully opened the receptacle. Inside it was a human heart, the organ
partially desiccated and decorated with traces of dried blood about its four
chambered structure. The heart belonged
to Kevin, and, had evidently been torn out by whatever agent had caused his
demise.
‘I realise this may be a gruesome sight for you, but the
presentation of a heart is customary in this circumstance, especially where the
transfer of property is concerned’.
‘Transfer?’ asked
Raymond, still enthralled by the grisly sight of his master’s heart in a
box. He was struck by the notion that
his master even possessed such an organ, given his sour disposition and proclivity
for cruelty.
‘Kevin’s death changes things for you considerably, Mister
Raymond. In the absence of an heir or
suitable inheritor, the deed to the current property – this house – legally
reverts to any other current occupants.
In this instance – that’s you’.
Julius unfurled the scroll across the kitchen table. It was an ancient looking document, its text
hand written in slanted script that was difficult to read. At the top of the scroll, in letters larger
than the rest were the words ‘Life Transfer Document’, and at the bottom, a
straight line presumably reserved for a signature. At the centre of the scroll was a single
human eye, which, as soon as the scroll had been unrolled, blinked into
existence, darting about the room.
Standing to leave, Julius provided Raymond with a final set
of instructions.
‘As per local law, you have ten days to sign the document,
after which point this house and all its contents will become your legal property. Should you fail to sign in the allotted time,
custody of the house reverts back unto itself, and your rights as a tenant
within it will be rescinded’.
Offering a polite bow to excuse himself, Julius made his way
to the front door, as Raymond trailed behind him. This turn of events had been so unexpected
and he was brimming with questions for the stick insect lawyer. But, as evidenced by the brevity of his
visit, his time was too valuable for him to linger a moment longer than
necessary. Raymond tried to think of the
most pertinent question to ask, but instead his mind went blank.
‘But what about my master?’,
he blurted out almost reflexively.
‘Your master is dead, Mr Raymond. You are your own man now. I suggest you get used to it’.
‘My own man…’ Raymond repeated to himself softly as Julius
left the premises. It was a tremendous
concept to digest.
DAY 4
A few days had passed since the lawyer had called on
Raymond, casually breezing into his life and leaving seismic new ideas at his
feet. Though not outwardly exhibiting
any signs of distress, Raymond had been quite shaken by the visit, and decided
it was best to simply ignore everything he’d been told. As before, he proceeded with his chores, dusting
surfaces that were already clean and preparing the house for a master that
would never return.
Yet every time he found himself in the kitchen, he’d see the
expectant scroll, its unnerving eye watching his every move, waiting for him to
either sign (or not sign) his name at the bottom of the page. The very sight of the offending eye reminded
him that things had changed and that Kevin wasn’t coming back. Not only was he a free man, but if he signed
the scroll, he would be a home owner.
Sat in his chair – a brief pleasure that he occasionally
allowed himself – Raymond pondered the concept of freedom. What did it mean? Kevin had captured and removed him from his
family at such a young age that he had never known any other life. What would he do with his time? He thought about his family and briefly considered
paying them a visit. From what little he
could remember they lived in a small enclave just beyond the forest, but, given
the short lifespan of most scarecrows they were most likely deceased. Later, as he examined the document once more,
he pondered the unusual nature of its title – Life Transfer Document. Was
the house somehow alive, and if so, was it a slave to Raymond?
DAY 5
After spending the day washing linen, Raymond was met with
the uneasy feeling that his tasks no longer felt as fulfilling as they once
did. As dusk arrived, he allowed himself
to stand on the front porch of the house and admire the beauty of the plants
and trees around him. Previously, such
stolen moments had been forbidden, but now Raymond wondered if he could occasionally
permit himself some rudimentary moments of pleasure.
‘Beautiful evening, isn’t it?’ came a voice from a few feet
away.
It was Mrs Gale, the next-door neighbour who was sitting on
her own porch evidently doing precisely what Raymond had been doing as well.
‘Oh, hello Mrs Gale’ offered Raymond politely.
He had rarely had occasion to speak with the old woman,
forever beholden to his duties, but he liked her. She always spoke to him warmly and, despite
being confined to a wheelchair, nearly always displayed a sunny demeanour.
‘Kevin is dead’, he blurted out without thinking.
‘I know, dear. I felt
him die. A shame really, such an angry
young man’.
Kevin had often been churlish with Mrs Gale, annoyed by her dumpy
countenance and her propensity for dispensing unsolicited homespun wisdom.
‘I was visited by a lawyer who said that I’d inherit the
house if I sign a scroll’.
‘Was that the green gentleman I saw the other day?’
‘Yes, that’s right’.
‘So, what are you waiting for, dear? Sign the contract, and we’ll be neighbours
fair and square’.
‘It’s not that simple’.
‘Sounds simple enough to me.
Do you need to borrow a pen?’
‘It’s not that – I already have a pen. I just keep staring at that scroll, and it
stares back at me. Without instruction,
I’m frozen and afraid. I’ve never known
choice, or decision. I’m scared of doing
the wrong thing, so instead, I do nothing at all. How do you know what to do Mrs Gale?’
The old woman looked pensive for a moment, taking a few
seconds to formulate a thoughtful response.
‘I’m not sure, dear.
I suppose I use past experience to guide me. You have to make your own future – one day at
a time’.
‘But I have no
past experience. My whole life I’ve been
a slave’.
‘Well then’, smiled Mrs Gale, ‘Its time you started making
some choices, dear’.
She tilted her head in the direction of the nearby tree line
where, almost as if the universe had anticipated his need, a rat with a bindle
sauntered past their houses. He walked
upright, with his possessions slung across his shoulder. Moving cheerfully despite his bedraggled
appearance, his feet were bare and blistered and his eyes looked weary from
travelling.
Sensing a new emotion coalescing within him, Raymond tried
his utmost to comprehend the new sensation.
Impulsiveness – the need to act spontaneously and without
forethought. The sensation travelled upwards
from his belly, up into his chest and into his mouth where it eventually formed
words.
‘You there’, he called out to the rat man, ‘Do you need a
place to live?’
DAY 8
Life with Percival was very different to life with
Kevin. Transient by nature, Percival
just so happened to be walking past Mrs Gale and Raymond at the very moment in
which Raymond had been inspired to make a choice. Acting in an uncharacteristically spontaneous
manner, he’d invited the wandering rat to cohabitate with him. It was a perfectly equitable arrangement - the
rat man occupying Kevin’s former bedroom which had remained vacant for some
time. The terms of his tenancy were
loosely defined, with no fixed end point agreed upon in advance. Refusing to accept any of the rat man’s
money, Raymond agreed to be paid in household duties, and his new housemate
readily obliged.
The perfect lodger, Percival’s jovial demeanour and
colourful tales from the road made him a pleasure to be with. For his part, he was happy to have a stable
home, at least for a time. He treated
Raymond with decency, never once verbally scolding him, threatening his life or
setting fire to his extremities.
After a few days and nights, the two housemates had settled
into an agreeable routine. They would
share a meal together, recounting humorous or significant moments from their
day. Percival had recently discovered
what he considered to be a superlative fishing hole and frequently returned to
the house with fresh Twilo fish.
Raymond, sans digestive system, would happily sit with his rodent
companion, so as to politely share the dining experience. After they had cleaned their plates, they
would retire to the living room and read, or sometimes listen to music. One such evening, as Raymond read, Percival
smoked the bark of the Carboline tree.
‘Why do you smoke that?’, Raymond asked.
‘Because it makes me happy’, replied Percival flatly.
Raymond had not been prepared for the simplicity of his
companion’s response.
‘What is
happiness?’, Raymond ventured, after a few moments.
‘Happiness is that which I pursue’.
‘Why?’
‘Because it is the purpose of my life. To find those things and people that bring me
the greatest joy’.
‘What does it feel like?
Happiness, I mean. Is it painful?’.
Percival took a drag of the burning bark and allowed his
gaze to melt away into the distance as his mind conjured images of past
pleasures.
‘It feels like a stillness of my thoughts and an easiness in
my body’.
‘That sounds complicated’, lamented Raymond.
‘It’s not’, replied Percival who now turned his attention to
Raymond whose questions seemed unusually wistful, ‘What makes you happy?’
‘I’m unsure what will make me happy’.
‘What have you tried so far?’
‘Nothing. I can’t be
certain that any of the things I choose will lead to happiness and so I choose
nothing. Instead, I simply sit in my
chair and stare at the wall, and that in itself seems like an indulgence’.
‘Is that why you haven’t signed the scroll?’
‘Yes. I’m not sure if
it’s the correct course of action’.
‘You know I’d sign it for you, but the eye sees all. And besides, for me, a house would only be an
impediment to my happiness’.
Though his intuition where people were concerned was
underdeveloped, Raymond believed him.
There was no conceivable way that a creature such as Percival would
settle down as a home owner. He would
stay for a while, but his inquisitive nature and nomadic spirit meant that the
road ahead was always calling his name.
‘Perhaps it’s time you sought advice from a higher power?’,
offered Percival with a raised eyebrow.
DAY 9
The following day Raymond decided to heed Percival’s
suggestion. Over breakfast, he informed his
housemate that he intended to visit the area’s foremost seer, the Lady in
Waiting.
‘Okay then, but be careful’, cautioned Percival, ‘You want
to keep well clear of those dreadful Simians’.
He was right to be apprehensive – Simian Sands was a valley
occupied by a tribe of crazed apes, well known for their extreme violence towards
intruders. Best avoided, they were
rumoured to have all been driven mad through exposure to industrial waste.
Summoning his courage, Raymond left the house for the first
time in many years. Using a crude map he’d
found in Kevin’s writing desk, he made his way through a brief wooded section,
past several physical landmarks to the Lady in Waiting’s residence. His former
master had availed himself of her services often enough, holding her counsel in
high esteem. Raymond hoped that she’d be
equally useful to him as he trekked through the forest, trying his best to stave
off the overwhelming fear he felt at so many new sights and the ominous sounds
of the screech owls above.
Soon enough, a large, hollowed out tree presented
itself. Its proportions were gigantic,
with its base several meters in diameter.
It was the largest tree Raymond had ever seen, although he had not had
cause to see very many in his life. He
entered warily, through a passageway just large enough for him to squeeze his
body. As the darkness of the inside of
the tree enveloped him, he nervously announced himself, expectantly hoping that
the lady residing within would reassure him with an acknowledgement. Proceeding further into the tree he came to a
generous circular space, dimly lit by candles.
‘Enter, and be seated’, came a voice from somewhere inside
the room.
Raymond’s eyes darted about until they landed upon a human woman
sitting at a small wooden table. She
wore a faded Victorian gown, frilly and ornate and had laid out a deck of tarot
cards on the table before her. He
approached, intending to occupy the vacant seat opposite the lady, but as he
moved closer, he realised he’d failed to observe a key feature of the woman, or
rather, a lack thereof. She had no
head. By the looks of things, it had
been shorn clear off - by what method he was unsure - but the wound appeared
cauterised and bloodless.
‘Be seated’, the woman repeated in a clear tone that only
now Raymond realised was occurring completely in his mind.
This was the Lady in Waiting, and even though decapitated,
she was still able to communicate using only her thoughts. Raymond obliged and took the seat, consciously
averting his gaze from her headless stump.
Slowly, deliberately, the lady began turning over her strange tarot
cards. The first one – The Sickly Magician – revealed
itself. Bearing the image of a
well-dressed man vomiting upon a green pasture, it made Raymond feel uneasy.
‘Interesting’, remarked the lady, mostly to herself before
turning over a subsequent card.
This one was entitled The
Pregnant Mule and depicted the eponymous creature with its belly
distended. Without a head, Raymond suspected
by the lady’s body language that she was deep in thought.
‘What do they mean?’, he asked tentatively after a few
moments of silence.
‘Crossroads’, she began, speaking clearly inside his head, ‘A
time of rebirth and great change’.
Turning over a third card, the lady let out an audible gasp
at its appearance: The Unbroken Line
– the illustration depicting a straight red line rendered in blood. The lady was silent for a moment, and without
a face, Raymond couldn’t read her expression.
‘What does it mean?
Is it bad?’ he ventured, eager to hear her interpretation. The lady reached across the table, urgently
clasping Raymond’s forearm.
‘The time is now, and the message is urgent’, she gasped as
her fingernails dug into his skin, ‘You must act now – the eye will not remain
open forever!’.
Shaking free of her grip, Raymond stumbled backwards,
knocking over his chair. Her words had
shaken him, frightened him, wound themselves around a hidden part of his subconscious
that only he could see, and he was petrified - so much so that he ran all the
way back to the house and sealed himself in his bedroom.
DAY 10
Early the next day, Percival, somewhat concerned having not
seen his housemate in some time gently wrapped upon his bedroom door.
‘Raymond? Are you
okay in there?’, he asked gently.
He was accustomed to his new friend behaving skittishly, but
this was something new. Raymond had led
such a sheltered life after all, and Percival was worried that his visit to the
Lady in Waiting had gone poorly. He lingered
a few moments, but there was no response.
‘Okay then. I just
wanted to let you know that I’m going fishing.
I’ll return when the sun goes to sleep’.
Inside his bedroom, Raymond could hear the sound of Percival
leaving the house. He’d had a sleepless
night, and he didn’t wish to burden Percival with his problems. But the Lady in Waiting’s prophecy had disturbed
him, in a manner more deeply than he’d ever known. He was still only new to his freedom, and yet
so much was being asked of him already.
So many decisions to make. Around
noon, after a few hours brooding alone, he exited and proceeded to the kitchen
where the scroll, with its single eye, was still sat upon the table. Locating a pen – an ornate one that once
belonged to Kevin - he stood before the waiting document, his arm outstretched,
determined to finally sign it.
As he forced his hand closer to the paper, his mind was aflame
with the pain of his own crippling indecision – a mental tug of war fought only
with himself. All of the questions of
the last ten days flashed into existence once more as the moment of ultimate
choice stood before him. Would signing
be the right thing to do? Did he even want to be a home owner? What if the decision he made today had
terrible ramifications later on? Could he forgive himself for making such a
grievous mistake?
As the overwhelming anxiety of the moment overcame him,
Raymond’s arms began to tremble. He sat
down on the floor, bracing his back against the wall, but soon realised that
not he – but the house – was shaking. He
cast an incidental glance over at the scroll on the table just in time to
witness the single eye at the centre of the page close, slowly and with
alarming finality. In that moment he recalled
the words of the esteemed Julius Wallwork, Esquire:
‘…Custody of the house
reverts back unto itself, and your rights as a tenant within it will be
rescinded’.
A low rumble became thunderous as plates and cups and other
sundry items flew from their perches, smashing into a million pieces as the
doors and walls of the house convulsed.
Leaping to his feet, Raymond ran from room to room, struggling to
understand the precise nature of what was happening.
Outside, the house shook itself free from its foundations
and sprouted two enormous three toed feet.
Sheathed in reptilian scales and strong enough to support the house’s
considerable bulk, the feet began walking, taking the house along with it.
Sat on her front
porch, Mrs Gale witnessed the entire occurrence unfold. She marvelled as the house next door simply
walked away on giant feet, leaving a trail of flotsam and jetsam in its
wake. As it moved, each step it took
produced a mighty thud that reverberated through the earth.
Inside the moving house, Raymond struggled to stay on his
feet, buffeted about by the turbulent journey.
He looked out a window to see a strange moving vista as the house walked
itself deeper into the woods, deftly avoiding collision with trees and bushes
as it made its way down a steep decline.
Gathering momentum, the house accelerated, moving past the hollow tree
where Raymond had been just the previous day.
Past the place where these very events had been foretold.
The journey had thus far lasted minutes, but to Raymond it seemed
like hours as the contents of the house showered down upon him as he
surrendered to unyielding terror, screaming until his voice was hoarse. Moving down into a sandy gully, the house
finally came to a complete stop, at which time Raymond, still cowering, managed
to drag himself to a nearby window in order to survey his location.
The house had taken him to a part of the woods he’d never
seen before. Mostly devoid of
vegetation, the ground appeared dry and cracked, and the landscape barren and
dotted with jagged rocks. From the vague
descriptions he had heard over the years, it could only be one place – Simian
Sands. It was indeed, a place no
sensible person would hope to find himself.
Within seconds, Raymond’s worst fears were confirmed as he heard an
awful screeching coming from outside the house, followed shortly after by a
pounding on the walls. It was the
simians, and from the sounds they produced, it sounded as though they were
numerous.
Finding his last shred of courage, Raymond sprang to his
feet and made for the kitchen, intending to find a weapon with which to defend
himself. A knife, or any other kitchen
utensil would do in a pinch. As he
entered the room, he heard the sound of shattering glass behind him as a balled-up
simian smashed his way through one of the windows. Hunched over and tightly muscled, the simian’s
teeth appeared razor sharp and his eyes were filled with blood lust. Grabbing one of the chairs from the kitchen
table, Raymond swung the piece of furniture at the horrible creature, striking
it clean across its face. No result –
the chair merely smashed into smithereens and the hideous ape only roared in
anger. It leapt forward, in one sudden
motion, its powerful hands clawing at Raymond’s face.
Soon, another simian had broken into the house, then another
and then another. All of them dove for
Raymond, who was now pinned to the floor, desperately fighting for his
life. One of the beasts latched onto his
left leg and tore it clean off, while the others used their hands to rip into
his midsection like a knife through hot butter.
In the midst of his death throes, Raymond howled out in agony, as the
simians tore him apart, limb from limb.
And that was how poor Raymond met his final end. The entire, unpleasant affair could have been
easily avoided had he simply made a decision.
He spurned the gift that had been lovingly bestowed upon him by the
universe – that of free will and choice – and lost his life as a result. For if we do not make our choices ourselves,
others will surely make them for us.
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