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fiction - ljidol week 24 - toolbox
839 words
Recently, I decided to finally give in to the inexorable march of progress, and get one of those creepy disembodied voices that will run your house for you. You know the ones - you say that you want the lights dimmed and they dim, or you say that you're out of toothpaste and it summons a drone to deliver some to you. The pinnacle of convenience! Or laziness, or whatever. The fact is, all of my friends had them, and I didn't want to be the only one who didn't. It was bad enough when I was the last one to get a smartphone, or an electric car, or a television big enough to double as a dinner table. Peer pressure - it's not just for high school anymore.
At first it was...well, I was going to say great, but honestly I never really warmed up to the thing. I don't just mean the awkward transitional phase where it doesn't understand your commands, or thinks you're talking to it when you aren't. I think it just wasn't my thing. I found it more annoying to sit in my chair and loudly articulate how many lumens I wanted shining on my head than it would have been to just get up and fiddle with a light switch.
But then it started to misbehave. I should probably say "malfunction," but honestly I thought there might have been some actual malice involved. It would make my shower too hot or too cold, suddenly shut the lights off while I was walking down the stairs, or that one really memorable time that it opened the door to let in that bear that was prowling around in the back yard. Fortunately it didn't accept the invitation, and honestly I couldn't blame it. Even I didn't really like being in my house anymore.
So I called up the company to see about someone coming by to have a look at it. I tried having the house make that call, but it mysteriously seemed unable to get through. Yeah, that's not suspicious at all.
The guy showed up at the front door, and I had to wave for him to come around back, because I couldn't get the house to unlock the front door. I let him in the back and apologized, and he said it was no big deal, and that he'd dealt with just this sort of thing before. He was carrying this huge metal toolbox, which I thought was a bit odd. I guess I figured in today's crazy high tech world that all he'd need was a screwdriver and his smartphone. How wrong I was.
He went over to the plastic cylinder that was the main unit and set down his toolbox. Then he got out a screwdriver (so far so good) to open up the side panel, and then things got weird.
He took out this big container of salt and sprinkled a circle of it around the unit. Then he got out all of these amulets and little pieces of wood and carefully arranged them at various points on the circle. He saw me looking at him funny but just gave me a thumb's up.
"Perfectly normal," he said, in spite of the obvious evidence to the contrary. Then he took out this huge pair of iron tongs and reached into the unit and pulled out a human skull.
"What the hell is that?!" I shrieked.
"Yeah," he said, "This is just sloppy. Look, there's a huge crack right along this whole side. Someone should have caught this before it was ever installed."
"Why is there a skull in my automated house thingy?!" I screamed.
"Because you bought the Ultra Deluxe model?" the repairman said, seemingly oblivious to why I was upset. "if you want a Grade A haunting, you need an entire intact skull."
"I paid someone to haunt my house?! Why would I do that?!" I said.
"I dunno - peer pressure?" the guy said. I gotta admit, he knew his stuff.
He lowered the skull into a lead-lined compartment of the toolbox, and then lifted out another, much less broken skull, and slid it into place inside the unit. Then he closed up the side, gathered his amulets and other paraphernalia, and then sucked up the circle of salt with a tiny vacuum. He stood up to leave.
"You should be all set now," he said. In a daze I thanked him and led him to the front door, which opened for him without incident. He waved cheerfully as he got into his truck and then drove away.
I want to ask my friends if they know they have skulls in their houses, but I'm terrified of looking like an idiot if they say "yes," and even more terrified of them saying "no," because it turns out I was the only one dumb enough to have paid someone to haunt my house.
I think I need new friends. I know that I need a new house.
Recently, I decided to finally give in to the inexorable march of progress, and get one of those creepy disembodied voices that will run your house for you. You know the ones - you say that you want the lights dimmed and they dim, or you say that you're out of toothpaste and it summons a drone to deliver some to you. The pinnacle of convenience! Or laziness, or whatever. The fact is, all of my friends had them, and I didn't want to be the only one who didn't. It was bad enough when I was the last one to get a smartphone, or an electric car, or a television big enough to double as a dinner table. Peer pressure - it's not just for high school anymore.
At first it was...well, I was going to say great, but honestly I never really warmed up to the thing. I don't just mean the awkward transitional phase where it doesn't understand your commands, or thinks you're talking to it when you aren't. I think it just wasn't my thing. I found it more annoying to sit in my chair and loudly articulate how many lumens I wanted shining on my head than it would have been to just get up and fiddle with a light switch.
But then it started to misbehave. I should probably say "malfunction," but honestly I thought there might have been some actual malice involved. It would make my shower too hot or too cold, suddenly shut the lights off while I was walking down the stairs, or that one really memorable time that it opened the door to let in that bear that was prowling around in the back yard. Fortunately it didn't accept the invitation, and honestly I couldn't blame it. Even I didn't really like being in my house anymore.
So I called up the company to see about someone coming by to have a look at it. I tried having the house make that call, but it mysteriously seemed unable to get through. Yeah, that's not suspicious at all.
The guy showed up at the front door, and I had to wave for him to come around back, because I couldn't get the house to unlock the front door. I let him in the back and apologized, and he said it was no big deal, and that he'd dealt with just this sort of thing before. He was carrying this huge metal toolbox, which I thought was a bit odd. I guess I figured in today's crazy high tech world that all he'd need was a screwdriver and his smartphone. How wrong I was.
He went over to the plastic cylinder that was the main unit and set down his toolbox. Then he got out a screwdriver (so far so good) to open up the side panel, and then things got weird.
He took out this big container of salt and sprinkled a circle of it around the unit. Then he got out all of these amulets and little pieces of wood and carefully arranged them at various points on the circle. He saw me looking at him funny but just gave me a thumb's up.
"Perfectly normal," he said, in spite of the obvious evidence to the contrary. Then he took out this huge pair of iron tongs and reached into the unit and pulled out a human skull.
"What the hell is that?!" I shrieked.
"Yeah," he said, "This is just sloppy. Look, there's a huge crack right along this whole side. Someone should have caught this before it was ever installed."
"Why is there a skull in my automated house thingy?!" I screamed.
"Because you bought the Ultra Deluxe model?" the repairman said, seemingly oblivious to why I was upset. "if you want a Grade A haunting, you need an entire intact skull."
"I paid someone to haunt my house?! Why would I do that?!" I said.
"I dunno - peer pressure?" the guy said. I gotta admit, he knew his stuff.
He lowered the skull into a lead-lined compartment of the toolbox, and then lifted out another, much less broken skull, and slid it into place inside the unit. Then he closed up the side, gathered his amulets and other paraphernalia, and then sucked up the circle of salt with a tiny vacuum. He stood up to leave.
"You should be all set now," he said. In a daze I thanked him and led him to the front door, which opened for him without incident. He waved cheerfully as he got into his truck and then drove away.
I want to ask my friends if they know they have skulls in their houses, but I'm terrified of looking like an idiot if they say "yes," and even more terrified of them saying "no," because it turns out I was the only one dumb enough to have paid someone to haunt my house.
I think I need new friends. I know that I need a new house.