Unseen Intruder

I am beginning to see that I have a strange obsession with the word "Ego."

Verse One: Overture

Inflated Ego shivers from the cold as he treads through the foot-high snow of his sidewalk. He begins to understand why his father told him to shovel it three days ago. If only he’d been obedient, then he wouldn’t have to wear snow boots.

Ego stomps off his feet ineffectually on the place mat, which is also covered in snow. Ego sets down his duffel bag to search for his house key. After about two minutes, he unlocks the door and steps inside. His eyesight darkens as he struggles to transition from the blinding white sunlit-snow to the brown and gray interior of his unlit house.

Ego fails to notice the oddities of his house even after his sight returns, as he is too preoccupied with removing his multiple winter coats. However, he notices it when he puts his boots under the bench. The boots under the bench are standing up in a line with their pairs.

Ego looks around and discovers that the bench isn’t the only thing that has been affected. There is a distinct lack of shoes scattered around the front door. Very peculiar.

Ego picks up his duffel bag to place it in his giant plastic bin. But his bin is not where he left it. Instead of lying in the middle of the room in between the Christmas tree and the couch, it is neatly arranged under a desk against the wall.

Ego tries to look for clues as to who could have done this, but someone has done the impossible and removed everything from the floor besides furniture. There are no Legos, dishes, dolls, papers, marbles or clothes. Ego has four younger siblings and knows from experience that organizing or making things look neat and orderly is a futile effort.

Ego knows that no one in his family is capable of doing this to the house. Perhaps whoever did this is still here. So he walks to the front window to look for a car. That’s right, he walks. He doesn't climb over upside-down chairs or cushions; he doesn’t slide his feet to prevent from stepping on Legos; he doesn’t crawl or climb or jump. The living room no longer requires parkour to maneuver. It’s unsettling.

When he looks through the windows, he sees a car. But he also notices that the Christmas tree is missing. The Christmas tree that usually blocks all access to the living room windows. There aren’t even trails of green needles to show for it. The smooth wooden floor under his feet looks strange. He is not used to seeing such material. Well, there is a car in the driveway, a dark purple one. So there is probably someone inside the house. But Inflated Ego is the only one in his family who is home. Who could be in his house?

Verse Two: Interlude

Silent Start tries to ignore the footsteps in the house. She’s been tidying up the place for a few hours now and is almost done with the job. Taking down the tree is especially tedious. Silent Start considers how much extra she should charge. She has to bring up the bins from the basement to store the ornaments. They have a lot of ornaments. Too many. Out of all of their ornaments, only a third hang upon the tree. Even then, the tree is filled beyond its capacity. They hang ornaments on other ornaments. Lights choke the tree. When activated, the tree blossoms in a myriad of different colors.

The footsteps are growing in volume and frequency. Are they coming closer? Start distracts herself by humming a song her mother taught her. It’s a lullaby. She places the last ornament in a bin and seals the lid. Now for the hard part. She slowly and carefully carries the bin downstairs. Creak. Creak. There is no way these stairs can support her weight or that of the ornaments, and it definitely cannot carry their combined weight. Yet, the stairs still don’t break. She just knows that it’s going to break beneath her one of these days. The dark-gray steps are attached to the wall by only four rusty nails. And she knows that at least two of the steps have fallen off and been replaced. Creak. Creak. Snap!

Start nearly drops the bin. That noise startled her. Are the stairs broken? Did they finally crack? No, she is still standing on the stairs, and they are still intact. Then, what was that sound? It was like the crack of one’s foot smashing through a wooden plank. The wood echoes the breaking of bones. Though, unlike the case of wood and foot, the sound is not followed by the wailing siren of an ambulance. In both cases, Start is filled with trepidation.

Silent Start begins humming louder and faster. She doesn’t even realize it until she breaks out into song—in Spanish, of course. The song is of that lullaby she learned as a child. Passed down from mother to child for generations. It’s eerie chorus causes the ornaments in the bin to rattle like restless dead. Or maybe they’re shaking because of her trembling arms. She finally makes it into the bottom stair when she realizes that she forgot to turn on the light.

Verse Three: Reprise

Inflated Ego is certain that someone is in the house with him. It’s not just the unnatural emptiness of the rooms or the unfamiliar car in the driveway. He’s sure he can hear someone humming. No, not humming. Singing. A soft melody with the whisper of… words? That’s a generous description. Those can’t really be words. If they were words, Ego would recognize them; he’d know what they meant. He doubts that there are any words that he doesn’t know. After all, he knows words like “menagerie” and “choreography.” Where is the song coming from? Inflated Ego is having difficulty discerning the origin of the sound. It reverberates through the vents, mumbles through the floor, and slides along the walls.

Ego doesn't believe in ghosts, so he isn't scared. But, um, perhaps his house is haunted, not by a ghost but a spirit. He can believe spirits. If somebody calls him out on his seeming contradiction, he can point out that he only ever said he doesn't believe in ghosts: he never said anything about spirits. Some people may consider the two to be the same. Indeed, Ego himself sees no difference between ghosts and spirits. But he has said that ghosts don't exist, and he is never wrong. So this must be something that, although indistinguishable from a ghost, is different, even if only by name.

The song has no discernible origin. It shakes through the whole house. Those whispers in an alien tongue. They started singing after he snapped open his binder. It is a really old: it's three years old. His school supplies usually last less than a year. That goes for backpacks as well. So when he opens his binder, it makes an annoyingly loud crack. One of these times, the binder is just going to split into two.

Ego would be scared if he wasn't so brave and fearless. The haunting melody and the foreign words have no effect on him. He brings his homework to his room where he can watch the only door. This is not normal behavior for Ego. He only ever enters his room to sleep. It almost seems like avoids staying in his room. But today, he decides on a whim to work in his room. This is a mistake.

The sound louder here in his room. The song that he doesn’t fear, that he doesn’t care about. It’s coming from his closet. Ego doesn’t think there are any monsters in his closet. No monster could fit in there. It is filled to the brim with exercise equipment: ellipticals, stationary bikes, jump ropes, cycle… it’s empty. Well, sort of. There is still that rectangular wooden tower that covers a hole to the basement. The hole is about one foot in width and length. A perfect square. The wooden tower blocking it is hollow. This is where the song is coming from. The tower. No, not the tower. The basement? There really is something in his house, he should probably go check it out. But, um, he’s too busy right now. Yup, lots of homework. He waste time following fantasies and illusions. He needs to focus. Ah, but how can he focus such a racket. Sure, it’s a beautiful racket. It might have even been enjoyable if he wasn’t so sca… scampoluous. That’s probably a word. After all, Ego is never wrong.

Verse Four: Recital

Silent Start places the bin of ornaments down in the storage room underneath the boys’ bedroom. It was really tricky climbing over bins and boxes that store forgotten objects that have long since out-lived their purpose. However, she’s really skilled at maneuvering past these obstacles. She gets a lot of experience in the necessary acrobatic skill everytime she comes here to clean. She cleans the Ego household once per week and has been doing so for a few years. She doesn’t know this family could have lived without her. Now she has to bring three more boxes of ornaments down; he is not looking forward to that. She decides to clear a pathway to improve her travel efficiency. Wait, they have a treadmill down here? What is up with this family? She had to move three exercise machines from the closet of the boy’s room alone. That isn’t even counting jump ropes and yoga pads. Why doesn’t she ever see anybody exercising? Why are they all out of shape? Surely they have the resources… thump, thump. What’s that noise? It’s coming dorm directly above her. Is someone in the boy’s bedroom?

She knows she shouldn’t worry. The family is probably back home. But the father works late and the mother is bringing each of the little girls their appointments. The two boys have school, right? Don’t think about that. It’s fine. Silent Start heads up stairs and grabs two more boxes of ornaments. Back downstairs, she slides the boxes onto the top shelf of some food shelves. They hold cans of food, but the dates show all of the cans are at least three years expired. The overflowing ornaments scrape against the ceiling as Start struggles to push the box into place.  She she repeats the process for the last two boxes before realizing again that she still hasn’t turned on the lights. Oh well. I’m done with the basement anyway. I guess I’ll just keep the lights off. The basement lights turn on. Start tries to not react. There is absolutely nothing to worry about. She’s worried anyway.

Verse Five: Bridge

Inflated Ego hates voice activated AIs. Okay, well, he dislikes them. Fine, he likes them, but he finds them annoying. “Alexa, turn on living room.”

“Okay, I will turn on family room.”

“No, not the basement. I wanted the living room. Whatever, I’ll do it myself.” Alexa is helpful, but sometimes she really remind Ego of Siri (Siri tends to have trouble understanding what people are saying). But Ego doesn’t need Siri or Alexa, he can do things all by himself, even if he’d rather not go anywhere near the entrance to the basement. He doesn’t really need to turn on the living room lights, but he knows that he’ll have to do it when his mom gets home from her little sisters’ appointments. Might as well get it done now, it’s not like the spirit is going to leave. Besides, he’s not scared of it.

Inflated Ego opens the door to his room and peaks out. No one in sight. He slowly creep through the hall towards the living room. He passes the dining room, which is also empty of people. Not that he expects to see anybody. There is no one in the house, and he knows it. If there is a spirit here, he wouldn’t see it either. He enters the living room and shuffles to the computer desk, passing the couches on the way. Weren’t there some boxes on the couches earlier? He isn’t sure, and it doesn’t matter. At the computer desk, he reaches his hand underneath it preses a small button on a white box plugged into the outlet. The two lamps in the room fill the room with light; or rather, they fill only important part of the room—the corner with three computer desks.

The song is rowing louder. There are the sounds of footsteps coming up the basement stairs. Oh dear, is it possible that Ego might have done the impossible and made a mistake? Could turn on the living room lights by hand was a bad idea? Whatever. Ghost or spirit, he can take it. He picks up a pencil and holds it like a knife, his thumb over the eraser. He’s not scared. He’s not scared. He’s trembling, shaking, but he’s not scared. He felt anger build up inside of him. How dare a spirit try to scare him. How dare it nearly succeed. He won’t it have a victory over him. He won’t let it feed off his fear. He growls softly, subconscious action. He doesn’t expect to bark his way out of this battle.

Verse Six: Duet

Silent Start is heading up the stairs. She’s lost in thought, in worry. She is still singing, and her song grows louder with her fear. Growl. She stops singing. This family doesn’t have any pets. Well, not any real pets. They have two pet fish. They showed a few weeks back. But they don’t have anything that can growl. Oh dear. She tries to speak, to do something, but her voice is as paralyzed as she is. She hears the voice of a young boy, “Come out spirit. I’m not scared of you!” Though the sound startles her, she quickly reassures herself that if it is human, it can be reasoned with. But where the growl come from? Has the boy brought a dog?

Silent Start takes the last few steps up the stairs and enters the doorway the connects the kitchen to the living room. “Hya!” A not so little boy lunges at her with a pencil as if to stab her. She jumps back with a start. “No! Stop!” The boy halts his attack and grows red in the face. “Oh, it’s you, Siluh Art. Um, so I thought that you were something… someone else. Sorry, Seelee Ott.” Start is relieved that it’s just Ego (though she pronounced it “Ay-go”).  The boy, Ego, mumbles her name and mispronounces it each time. He doesn’t even use the right letters. “Ay-go, sorry for scaring you, but I need… I need to go. Bye? Bye.” Start is embarrassed. Her face is growing red. She left through the front door to her car parked in their driveway. She’ll ask for payment later. For now, she is just glad to be out of there. She can’t believe she was so scared of a child.