A Quiet Week in the House

A man sets out on a mission to infiltrate the abandoned house in the lonely countryside. He moves with quiet resolve, seeking to remain unseen as he slips through hidden entrances. Inside, he establishes a silent observation post to watch the rooms and their strange, living behavior. He prepares to spend days inside, focusing his attention on every surface that might reveal the house's secret.

On Monday, a box of candies reveals itself to be rusty nails and screws. They slide out and settle on the keys of a typewriter, turning the desk into a metallic, eerie orchestra. The man watches as the objects begin their own strange choreography, proving the house is alive with mechanical intention. This first episode signals the week-long pattern he must document.

On Tuesday, a cow tongue licks a drawer full of dishes clean before climbing into a meat grinder. The grinder churns the tongue and its cargo into tiny scrolls, scattering metal across the room. The man observes in silence, unseen, as the objects perform their bizarre chore. The air fills with the iron scent of machinery and meat as the day unfolds.

Wednesday brings a clockwork toy chicken to life, breaking free of its tether and moving toward a plate of corn kernels. It reaches the corn only to be buried beneath a mound of brown clay that seems to swallow the scene. The man watches without moving, recording the odd interaction between motion, appetite, and earth. The room hums with gears as the day ends.

Thursday features a desk releasing pigeons trapped in its drawer, but a hidden force plucks the birds from the air. A chair then attempts to use the pigeons' feathers to fly, only to crash and shatter on the floor. The man remains hidden, noting the unsettling choreography as the room fills with feathers and echoes of impact. The day ends in a broken, watching quiet.

Friday the hose emerges from the buttonhole of a suit jacket and drinks water from a flower vase. The water fuels a blaze of color as the flowers combust and scatter heat across the floor. The hose then urinates the remaining water onto the surface, staining it in a strange, wet pattern. The man catalogs the scene, noting how the living room turns itself into a workshop of oddities.

Saturday ends with dentures binding a cabinet full of pigs' feet with tough wire, turning the furniture into a macabre restraint. The metal teeth gnash and tighten around the paws, immobilizing the cabinet in a creaking, stubborn stillness. The man watches from a hidden corner, recording how the house choreographs its own strange machinery. The room grows quiet as the day fades.

On the seventh day, the man surveys all the rooms and prepares to complete the last part of his mission. He drills holes and begins to insert sticks of dynamite, wiring them toward a time bomb with an alarm clock. He checks the layouts again, ensuring every intended point of detonation is aligned. The house waits in a tense, quiet expectation.

The man completes connecting the dynamite to the alarm clock, turning the setup into a time bomb. Realizing he forgot to check off Sunday on his calendar, he rushes back to perform the final formal step. The tension peaks as the fuse runs toward its ignition while the house seems to listen in silence.

With the mission accomplished, the man runs off into the distance away from the doomed house. He leaves behind the ruin of the rooms and the strange choreography of objects, carrying the weight of what he has learned. The house, in its odd, mechanical fury, waits for what comes next as he disappears into the horizon.