The Truth Emerges

 

“Unexpected?” House asks. “I wake up to a head full of gray hair and that’s all you have?”

Writer Lady shifts her weight from one leg to the other.

“You knew about this?” House asks.

“Do you remember last week when you and Mural Man went on your romantic bubble cruise getaway?”

“Yes.”

“While you were in Faerie and separated from your physical body I might have made some changes.” Writer Lady admits.

“Changes what kind of changes?”

Writer Lady doesn’t answer instead she raises an index finger and points to the ceiling.

“The ceiling?” House asks raising her eyes. “My ceilings don’t look any different.”

“Higher.”

“There is a bit of a mess in the attic but not enough to cause something like this.” House says.

“Higher.” Writer Lady says.

“My roof? You changed my roof?!”

“No.” House says. “If you’d added another layer of shingles my hair would just be thicker.”

Writer Lady shakes her head.

“You didn’t.” House says.

 A guilty expression crosses Writer Lady’s face. “I did.”

“How much was torn off and replaced?”

“All of it?”

“You tore off everything and replaced it? Without asking?”

“Kind of? I thought it would be easier if I just got the work done and over with.”

“What color are my new shingles?” House asks.

 House's question is met with silence.

“What color are my shingles?” House repeats.

Writer Lady’s face pales. She points to the hair on the mural.

“You tore shingles off without consulting me and replaced my flowing dark locks with this?”

“Yes?”

“You evil woman!” House screams. “You horrible, evil, spiteful woman! You did this on purpose didn’t you! Didn’t you!”

“No. I got the work done while you were gone so you know… you wouldn’t be here to feel any pain. All those old nails being pulled out and the new nails going in. The sound of creaking wood.”

Ignoring Writer Lady’s response House continues firing out her thoughts. “I’m the house. You did the equivalent of plastic surgery on me without telling or consulting me! How would you like to wake up after getting a nose job that you knew nothing about! Wait...my wood was creaking?”

“A little.”

House’s expression changes from one of anger to one of sadness.

“A house creaks and makes other sounds as it ages. It’s normal.”

“As it ages?” House asks.

“Your paperwork shows you were built some time ago. As you said you know you’re not a new build.”

House’s eyes get a slight glimmer to them. “I’m a modern woman. I’m always in style.”

“House, you’re a mid century modern bungalow built in 1952. You’ve been standing here for the last 70 years.” Writer Lady says with sympathy in her eyes.

“I’m...old?” House asks.

“Not exactly old just not new.”

“So 70 years isn't a long time on Earth?” House asks.

 

 

On the other side of the bathroom door the tip of a large finger taps Spots on his shoulder. Tinkletoes squats down next to the kitten and whispers, “Status report.”

Spots looks at the self-proclaimed mercenary with a puzzled expression.

“What’s happening?”

“House just found out that her hair has turned gray because Food Provider got House’s roof done without asking permission. House said Food Provider is mean and spiteful. Food Provider said she thought it would hurt less if the magical side of House was not here when the physical side was being worked on. That she didn’t want it to hurt House or for House to hear herself creaking during construction. When House asked what Food Provider meant Food Provider told House she was old.”

“Really?” Ray asks.

“She told House that according her paperwork she's 70.”

“Dude...she doesn’t look a day over forty.”

Tinkletoes stands up and looks at Ray. “The paperwork doesn’t lie.” He says tapping Ray on the upper arm. “This is too good to pass up. We’re going in.”

The self-proclaimed mercenary opens the door just as House’s voice emerges from the wall on the other side of it inquiring if 70 years is a long time on Earth. “It sure the hell is.” Tinkletoes says. “A really long time.” Leaving the door open behind him he looks at Writer Lady. “Seventy years is the length of many a lifetime.” He turns to House. “Gray huh? Seventy sneaks up on a woman sometimes. It’s hell gettin’ old isn’t it?”

“This is not the time.” Writer Lady says.

“You may say this is not the time.” Tinkletoes counters "I think this is exactly the time. House has been really obnoxious since the day she arrived.” He looks at Writer Lady. “I think it’s time she got back a little bit of what she’s been dishing out to the rest of us.”

Writer Lady steps forward and reaches out, placing a hand on the self-proclaimed mercenary’s forearm she guides him into the shower for a private discussion. “I know that in your mind you think this is the time for you to launch a tackle or verbal assault or whatever it is you call whatever it is you think you do but…”

“...it’s a counter offensive. It’s called launching a counteroffensive.” Tinkletoes says.

“There is a time and a place for you and House to have one of your little squabbles but this is not it.” Writer Lady says.

Tinkletoes looks at House who is looking sadly into the mirror while Ray, Carp, Dobby Cat and the kittens all take turns telling her how cool her new silver hair looks. The self-proclaimed mercenary turns back to Writer Lady. “I don’t get into little squabbles with anyone. Squabbling is for females. This is war woman and those tanks at the top of the rise," he says gesturing to the ceiling, "they’re reinforcements. From my unit.”

House Finds A Gray Hair

 

This 10^th Anniversary Post is dedicated to the memory of my grandfather who always knew how to attract an audience and never left them hanging and my aunt who could tell stories about everyday life and tell them in such a way that you could barely stay in your chair because you were laughing so hard.

A good storyteller shares a gift in that moment.

A great storyteller shares a gift that carries on long after they are gone.

– HR Apostos

*************************************

“Faerie. The place with the meadows, forests full of magical creatures, villages, flying transport bubbles, jungles, rain forests, talking man size sharks, not to mention a sand bar which literally serves sand is bored?” Carp asks.

TP nods.

“Unicorns. Faerie has unicorns. How can a place with unicorns feel bored?” Carp continues. “And giants. And ogres.”

Writer Lady contemplates what her neighborhood might look like if Gordon returned. What if he brought friends? “Faerie cannot come here.” She announces.

“The por-tal is AL-read-y h-ere.” TP sings. “It’s always been here. It lives in the back yard. Silly human.” The faerie says fluttering across the room to Writer Lady, he stops to hover in front of her face. “You’re stuck with her.” He says with a grin. “Where do you think I came from?” He asks.

“TP, Damon, Diomedes, and House.” Tinkletoes says. He looks at Writer Lady. “He has a point. With the portal being on your property you have an unexpected neighbor.”

“I do have an unexpected neighbor. That was never a problem. It is a problem if the neighbor begins moving property lines for her own amusement.”

TP flies back and forth trying to stay in Writer Lady’s line of sight as she paces. When she stops walking the faerie does a less than smooth figure eight narrowly missing an unexpected trip into Tinkletoes’ ear. “Faerie doesn’t want to take over your Earth. She wants to have a little fun, meet new people.”

“Why doesn’t she turn the door towards the outer edge of the property and grab someone up?” Tinkletoes asks.

Writer Lady looks from TP to the self-proclaimed mercenary. “Because that would be kidnapping.” She points out.

Tinkletoes shakes his head.

“He doesn’t mean that.” Carp says.

“Why doesn’t Faerie make her entrance so interesting someone wanders in on their own.” The self-proclaimed mercenary says.

“Lure them in.” Carp says. “Faerie has had lots of practice doing that. It was the typical way of things in many of the early stories about the fae and their magical home world along with time passing much more slowly than it does on Earth and if the visitor eats or drinks anything they are never able to return home.”

“Like the Hotel California.” Ray says. “The Eagles must have visited some time.” He shakes his head. “History is so cool.”

Writer Lady shakes her head. It was not the time or the place to correct the junk food addicted insomniac.

Carp ignores the comment and looks at Tinkletoes. “We both know from experience that eating or drinking in Faerie does not keep you there forever.”

“Public gathering places can't use the kind of magic." TP says. “In private homes, anything goes. You got lucky, silly.”

Carp thinks back to his own time spent in Faerie. Being attacked by a silver unicorn with red eyes in what should have been a completely innocent walk through a meadow with Black Buck a talking antelope who was also visiting at the time. The assassin-in-training pales slightly at the thought of spending an eternity avoiding the large angry beast. Tinkletoes’ only indication of discomfort is the momentary shifting of weight from one leg to another.

“Oh no! My hair!” Echoes through the house.

“That doesn’t sound good.” Carp observes.

“Now what.” Writer Lady says.

A strange sound that seems to fall from the ceiling echoes through the house and the heads of all of the living beings currently inside it.

“Is that sobbing?” Carp asks.

“It sounds like it.” Writer Lady responds as she exits the bonus room. Carp, TP, Tinkletoes, Ray and Dobby Cat all follow. “But who’s upset?” She asks.

The group enters the living room as the picture window begins to rattle. The sobbing grows louder. Water begins to run down the outside of the window. Writer Lady looks outside at the front yard, the driveway and the street. All appear to be dry. It's not raining.

“Dude, it’s your house. She’s crying.” Ray says.

Writer Lady looks at Ray. Her brow furrows with concern. “We hear her. I don’t see her mural.” She says as she continues looking around.

Dobby Cat crosses the living rooms and sits next to his adopted mother. The ginger tabby’s ears turn in opposite directions listening closely. “Try the bathroom.” He says.

Writer Lady exits the living room stopping at the end of the hall. She gives the door a gentle knock. “House?” She calls.

“Go away!”

“Would you tell me what’s wrong?”

The voice on the other side of the door softens. “It’s all so sudden. I don’t understand why this happened to me.” House sobs. “I know I’m not a new build and I’ve been standing for a while but my mural is an enchanted rendering. It is supposed to appear the way I picture myself. When then sun was going down I looked like me and when the sun rose I looked like this.” She explained. “I don’t understand.” The sound of crying resumes.

“If you could please let me in so I can see what you are talking about. Please? House?”

The knob on the bathroom door turns. The door opens. Writer Lady enters the room to find House’s mural on the wall opposite her mirrored medicine cabinet. The pictorial rendering of House is the same willowy woman with soft amber eyes. Her skin appears flawless, not a single wrinkle appears near her eyes or mouth. Her luxuriously long auburn locks have changed in color and are now a soft silvery gray.

“I have gray hair! Gray! My life is over!” House cries out.

Guessing what must have happened Writer Lady pales. “This is unexpected.”