The betrayal of the home

Introduction

The house is a relationship based on trust. The house is made to prevent harm to its tenants and the tenants trust it not to fall. Every night, for hours, we shut off our senses to the outside world to regenerate our energy. The vulnerability during this time is immense. Any being could watch us while we rest, and we would be none the wiser. However, we trust the house to prevent this, the safety in it's unchangingly secure geometry. A house a hundred square feet will stay a hundred square feet. We trust this never to change, as we have only known a world where the change of space is impossible without intervention. So wouldn't there be a sense of betrayal if the house's walls became distorted at unreasonable angles, it's scale inappropriate for the people it was made for. This is an unreasonable thought, for the normal house at least: A house with inhabitants, those who can witness it's geometry and live within its bounds. But what about a house abandoned for years, the structure crumbling? An abandoned house, a forgotten house, may become bitter, malignant. When a house is bitter it has no one to tell it to stay within its walls. An unobserved house might as well not exist, it's function null. So would a malignant house decide to change the dimensions of it's inner walls, inch by inch? If a house is neglected, would anyone make sure that its inside is smaller than its outside? Would a bitter house left to its own desires choose to change the layout of its rooms to an illogical and confusing floor plan? Would it change its doors to go to rooms that shouldn't fit in the hallway they're placed in? A house so intentionally impossible the mind would not be able to fathom it's invention, and yet, there it stood, the house nestled in the valley of a mountain.