THE LANDLADY by Jay Jay.

Dean's Folly.

Dean was happier than he had been for a long, long time. The job was strange, but great. He'd made friends with some of the kids living at the big house, yet he had his own space to retire to when he wished to be solitary. Dean was, at least, a person who was happy in his own company. 

Some of the others had joined in his performances, together they had had fun thinking up short skits, musical numbers and creative dances. They would meet in his little house behind the folly, and practise there. 

Mrs Jones and her guests had been delighted. Mrs Jones had sent letters of appreciation, along with treats such as chocolates, wine, or flowers. The flowers Dean gave to the girls, the other items he often scoffed himself. 

Most weekends now, he went over to the main house to socialise. The creepy feeling he had originally got from being near the house had gone. Must have been his imagination after all. Ghosts. Since when had Dean been supersticious? Showed how strung out he had been when life had gone downhill for him. He couldn't believe now that he had been reduced to living on the streets.

Dean woke one night with a start. Something had made the house shudder, and items had fallen down with a clatter.

He wrapped his dressing gown round his shoulders, switched on the lights.

Things had fallen down off the shelves. A half bottle of red wine was rolling gently on it's side over the beige carpet, big red stain putting him into a panic. He found a towel, mopped up what he could, surveyed the rest of the damage.

Jars and cans of food had fallen out of the shallow cupboards. A vase of flowers he hadn't got round to giving to Audrey was in disarray, water everywhere. Some plates were cracked.

He went around the house, putting things back. "Must have been an earthquake," he muttered to himself.

The house trembled again. "Aftershock!" he yelped, and ran outside.

Weird. No shaking outside, but the house was visibly shaking.

Freaked out, he decided that maybe the ground under the house was unstable.

To make matters worse, there was light rain outside.

He braved the shaking house long enough to grab a jacket, pillow, and a duvet.

The folly had a small room, and was dry inside. Dean, no stranger to sleeping rough, decided to spend the night there instead.

It was more comfortable than places Dean had slept several months ago, but still, he had gotten used to comfort, and he just couldn't settle.

The house stopped shaking. After an hour or so, Dean decided his nice comfortable bed was worth the risk of the house falling down on top of him, or being swallowed up in a sink hole.

The house seemed to be incredibly cold, considering the outside was mild. But Dean was tired, fell back into bed with a long sigh of relief. He wrapped the blankets tightly round himself and was soon back to sleep.

Tom had been walking for a long time. He was almost thinking of turning back.

The long, long red hallway had finally turned a corner. Tom had come to a large, black door. The door was locked. He could not open it. 

He tried to find a key. He tried to push it open. 

Finally Tom, in utter frustration, went back to his usual response.

He kicked and threw himself bodily at the door. The door shook and shuddered, but did not open.

Finally, Tom hit the door so hard that he knocked himself out.

Tom lay motionless at the base of the huge black door.

"Not yet, my boy. Not yet," Mrs Jones chuckled. 

"Ah, so you want to build up the suspense," the short fat man giggled, and his equally repulsive wife joined in.

"Tell you the truth, I've become quite fond of my Ornamental Hermit," Mrs Jones said.

"Don't get too fond of anyone," the tall man said severely. The other two nodded. "I, for one, am getting very, very hungry. If I get too hungry, I will get angry."

"How dare you? DO NOT THREATEN ME!" Mrs Jones replied, suddenly looking like a very dangerous creature. She towered over the others. Her teeth were bared, very white and sharp teeth. There was a glimpse of the beast within her. The fat man and his wife quailed, but the tall man stood his ground.

The tall man seemed to creep taller. Gaunt white face also bared sharp teeth. Thin body and limbs made him look skeleton-like.

"You had better not test me," he said calmly. "I also have some power. Lets not get into a competition that we will both regret."

Mrs Jones took some deep breaths, seemed to shrink back with each one. She composed herself, took on the appearance of the sweet old lady again. She smiled.

The tall man also smiled. He patted his flat tummy. "I am starving," he said in a whiny voice. "We all need sustenance, you as much as us." His height crept down again. "We all need a fix of food, to survive a bit longer, don't you agree? It is them, or us. I pick us."

"Yes, yes!" the fat man said. "Them, or us. They are just food, lambs for the slaughter. Cute little lambs. Humans don't care about cuteness or cleverness when they are hungry. They have set us the standard we should abide by."

"I want lambchops!" the repulsive woman sacreeched, saliva dripping down her triple chin.

"Do not worry. I am not going soft and sentimental in my own age. I just think I'd like to target one of the others first. We can get back to this one any time we like."

With that, she turned their attention to the screens that spied on what was happening in the big house.

Where small dramas were starting to unfold.