Lucid Waking

    She opened the door to her house with two armfuls of groceries in her hands. She flicked the keys to the table to her right, and kicked the door closed. Her feet were sore from her pumps and she ached from the cold. As soon as she shut the door and kicked off her shoes, she realized there was a lot of bustle in the kitchen as someone banged around with the pots and pans. She walked slowly into the kitchen with her groceries and put them on the table. The room was in complete disarray: eggs were shattered on the floor and water was dripping from the ceiling. Catsup, and various raw meats were smashed into the countertops and her sink was overflowing with suds. Small handprints were all over her utensils and dishes, yet there was no one in the kitchen and most definitely no one in the pots and pans cupboard, which she checked twice. She raised one eyebrow and stepped back into an egg yolk. She sighed, aggravated, and grabbed the paper towels by the sink. Once she had gotten through the first two that were soaked with mustard, she managed to soak up all the eggs. She slipped off her hose and threw them onto the table. Her bare feet were raw and red, but she continued to stand as she cleaned off the counter and walls. The sky was dark outside when she plopped down on a kitchen chair. She closed her eyes for a bit until she heard rustling behind the garbage can under the sink. She got up and flung open the doors, finding nothing but a clean bag where a full one once was. She closed the doors cautiously and started putting the groceries away. When she was finished, she went upstairs, taking her hose and shoes and got ready for bed.
    The next day, she got home from work and tried to avoid the kitchen on her way to the office up the stairs in her house. She was halfway through an article she had to write for the next day, when she heard the mix master in the kitchen. She looked up, listening for any other sounds accompanying the machine to identify the cook, but there was nothing else. She tried to get back to her work, but couldn’t ignore the curiosity pulling at her hand like a small child. Gen, Gen look! It seemed to say, running down the stairs and pointing a small finger at the kitchen, I wonder what they’re doing? It was only when her stomach started to growl an hour later that she ventured down there. God knows what I wrote, she thought, cautiously venturing into the kitchen. The room was completely spotless and clean, and besides a few extra dishes in the drying rack and a scrumptious smell of vanilla from the oven, there was no evidence that it had been used. She grabbed a chicken potpie from her freezer and cooked it in the microwave. When it was done she sat in the chair that faced the back wall, facing purposefully away from the oven. She didn’t turn when she heard a cabinet door open and pull out the baked good from the oven. When she finished, a cake sat on her stovetop, cooling. She tried not to be shocked and ignored it by walking back up the stairs again and closing her door. It was hard not to want to go back down there, but she forced herself to reread her article while listening to old eighty’s hits. The day ended uneventfully, except for a small knock on the door, which she ignored, and she went to bed, forcing herself to sleep.
The cake was sitting on the kitchen table, completely frosted and covered with scribbled words in lavender frosting. “Working hard all day and night, making sure your estate is right, we are the household brownies. Should you wish, we’ll come to stay and keep the dust bunnies at bay, but if not we’ll go away and never come back again. Just say the word and we’ll go or stay, whatever your choice is OK, should you choose to let us go, you’ll forget this whole encounter. Signed, The Household Brownies” She stared at the cake for a minute and laughed. Her stomach ached and tears streamed out of her eyes.
“W-well,” she stammered, wiping tears from her eyes. “I would love to have the help around the house.”
Hundreds of small little round human-like creatures came out of her cabinets. They reminded her of little rag dolls, as they had thicker limbs, but otherwise in perfect proportion to their bodies. There skin was a tan and all their hair was brown. Their large round eyes stood them apart from each other and apparently, they seemed to know who was who. They ran about the house with tiny feather dusters and mops, franticly cleaning any surface they could get their hands on. She smiled and cut herself a piece of cake, noting particularly that it was the best she had ever remembered tasting.

Filed under: Fantasy by Bri

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