The Passive Observer

I am but a passive observer. I do not interfere, I find joy just from watching people.

You moved into this house I dwell in about over a year ago. You came in, professional movers following behind you, eyes bright and cheeks high in a smile. You seemed like you were ready to wrestle a bear and win. You started barking orders to the movers where to put your furniture and which decoration goes where. I watched from the shadows, despite having the ability to appear invisible to human eyes (hiding in the shadows uses less energy for me), and studied all the new stuff you brought in with you. What they were made of, estimating their age, and how much heart was put into making said object, I saw them all.

It would appear that you moved alone, for I saw no one else moving in with you. Your first house, congratulations. I am glad that you chose this old little house; I tried to keep it well-maintained while no one was living in it. You started your early days in this house with a lot of vigor and passion, you were so ready to make a future that you will be proud of, I heard you talk to yourself about your future plans and in silence, I wished you the best of luck.

You always went outside during the day, working your hardest. While you were making ends meet for yourself, I materialized myself and did small chores. Sometimes if I noticed something in the brink of disrepair, like the plumbing or electricity, I fixed them that you never realized that something needed repairs. You were not exactly the best at keeping up the appearance of your living place, but considering your work, I can excuse your lack of enthusiasm for dusting and mopping. And you did not seem to notice my efforts; I never saw you noticing how dust free your house always is. I suppose you were always more concerned with your work or laundry or the dishes.

This had always been our routine for the next year or so; you never notice my presence and I never show myself to you nor any of your guests. You leave during the day and come back after sundown. You take a bath, entertain yourself with your television or computer before finally going to bed. I would watch with you, being confused most of the time, but from within the shadows. When you sleep, I crawl into the shadows under your bed and sleep too. That had been our routine and I was content with how things were. You have never been an obnoxious person, having you live in this house had been pleasant.

But then something changed.

You changed.

One day, you did not go to work. It was not a weekend, either, it was Wednesday. I wondered if it had been a holiday, but I looked at the puppy calendar you bought and saw that it was not a holiday. So why were you not at work? A day off perhaps?

That was what I thought at first, but days passed by and each day, you remained at home. Sometimes to the store, but that was it. You spent your days lazing around at home, migrating from one electronic device to another, from a movie, a game, a music, to a book. On some occasion, you dealt with chores, but as weeks passed, you started neglecting them. I watched the laundry pile turned into laundry hill, and the dishes turned into a shipwreck. My hands itched to clean them all, but I could not risk arousing suspicion. I left them be, much to my dismay, hoping you would do the chores yourself later on.

But you never did.

Today, you do not even bother getting out of your bed. For a moment I almost think that you have died in your sleep, but then I see you stir under your blanket. From the darkness of your room, I see that you have awakened. Your eyes are opened, but I see no light in it. Your eyes have not had light in them since you stopped going to work and it got darker and darker as time flew. You always seem exhausted, but I never saw you doing heavy activities.

What has happened to you? What happened to the passionate human who moved in a year ago? I let you rest in your room, maybe you need more rest, and I leave to feed the squirrels in the backyard. Then I decide that your hedges need trimming, so I do just that using my claws. I work on the hedges for about three hours or more–I take hedge-trimming very seriously–and when I get back, you are still in your bed.

I am starting to get suspicious, but I leave you be. I go on maintenance checks all around the house, making sure the house is not at risk of breaking down. I take my sweet time with this one, part because this is the most important task to do and part so I can give you time to get up as long as possible. Yet, when I return five hours later, you are still in your bed.

I am convinced you are dead now. Keeping myself invisible, I creep up towards you, studying your face. Strange…you still blink, I can hear your breathing, yet you are not moving. Your eyes stare at nothing. You still live yet it is as if your soul has left, leaving you a hollow breathing shell of a mannequin. You show no signs of sickness, yet I can tell that you are unwell. You have not eaten nor drank in a long time since you awakened and I worry for your welfare. My instinct to maintain things kicks in; no longer do I care of hiding myself to you. Unlike the previous people living in this house before, you have no one else living with you except me, and I should have been simply the passive observer. No one else can take care of you but myself.

I am used to showing my corporeal form inside this house–that is how I clean your floor and dust your shelves–but never do I appear this way to cook. I am a creature who does not need nourishment, but I have seen previous inhabitants of this house cook before. I am a passive observer, but a very sharp one, so with enough repetitions I am bound to understand faster. I decide that a sunny side up and some toast with a cup of coffee would be enough for you. I put them on a tray and carry them into your room.

I almost hesitate and freeze in front of your room; I have never appeared in my full form in front of you before. Part of me is afraid I will scare you away. I never find myself as scary, but for a human…who knows. I can look like marshmallows and humans would still scream in terror seeing me. But I am not marshmallow-looking, my body is entirely black in color and I can merge with the shadows, so I fear for the worst. But at least by scaring you, I can get you out of your bed.

Your reaction when I walk in front of you is…nonexistent. I see your pupils dilate, but that is as far as I get from you for a reaction. “I made you dinner,” I say to you, placing the tray on the side table. “Eat up while I clean the mess around the house.” I back away slowly from you, half waiting to see you get up and eat. I am quite sure I did not mess up the toasts or egg or the coffee.

I busy myself with cleaning the dishes. There is no automatic dishwasher in this house, so everything has to be done manually. Dish after dish, cutlery after cutlery, I clean them without leaving a spot. I wipe them dry and put them in their respective cupboards before moving on to the laundry. The laundry is, thankfully, much easier to do because of the washing machine, though I do have to do several rounds since I have to wash the colors separately. While the machine is running, I go back to your room to see if you have touched the food I made. And…

No progress has been made. You are still tucked inside your blanket and my food is steaming, slowly turning cold. That makes me frown. “Do you not like what I made?” I ask while walking closer to you. “Or do you not trust it? You fear I might put poison in it?”

You made not a single squeak, though your eyes do glance sideways at me, before staring into nothingness again. I sigh, “Look, if I wish to kill you, I could have just choked you in your sleep. Making you food only to kill you takes too much effort. I even clean your house while you were away.” Still, you ignore me. I swear I am speaking the same language as you.

Frustrated, I decide to take a step further. I pull your arms and force you to sit up, and it is here that I hear you groan. I scold at you when your spine wavers and almost drops back to the bed. I cut a piece of the toast and the egg and proceed to shove them to your face. “Eat. I mean it.”

Your eyes look at the food I cooked for you and shifted to me before returning. You take a slow, uninspired bite, and chew just as slow. Your face does not crunch or trying to disfigure itself, so I take it that my cooking is nowhere near bad in quality. I make a wide smile, part proud of myself for cooking successfully on my first try and part pleased that you listen to me. I cut another piece of the toast and egg, watch you eat, and then give you the coffee. Your eyes still show emptiness, but I can see that you are much more alive than you were minutes ago. My tail wags at how pleased I am with this progress.

The washing machine trills its merry little jingle, signaling me that it has cleaned the first round of your laundry. “I still have more work to do. Can you continue eating while I go dry your clothes?”

You neither nod nor shake your head, but your hands do move to cut your food, so I suppose I can leave you be for a moment. The washing machine spins once more and I go outside to hang the clean clothes to dry. My acute senses find no signs of bad weather; I have not to worry about having to carry the laundry inside in the middle of the night because of rain or strong wind.

When I return, you have once again lie down in your bed, covered in your cozy blanket. I almost complained, but I see that the plates are clean–you have finished your food and coffee. That is good enough, I shall let you sleep for now until the next morning while I continue do house chores. Today, I dedicate myself to the chores, tomorrow, to you.

Morning comes and you still opt to stay in bed instead of get out and have some breakfast. I make you breakfast, but I do not bring them to your room this time. I bring you to them. I pull you out of bed with ease, you are not exactly the heaviest thing I have ever pulled. Your feet seem to struggle to stand, but I am here to assist. I lead you to the dining room where your breakfast awaits you. I wait eagerly as you lazily grab the mug of coffee and bring its hot content to your lips. You are unenthusiastic eating your food, but I do not mind. I just sit near you, watching you eat another of my successful cooking.

My nose catches a whiff of an unpleasant odor. Ugh, it is not the worst odor I have ever smelled, but as a creature who appreciates cleanliness, this odor is enough to make me sick. And it comes from you. “Oh dear, you need a bath…” You seem unwilling to take a bath, but you say nothing. And when it is time for bath, you do not rebel, but you do not actively try to clean yourself. I have to do all the cleaning for you and it is…just…the most awkward thing I ever do. I mean, you are not as disgusting as the muck I have to clean from the drainage pipes of the toilet once in a while, but I just…I never bathed a human before. At least you smell much better after that bath.

That is the first time I have to bathe a human and definitely not my last. For the next week, I repeat these routines with you: waking you up, making you food, bathing you, then doing your chores. During meal times, you start to eat on your own, and during bath times, you help me clean half of your body, notably the areas where I am most reluctant to touch. Whenever I am done taking care of you for the day, I let you sit on the couch and watch television. I also keep your laptop within reach if you prefer to go online while I do some chores. Today is the same as always, I turn on the television for you before leaving, but your hand suddenly grabs mine.

“Would you…stay for a bit? Sit with me?”

My eyes widen. This is the first time since I started showing myself to you that you show any desire to keep me around, let alone talk to me. “Of course.” I oblige; this is a progress, I feel like you are finally acknowledging my presence. The moment I sit, you curl up to my side, much to my surprise. This is an even bigger progress!

“Hey… Thanks. For taking care of me.” Half of your face is buried in my side, I have to put an arm around your back to make space for you and to free my hand.

“No problem.” I encourage myself to stroke your hair. I do not know why, but I feel this is what you need, and the fact that you lean further against me only enforces how much you really need some head pats and a hug. And a nuzzle to the head. The more I touch you, the more you seem pleased. I want to ask so many questions to you, but they can wait. Your welfare is my priority right now.

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Reposted from my tumblr terato blog kaibuntsu.

#teratophilia #monsterlove #monsterfluff #originalwriting #genderneutralcharacters