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ONE: Doyle’s haunted appliances.
The door slammed shut and for a moment afterwards, there was silence. If one were to listen hard enough, they might hear the quiet but ever present hum of the old refrigerator, the intermittent drip drip of the leaky shower head, or the distant howling of a werewolf-pom chi-hybrid-pup, but to most, it all faded into the background hum of the universe, as heard from Holly Brook Estates.
Only for a moment.
If you stuck around long enough, became invisible enough (or perhaps inhaled a mind-altering substance or two) you might find that start to change.
“I thought he’d never leave.”
The air which was previously full of a pent up energy seemed to visibly relax, as the air suddenly rang with a cacophony of relieved sighs. Then suddenly, the room was full of activity.
From tucked inside the cupboard under the sink, would float Timmy Toaster, exhausted from a day full of inhaling stale-bread crumbs and charcoal whilst stuffed inside a mangy old box. His slumber was usually interrupted by Doyle’s constant need to devour gluten-y snacks at 3am, and his energy levels certainly suffered for it. As did his mood, especially if one felt the need to point out his perpetual grumpiness. He would make his way to the coffee-pot where Kevin Kettle spent most of his days, and flick the switch before muttering a sombre ‘g’morning.’
The kettle would whistle shrilly, as Kevin Kettle would begin his morning flirtation with Franny Fridge, who would giggle and blush, and run her fingers through her shining silvery mane. She was the most beautiful apparition haunting Doyle’s house, and she was well aware of the fact absolutely using it to her advantage whenever the chance arose. It was also, perhaps, how she ended up with the coveted position of 'fridge apparition' but that was neither here-nor-there.
Michelle Mixer would hum happily, and unload the pots and pans from the drawers that Cathy Cupboard happily resided in, and the two of them, along with Egg Carton Erik would begin the preparations for the morning’s meal. At minimum they had three hours to kill, and one he returned none of them could predict when Doyle would leave again, so they tended to make the most of the hours they had
It’d been hard for them all recently, stuffed inside their various appliances and objects. Doyle hadn’t been leaving the house much, too consumed with fear over the “gypsy curse” that supposedly hung over his front yard. When Larry Lawn had heard about this, he’d laughed so hard that Doyle had been utterly convinced he was right. Larry Lawn was definitely mostly second-hand high though, so his outburst could be easily forgiven by the others, most of whom were perpetually on the down-low.
Today’s menu consisted of a dozen eggs, some almost-mouldy bread and about eighty slices of bacon. Doyle had some 'peculiar' eating habits, but the apparitions tried to make the most of it. Cooking breakfast for twenty three people was hard enough for most to handle, but doing it in a place like Doyle’s where the shopping was inconsistent at best was a challenge. Luckily, they mostly enjoyed the challenge, and they had a lot of thinking time to come up with new recipes and ideas. Doyle never questioned the occasional bumps and hisses and moans in the middle of the night, so they found themselves never bothering enough to leave and seek refuge elsewhere.
“I wonder how Bathtub Bessie is doing,” hummed Microwave Matilda, leaving the confines of her boxy home and joining the group congregating by the table, “It’s been a while since I’ve visited her, and Doyle keeps talking about that bathroom portal-”
“Bathroom portal!” spluttered Fredrick Freezer, tears rolling down his chubby cheeks as he laughed, “Doyle wouldn’t recognise a real portal if we showed him the one in his wardrobe.”
“Poor Wardrobe Warren,” whispered Microwave Matilda, and there was a moment of sombre silence before the conversation continued, “I wonder if he’s doing okay.”
“Probably met that Jack fellow,” interjected Table Tania, a soft expression on her kind face, “I’d like to think so anyway. From what Sammy says about him, I think they would get on well.”
There was collective agreement, as the kitchen’s chatter turned to talk to the radio-boys and their lost loved ones. “Car Chad is so lucky,” sighed China Chair forlornly, “I wish we could meet them too. I bet Sammy’s gorgeous if his voice is anything to go by.”
“It’s not like they’ll ever come here,” was the mutter of agreeance, “just this once I wish Doyle were a fraction more likeable, or would stop doing pot to make some friends. I bet we could help bring Jack back.”
Sink Tap Sally frowned, before somebody threw a bread crust at her, and the room dissolved into laughter. “Chicken Foot Dixon is a beautiful, trustworthy friend,” she hissed, and the titters that followed required no further response.
The buzz of the morning wore on, and breakfast was its usual success. The lives of the apparitions in Doyle’s house were far from perfect, but they were certainly interesting. They had enough food, friends, fun and good fortune to keep them occupied, and what else did an apparition need from their after life.