Work Text:
Dear Diary,
As of today my Hogwarts letter is 15 years, 7 months, and 3 days late. Either that or I’m not a wizard and JK Rowling lied….
At just this moment you’re disrupted from writing your latest diary entry when you hear a rustle from the corner of the bedroom. Looking up from your diary, you swear you see the pile of neglected dirty laundry on the floor of your bedroom move ever so slightly.
Give that dirty pile a good kick just to make sure it doesn’t move again.
You let out a sigh of disappointment and return to your diary. You put on your head phones to block out any other distractions and continue writing.
I will remain in denial until JK Rowling replies to my tweets, confirming or denying once and for all the existence of the magical world …
In irritation you stop writing again because something blocks your overhead light, casting the pages of your diary in shadow. To your horror and amazement the pile of laundry you thought you saw move is now towering over you, but it’s almost as tall as the ceiling! It must have melded with that collection of dirty pajamas and underwear you keep pushing further under your bed. You think you see two socks near the front move like a mouth but you hear no words. Is it trying to communicate? Actually, you have no idea whether it’s making noise or not because you’ve still got your headphones on. Whoops. You quickly remove them.
“CAN YOU HEAR ME? ARE YOU STUPID OR DEAF??” You now hear the pile of clothes. As it turns out, against all odds, the pile is talking to you. Even with your headphones removed the voice is muffled, probably because it’s made of socks, you think. “I KNOW YOU DON’T CLEAN YOUR ROOM BUT COULD YOU AT LEAST PAY ATTENTION TO THE MESS???” the pile shouts, louder now. You take a deep shaking breath to respond but, before you make a sound or even decide what you could possibly say to the sentient pile of clothes leaning over you, the smell hits. Ooof! Your breath catches in your throat and you start to cough violently. The room begins to spin. This is the end, surely! The room swirls faster and faster around you and fades to black.
Was it all a dream? You think not as, ironically, it’s also the horrendous smell of dirty socks that awakens you. You can’t see anything but hear muffled chuckling in the distance. “Lumos!” you shout automatically, but nothing happens and you remember that your magical potential is still being wasted living as a Muggle. As you scratch your ear you realize that there’s something cloth-like covering your face. You push it away and realize that the room was not actually dark after all; you just had a sock covering your face. Taking in the scene, you realize you’re now lying on the floor instead of on the bed. Down here you feel spiritually closer to your unwashed clothes. You roll over onto your side and notice the sentient pile of laundry is still here in your room but now over by the window, giggling uncontrollably. In horror, you realize it’s bent over your open diary.
“HEY YOU!” you shout hoarsely in the direction of the pile. “Get away from my diary! Those fan fictions are PRIVATE!”
“Oh! Not for long! Hehehe, I must send this one to my cousins!” replies the mass of clothes. “The way you explain Hermione’s secret Dark Forest Gang is really exciting! Who knew Ron had a secret sibling living in the castle dungeon!”
“Wait, really? You like it?” you reply, amazed. Who knew a sentient laundry pile could read, anyway.
“Oh yes!” replies the pile, “A few months ago you dropped the first three Harry Potter books behind the bed and ever since I’ve been dying to know what happens next. I was going to eat your flesh just now (your mother did warn you about that, right?) but now I just can’t stop reading your fictions! I’ll even make a deal with you: pull the rest of the Harry Potter books out from the bookshelf for me to read, and as long as you keep writing these addicting fan fictions, I’ll hold off on eating your flesh. Deal?”
Well, you don’t really have a choice, so you agree to keep writing fan fictions in exchange for keeping your flesh on your bones. You live out the rest of your days in a normal way. Your Hogwarts letter never does arrive but now you have a number 1 fan for your fan fictions, and you still don’t have to clean up your dirty laundry. It’s a win for everybody, really.
The End
(Dirty fan fiction ending)
With a sigh you set your diary aside and instead slide off your bed to go deal with the mess that’s haunted that corner of your bedroom for several weeks. “This task has waited long enough and I shall not allow it to eat my flesh!” you announce to no one in particular as you start the arduous task of filling your laundry basket. As you work, the basket starts to overflow so you take it down to the laundry room and return with a second basket.
You lament your labors, thinking how much easier the task would be if only you could use magic. “Here… under the bed…” whispers a muffled voice. You duck quickly to look under the bed but see no one. You do, however, regretfully notice the collection of dirty underwear and pajamas that’s built up under there. The voice must have been a very loud message from your conscience. How long has it even been since you last cleaned? Months? Years, maybe? Pinching your nose from the strong sweaty smell, you get down and start piling more clothes into the basket. Weirdly, as each article of clothing enters the basket, it makes a swishing sound that almost sounds like a sigh of relief. The atmosphere in the room feels lighter, or maybe it’s just the absence of sweaty jeans on the floor.
You take the last of the clothes to the laundry room and look at your watch. Uh oh, looks like you’ll be late to your dinner date if you don’t hurry.
Leave the laundry for later. You can put it in the washer when you get back.
Suffer five more minutes to get a load of laundry started.
The laundry can wait, you decide, so you drop the full laundry basket at the bottom of the stairs and go find your shoes to go out to dinner. To no one’s surprise, you forget entirely about the unfinished chore by the time you return home, head to your room, and fall right to sleep without a second thought.
That is… until midnight strikes and you are awakened by a slithering sound and a tightening around your ankles. The room is completely dark, but you hear a voice very near your ear whispering “Did you really just take me all the way downstairs, just to FORGET ABOUT ME AGAIN??! Didn’t your mother teach you better than this?” It’s too late now, though. You try struggling against the tightening cloth but it’s no use. By morning, you have become one with the laundry you neglected.
The End
(Vindicated clothes ending)
With a sigh of utmost despair, you empty the baskets into the washing machine… Unsurprisingly, not all the clothes fit. “IF ONLY I HAD MAGIC! IF ONLY MAGIC WAS REAL!” you wail as you painstakingly separate the clothes into whites, colors, and heavies. As you close the washing machine door on the first load you almost think you hear a relieved voice say “Now I’m free~~~~” That was weird. With a gasp you look again at your watch and run out the door, still cursing your missing Hogwarts acceptance letter.
The End
(Frustratingly normal ending)
Irritated by the distraction, you hop off your bed and give that mounting pile of clothes a swift kick sending dirty socks flying in every direction. You jump back onto your bed and return to your diary entry.
Every day that I live as a simple muggle is such a disappointment. If only I had magical powers, I could clean my house with a flick of my wand! I really don’t understand how people in this world are content to live without magic…
You stop writing again when you suddenly hear a slithering sound that seems to be coming from everywhere at once. Looking up you see that from every dusty corner of the room mismatched socks and creased shirts are moving, slowly at first, rumpling and straightening again, moving closer together and tying themselves to one another to form masses of cloth. Terrified, you try to sit up straighter in bed but the bed sheets (that you now regret not washing last month) are twisting into ropes beneath you and have already wrapped several times around your ankles, holding you down against the bed frame.
“HOW DARE YOU ANGER THE DIRT DEMON?” rumbles a voice from just beyond the foot of the bed. You notice that it seems to be emanating from the largest of the swiftly forming figures. “HOW DARE YOU DISGRACE A BEING OF SUCH POWER?!”
Trembling, you squeak “I’m sorry! I’m a grown adult and should definitely clean more often, but I didn’t know you existed and never meant to anger you! Please let me go free!”
The dirt demon raises a pant leg to its head, as if considering. “I WILL SPARE YOUR FLESH IF FOR THE REST OF YOUR DAYS YOU CLEAN, FOLD, AND PUT AWAY LAUNDRY.”
“Do I at least get to use magic?” you ask timidly.
“NO!” replies the demon. “THERE’S NO SUCH THING AS MAGIC! NOW, THE PORTAL TO LAUNDRY HELL LIES BENEATH YOUR BED.” You feel the blankets loosen from your body. “WHAT IS YOUR CHOICE?”
Dear Diary,
I’ve lost track of time but I’ve been folding laundry now for something short of an eternity. I surely have a greater appreciation for House Elves now, not to mention my mother.
Although I probably should have just washed my clothes in the first place, I’ve actually formed quite a community with the other damned souls down here in Laundry Hell. Our demon overlords like to pass the time with us by making up ridiculous stories. They’re really good at it and put JK Rowling to shame with their world building and creativity. Really, I’ve grown as a person a lot down here. Not only have I learned my lesson, I’ve also finally learned how to fold a fitted sheet! Really, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
The End
(Laundry Heaven Ending)
“Catch me if you can!” you scream and jump out of the window. Hey, you’ve really nothing to lose! Or, that’s what you think until after you’ve successfully escaped, only to realize that you’ll never be able to enter your house ever again, nor even to sell it. You managed to safely escape the Dirt Demon, but unfortunately all of your belongings are now trapped in your house beyond your reach. Oh well, you might be homeless but at least you won’t have to wash those dirty clothes.
The End
(Escaped Responsibility Ending)
