Someone moved into their house
Family's New Shrink Ray
chapter 20
by
copier
· original author:
arca88
Debbie's breath caught in her throat. The sound the mantis made as it moved was the scraping of chitin against the air, a dry, predatory sound.
"Move!" Derek shouted, not waiting for confirmation. He shoved Nicole forward, simultaneously firing the small stone he'd been holding.
The impact was negligible, a light tap on the underside of one of the hunting legs. But it was enough to distract the creature for a split second.
In that stolen time, they dove. There was no trail, only an impenetrable mass of tube-thin underground roots, grass stalks like sapling trunks, and patches of moss that served as insect traps.
Disturbed, the mantis twisted its triangular head. When it located where they'd been, its front legs slammed into the ground.
The impact wasn't a thud; it was a digging. The ground trembled, and a section of clay and humus rose as if struck by a pickaxe. Had they hesitated for one more second, they would have been crushed or flung meters away.
They ran blindly, guided only by the feeling of getting away from the predator. The world of spring proved infinitely more exhausting than the winter underground. The six months of muscle atrophy took their toll immediately. Every fiber in their legs screamed. Fresh air filled their lungs, but it wasn't enough.
"We need cover," Derek panted, tripping over a small taproot that jutted out of the ground like a mountain ridge.
Lisa, despite the throbbing panic, looked up. The canopy of grass was too dense to see the sky, but she knew where the sun was by the direction of the specks of light.
"South. The house's foundation." If we get to the concrete… Her voice broke, afraid to say aloud what concrete meant: a clear, vegetation-free area where the mantis was visible, but couldn't easily slip away.
Debbie dragged Nicole over a mound of dirt. The girl, silent and terrified, clung to her neck like a koala.
"Yes. Go. I'll cover the rear," Debbie said, brandishing the only possession she had left: a sharpened piece of hardened bark Derek had found for her.
The mantis hadn't followed them directly. Instead, it used its compound eyes to track vibrations. The constant buzzing of other insects thinly masked its escape, but they knew they didn't have much time before the predator grew bored of hunting wasps and turned its attention back to them.
They stumbled forward, using beetle burrows and cracks in the ground to remain undetected. The mantis was the hunter. They were the prey. After what seemed like hours, but was probably only minutes, they reached the edge of the flower garden. The concrete foundation wall of the house loomed before them like the cliff of a plateau. It was a rough, gray wall, offering them a respite from the chaos of the vegetation.
They squeezed through a narrow crack between the concrete and the earth, a space that barely allowed them to pass. Finally, they were relatively safe, under the shade and relative coolness of the concrete.
Derek collapsed to the ground, breathing heavily. Lisa slumped down, rubbing her bruised arms. Nicole sobbed softly against Debbie's chest.
"We're here," Debbie whispered, the emotion of victory and defeat mingling. They had survived the winter. They had survived the Mantis. But now the real test began: finding the entrance to their home.
He looked up. The house's wall was familiar, the same dirty gray as before, the same fine lines of mold in the cracks. But when his gaze rose to the level of what would have been the first floor—their living room—something didn't fit.
That window was supposed to be dirty and full of cobwebs. The empty clay pot, now a gigantic crater to them, was supposed to hold dry soil.
But it didn't. At the level of the basement window, the glass was clean. Too clean. And inside, the usual darkness one expected in an empty house had been replaced by a warm, artificial light.
And then there were the smells. In addition to the smell of dampness and concrete, they detected a new aroma seeping through the vents: freshly brewed coffee, furniture polish, and, unmistakably, the scent of supermarket floral air freshener that his mother would never have bought.
"Derek, look," Debbie murmured, pointing out the signs of activity. Derek got up, his fatigue momentarily forgotten. He dragged himself to the house's air vent, a rusty metal grate, now the only possible entry point, and peered inside.
What he saw made him tense up completely.
Unlike the dusty, abandoned interior they'd expected, the basement was now tidy. Moving boxes were neatly stacked, and a blue tarp covered what looked like expensive gym equipment.
But the definitive proof was at the base of the air vent. A small, neat, embroidered doormat with the word "Welcome!" in cursive letters. And next to it, a pair of sneakers, the kind you leave in a corner of your entryway.
They were thick-soled sneakers, about the size of small lifeboats to them, but what they meant was undeniable.
"There are... there are people living here," Derek croaked, backing away from the family. His voice was a mixture of terror and utter disbelief.
Lisa crawled over to see. She saw the doormat, the slippers, and the pristine sheen of the newly installed linoleum floor filtering through the artificial light.
"The Smiths moved out, or the bank sold the house, or…" Lisa brought a trembling hand to her mouth.
They had dedicated six months of their lives to surviving only to return to a home that no longer belonged to them. The irony was cruel. Their sanctuary, the only place that offered any hope of finding the machine to reverse the process, was now occupied.
And what was worse, it wasn't just occupied by humans. It was occupied by new humans, strangers, who had no idea of the delicate, fragile life moving beneath their feet. Their movements would be more abrupt, their habits, unpredictable.
The sound of a car engine rising into the driveway reached them muffled by the concrete. The sound stopped right above them.
Debbie felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. She thought of those new humans walking, lifting a vacuum cleaner, or simply stepping carelessly.
They were no longer just battling the weather and nature, or despair. Now they faced human intrusion on a microscopic scale, and the fragility of their existence was magnified a hundredfold. Their old home had become a death trap and a battleground.
“Mom,” Nicole whispered, pointing at the slippers. They were too big, too imposing.
Debbie looked at Derek, her eyes filled with fear, but forcing herself to find a spark of purpose.
“We have to get in,” Debbie said, her voice barely audible but firm. “But not through the front door. We have to find a way upstairs. We have to see who they are and if we can get the machine back… or if it’s still there.” The plan, already incredibly risky, had just gone from dangerous to potentially suicidal.
"Move!" Derek shouted, not waiting for confirmation. He shoved Nicole forward, simultaneously firing the small stone he'd been holding.
The impact was negligible, a light tap on the underside of one of the hunting legs. But it was enough to distract the creature for a split second.
In that stolen time, they dove. There was no trail, only an impenetrable mass of tube-thin underground roots, grass stalks like sapling trunks, and patches of moss that served as insect traps.
Disturbed, the mantis twisted its triangular head. When it located where they'd been, its front legs slammed into the ground.
The impact wasn't a thud; it was a digging. The ground trembled, and a section of clay and humus rose as if struck by a pickaxe. Had they hesitated for one more second, they would have been crushed or flung meters away.
They ran blindly, guided only by the feeling of getting away from the predator. The world of spring proved infinitely more exhausting than the winter underground. The six months of muscle atrophy took their toll immediately. Every fiber in their legs screamed. Fresh air filled their lungs, but it wasn't enough.
"We need cover," Derek panted, tripping over a small taproot that jutted out of the ground like a mountain ridge.
Lisa, despite the throbbing panic, looked up. The canopy of grass was too dense to see the sky, but she knew where the sun was by the direction of the specks of light.
"South. The house's foundation." If we get to the concrete… Her voice broke, afraid to say aloud what concrete meant: a clear, vegetation-free area where the mantis was visible, but couldn't easily slip away.
Debbie dragged Nicole over a mound of dirt. The girl, silent and terrified, clung to her neck like a koala.
"Yes. Go. I'll cover the rear," Debbie said, brandishing the only possession she had left: a sharpened piece of hardened bark Derek had found for her.
The mantis hadn't followed them directly. Instead, it used its compound eyes to track vibrations. The constant buzzing of other insects thinly masked its escape, but they knew they didn't have much time before the predator grew bored of hunting wasps and turned its attention back to them.
They stumbled forward, using beetle burrows and cracks in the ground to remain undetected. The mantis was the hunter. They were the prey. After what seemed like hours, but was probably only minutes, they reached the edge of the flower garden. The concrete foundation wall of the house loomed before them like the cliff of a plateau. It was a rough, gray wall, offering them a respite from the chaos of the vegetation.
They squeezed through a narrow crack between the concrete and the earth, a space that barely allowed them to pass. Finally, they were relatively safe, under the shade and relative coolness of the concrete.
Derek collapsed to the ground, breathing heavily. Lisa slumped down, rubbing her bruised arms. Nicole sobbed softly against Debbie's chest.
"We're here," Debbie whispered, the emotion of victory and defeat mingling. They had survived the winter. They had survived the Mantis. But now the real test began: finding the entrance to their home.
He looked up. The house's wall was familiar, the same dirty gray as before, the same fine lines of mold in the cracks. But when his gaze rose to the level of what would have been the first floor—their living room—something didn't fit.
That window was supposed to be dirty and full of cobwebs. The empty clay pot, now a gigantic crater to them, was supposed to hold dry soil.
But it didn't. At the level of the basement window, the glass was clean. Too clean. And inside, the usual darkness one expected in an empty house had been replaced by a warm, artificial light.
And then there were the smells. In addition to the smell of dampness and concrete, they detected a new aroma seeping through the vents: freshly brewed coffee, furniture polish, and, unmistakably, the scent of supermarket floral air freshener that his mother would never have bought.
"Derek, look," Debbie murmured, pointing out the signs of activity. Derek got up, his fatigue momentarily forgotten. He dragged himself to the house's air vent, a rusty metal grate, now the only possible entry point, and peered inside.
What he saw made him tense up completely.
Unlike the dusty, abandoned interior they'd expected, the basement was now tidy. Moving boxes were neatly stacked, and a blue tarp covered what looked like expensive gym equipment.
But the definitive proof was at the base of the air vent. A small, neat, embroidered doormat with the word "Welcome!" in cursive letters. And next to it, a pair of sneakers, the kind you leave in a corner of your entryway.
They were thick-soled sneakers, about the size of small lifeboats to them, but what they meant was undeniable.
"There are... there are people living here," Derek croaked, backing away from the family. His voice was a mixture of terror and utter disbelief.
Lisa crawled over to see. She saw the doormat, the slippers, and the pristine sheen of the newly installed linoleum floor filtering through the artificial light.
"The Smiths moved out, or the bank sold the house, or…" Lisa brought a trembling hand to her mouth.
They had dedicated six months of their lives to surviving only to return to a home that no longer belonged to them. The irony was cruel. Their sanctuary, the only place that offered any hope of finding the machine to reverse the process, was now occupied.
And what was worse, it wasn't just occupied by humans. It was occupied by new humans, strangers, who had no idea of the delicate, fragile life moving beneath their feet. Their movements would be more abrupt, their habits, unpredictable.
The sound of a car engine rising into the driveway reached them muffled by the concrete. The sound stopped right above them.
Debbie felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. She thought of those new humans walking, lifting a vacuum cleaner, or simply stepping carelessly.
They were no longer just battling the weather and nature, or despair. Now they faced human intrusion on a microscopic scale, and the fragility of their existence was magnified a hundredfold. Their old home had become a death trap and a battleground.
“Mom,” Nicole whispered, pointing at the slippers. They were too big, too imposing.
Debbie looked at Derek, her eyes filled with fear, but forcing herself to find a spark of purpose.
“We have to get in,” Debbie said, her voice barely audible but firm. “But not through the front door. We have to find a way upstairs. We have to see who they are and if we can get the machine back… or if it’s still there.” The plan, already incredibly risky, had just gone from dangerous to potentially suicidal.
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November 12
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