Creaky leaky squeaky

“If these walls could talk? Eh, Goldie?”

I could barely hear them ramble on as they shoved themselves against my wallpapering, and felt a rip as bodies rammed into my chest.

Their voices reverberated through my plaster, and solid wood panels, trickling through like a tainted echo, a sinking feeling dripping through to my hollow cold core.

“If my congregation could see us, oh boy, Warren! I mean, I’m not so terribly worried about what the walls would say, but, my..oh!”

My baseboard feels very scuffed up. I start to churn and huff, the exhilaration and exhaustion of this couple that has just recently moved into keep their “marriage,” a secret, whatever that means… has brought me to feel droopy and worn down.

That’s an enlightening story since I have been here since 1934 and I used to be in very bad shape due to a storm -

“Oh, Wa-Warren! Mmm.. do that again!”

I hear muffled cries and loud moans up against the long wall of my chest, well, their living room wall and it keeps getting rocked against in a steady pace—-and I somehow find enough energy to make a door upstairs tilt and creak.

“Shush!!! Wa-Warren, darling.. did you hear that?”

“Shit. Was that… a ghost?”

“No. Don’t be daft. It could be an intruder, go check, man!”

“Why don’t you, Goldie?”

“You got that slinky manly presence, Warren!”

“You got those massive.. sexy wings to fly away with just in case…” I hear a purring leading to the kitchen.

“Do me right here.. if I’m so sexy..”

Oh no… no no no no Nooo!

Not against the brand new stucco kitchen backsplash! They just put that in!

Of course.

This is my life.

I decided to take a stand. I have been through too many renovations. Too many owners who neglected me, didn’t care, who argued, put holes in me, drew on me, cried against me (that I don’t mind), slept against me and typically just took advantage of my serenity and natural talent for giving warmth and giving people of all kinds shelter from the harsh and cruel elements.

Who knew what they would do next!

The one with the golden wings seemed to like painting over me with frilly soft purples and jades, pinks and yellows, and using wall paper that feels gritty and very thick. I hate it.

Once I had been in a flood that damaged my walls so badly up to the second story I thought they’d tear me down brick by brick and everything that was me would be obliterated.

This was in the late fifties.

Anyway; this couple gets on my nerves. They always get constant take out with fish and chips and their bits of food that get stuck in between my corners.

That slinky pink one does hum a nice quiet ballad for Swan Lake, and wipes down my baseboards when he gets the chance during weekends.

They do seem very happy. I guess I won’t slam that window that was not quite closed from last night—

Boom, the window flattened down! Spllat!—a tiny bit of condensation from the morning rain squished in and trickled down my throat.

A scream.

“Settle down, Goldie!!” I hear the other whisper against my panting stucco and his husband.

“What the hell was that?!”

“I’ll check! Wait here, Shrignold, honey!”

“You only call me by my full name when you’re nervous! Oh, now I’m very concerned…”

That’s it. I’m done. I’ve put them through too much and myself by extension.

I like them.

“Whose up there?!” Warren shouted.

If only I knew Morse code. One of my older house inhabitants was in the army or something and knew Morse code.

I decided to keep it simple and just relax. I took in a deep breath.

“This house is haunted; I feel it!”

“Oh, Goldie, don’t worry… it’s just an old house…”

He walks with a steady step, creaking and careful.

“This one must be telling us something..”

The wise words hit me brilliantly.

I swung the bedroom door open, hearing the slinky man jump.

“Christ! What the heck!”

I squeaked out the best I could between the cracks, “Wel..come…”

“Huh?”

I didn’t have anymore energy. That was all I could say. I wasn’t like that Giving Tree that one family read to each other that could endlessly give and give And talk too.

“Did you just say we’re welcome here?” He said finally, the shock in his voice palpable.

“Did the house just welcome us?!” The butterfly man asked, his wings fluttering up the stairs, hitting my bumpy ceiling.

“I think so. Maybe we should use our bedroom from now on though… the house just gave me a clue…”

They both laughed and I drew in a relieved breath, my inner panels settling.

Houses and walls do talk. You just need to listen.

We sure listen to you.