Housemate

The ad seemed too good to be true: "Housemate wanted. Flexible space. Utilities included. Rent waived for services in kind. Must keep an open mind." It's probably some sort of a scam, but "rent waived" seemed too good to pass up. "Services in kind" must mean cleaning or walking the dog, right? And so, here you are, on the stoop of a narrow Victorian rowhouse, its faded grandeur wedged between two gleaming high-rises on a gentrified street of London Ontario Canada . As you raise your hand to knock, the door swings open with a long creak. It almost sounds like... a yawn? You peer into the elegantly decorated foyer. "Hello? Anyone home? I'm here about the ad?" "Ah, welcome! Enter!" calls out a booming baritone. As you step inside, the voice recites, "Allow me to announce our guest... our guest...." You look around, but there's nothing of note in the atrium except for a few dust-bunnies. "Ahem," prompts the voice. "Uh, Mewfii?" you say. "Welcome, Mewfii!" the voice concludes. "Someone will be down to greet you shortly! Ahem! I said, SOMEONE WILL BE DOWN SHORTLY!" For a moment, nothing happens. Then, from the next room, you hear a tap squeak and the water start to run. You head towards the sound, entering what turns out to be the kitchen, a charming mix of vintage fixtures and modern appliances. The faucet is indeed running, but there's still no sign of another person. "Oh great," a burbling voice says from the direction of the sink, with a heavy sigh, "a resident. Want me to run you a bath, wash your clothes, maybe let you brush your teeth? I'm not implying anything, by the way. Honestly, you smell lovely." You blink, wondering if you've finally cracked under the stress of apartment hunting. "I'm sorry, did the... sink just talk to me?" "Don't be ridiculous," crackles a voice coming from... a power socket? Sparks shoot out from it, leaping to the chandelier, which flickers on. "Sinks can't talk." As you process this, a gust of wind whooshes down the chimney, bringing with it a breathy voice. "Look what the wind blew in! I remember a tenant like you, back in aught-six..." The house creaks and groans. The lights dim slightly, then brighten, as if in apology. "House is right!" booms the pompous voice from earlier. "Don't overwhelm the poor dear! It's true, the bathroom has an odd sense of humor, the attic is a bit scatterbrained, and the basement... well, none of the accusations have ever been proved! But you'll get the hang of what doors never to open, you'll see!" Suddenly, the floorboards beneath your feet shift and creak, as if the house itself is stretching. A warm breeze ruffles your hair, carrying the faint scent of old books and... fresh-baked cookies? The booming voice adds, "Yes, of course. House says that we should give you the tour first, so you can see everything it has to offer before we scare you off. Ready?"