“Name?” the door said, it’s voice monotone.
“Holden Mitchell,” the boy said. The door opened with a soft automaticity.
The doors monotone voice said,“Welcome, Holden.” The boy walked into the kitchen where the voice messenger blinked and announced, “You have a message. You have a message. You have a message.” Holden pressed the button on the top and a hologram of the boy’s parents appeared.
“Hello, son. Tonight, me and your mother will be away. You know the rules.” His father’s voice was stern.
“Holden, honey, we love you, and we will see you tomorrow morning,” his mother chirped. There was a brief pause before the hologram pixelated and disappeared. He moved about the house switching on the lights. Holden glanced at the “family photos”. Those were not family photos the photos seemed pretty perfect but something was off, no one else noticed but his family. They never were together long enough to have a happy, family photo taken. The pictures were photoshopped together with lies.
The meal maker buzzed, saying repeatedly, “What do you want for dinner? What do you want for dinner? What do you want for dinner?” He looked at the keypad and selected randomly. The meal maker flashed and buzzed. The machine’s front opened and out came a tray of food filled with an immense piece of steak, medium-rare, creamed corn, and a baked potato with a fork, spoon and knife placed precisely next to the plate. Holden took the tray out and walked into the dining room. The walls were lined with exquisite frames, all full of family photos. As he placed his plate down on the table, the middle of it opened and a pair of arms came out gracefully. The steel hands grabbed Holden’s fork and knife, slicing his steak into perfectly bite sized pieces.
“Tall glass of Root Beer with ice please,” he says arrogantly, taking a bite of steak. The steel hands reached inside and brought out a glass full of the dark  liquid.
“You forgot the butter,” the boy snapped, his mouth stuffed full of food.
The hands extend once more pulling out a tray of butter. The boy put some on his potato and the arms retract back into the table. He finished his supper before he began walking to the tube that takes him up to his room. He stepped in and a vacuum sucked him up to the tube to his room. The lights on the first floor flickered off and his flickered on as soon as he stepped in. Automatically the clothes dresser undressed and redressed the boy. He laid onto his bed and the lights turned off.
“What would you like to hear tonight?” The walls spoke.
“Your Song by Elton John,” he yawned. The music engulfed him and he soon fell asleep. That is when the house began to plan to kill the ungrateful beast.
The next morning Holden woke up to the alarm singing
“Tickety-tock, eight o’clock, off to soccer, off to work, run, run, run, it’s now eight-one.” The voice drowned out. Holden rubbed his sleepy eyes and got out of bed and into the tube. The tube started to suck him down to the kitchen but stopped before he could reach it.
“Down the tube,” the boy yelled; nothing happened. “Down the tube.” Again nothing happened. The boy´s breath began quickening and palms began sweating. “Help! Help!  Help!  I’m stuck in the tube!” The boy screamed. No one came to help him. He was stuck there until his parents came home and heard him screaming.
The boy stood there for awhile bored out of his mind not even trying to escape. He was counting to pass the time.
“12,293. 12,294. 12,295...”
CRASH!
“What was that?!” he panicked.
A tree crashed into the cupboard that holds the cleaning products, dumping them over the stove. The liquids spreading all over the stove and down on the porcelain tile. The stove crackled before flames arose spreading over the tree and cleaning solvent setting the room ablaze with bright oranges and yellows.
The tiled flooring soaked with cleaning chemicals set on fire, dancing up the tube. As the flames engulfed the house, the house began to start downloading itself to the house across the street as planned.
¨Twenty-five percent...Fifty percent….Seventy-five percent...One hundred percent.¨ The house shut down, leaving the kid to burn alive.
The fire burned the whole house to ashes but the house wasn’t the one that died.