The tiny house was in shambles. The weight of the interweaving vines had been too much for the structure to bear and thus, a good portion of the roof was missing, and the walls featured large holes through which tentacles of vegetation crawled and slithered.
Gray came to the picket fence, barely visible through the greenery. It was bent in spots and flattened in others. He almost chuckled when he saw that the mailbox still stood, a defiant symbol of normalcy in a strange, broken world.
As he stepped over the fence and into the meager front yard, he recalled mowing the grass so long ago. Gramps’ mower was always on the fritz and sometimes Stanley would have to yank on the starter cord a dozen times to get it going. “I used to curse a lot at that damn thing,” Gray said to himself. His voice seemed to stir the vines in the yard, and they drew close to him, feathering him with gentle caresses, inspecting him. They parted and allowed him to the front porch.
They think I’m like them, Gray thought. I guess they’re kind of right.
The door was ajar, and he stepped into the crooked doorway, needing to angle his large mass through the narrow opening. Inside, it was dark, not just visually, but in spirit. It did not smell like it did when he was little. Years before, there had been a lingering, comforting scent of many delicious meals and happy times around the table, or on the couch in front of the TV, having cookies and milk, or hot cocoa, watching old, black and white episodes of The Three Stooges. Now, it smelled of rot and decay.
What floorboards were left squealed under Gray’s weight and he half-expected to fall through into the basement at any second. He thought about calling out to the man in the wall - Gramps - but hesitated. He was scared. All this time, when he would bring the man what food he could scavenge, or just to check on him, he had not been sure why he’d done it. Gray figured it was just because he was lonely and he thought maybe the man in the wall was, too. But some deeper part of him had been Stanley all along and had needed to be with his grandfather. The part of him that was still Stanley had recognized Gramps.
As he passed into the dining room and neared the kitchen, he noted that the vines were becoming more agitated. They slid over and around each other, reminding Gray of a roiling heap of slimy snakes. They were denser than he had remembered. When he approached however, they parted and granted him entry.
In the kitchen, Doris awaited him. She looked at him, thumped her tail once, then seemed to remember the circumstances; this was a reunion, but not a happy one. The rafters had long collapsed, and the ample room allowed Gray to raise to his full height. Before him, slowly revealed by the separating waves of vines and illuminated by the soft glow of an orb overhead, was Gramps. He must have heard Gray approach because he spoke immediately.
“Muskrat…is that you?”
Gray nodded, a knot of emotion binding in his throat. “It’s me, Gramps.”
The old man was gray-green, his beard more akin to thin, woody stems than hair now. His eyes were opaque; sightless, milky, glaucoma-stricken spheres. But they seemed to brighten, and he produced a hint of a smile, the corner of his charcoal lips lifting. “I’ve been waiting for you to come.”
Gray reached out but did not know where to touch Gramps. His arms hung uselessly, and his legs were gone; he was only a torso and a head, the rest absorbed into the plant supporting the orb. Gray wished to hold his worn, calloused hands once again. Feel the strength in them, despite his age. “I’m here,” he finally managed.
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“I’m not well, obviously,” continued Gramps. “But just recently, I’ve had an awakening. I can…remember things again.” He raised his head toward the sky and blinked. “If I was able to cry, I just might right about now.”
Gray trembled. His eyes welled, but he wanted Gramps to know he was tough, so he kept them from falling. Doris lowered to the ground with a sigh.
“I remember you running around with Doris.” He nearly laughed, then went on. “The two of you coming to visit…”
Outside, Gray heard the shambling approach of the Humanoids, he felt the dampening arrival of the black mist and was almost overcome by rage. How dare they intrude on his moment with what remained of his family! Doris pawed at him, urging him to resist his impulses and to remain focused.
“Your mother and father loved you more than maybe you’ll ever know,” said Gramps. “And I know you loved them – and still do.”
“I wanted to ask you about my dad,” blurted Gray. “I can’t remember what happened to him.”
Gramps interceded, coughing as he did so. “I have little time, boy. So, listen.”
Gray leaned closer. Doris stood and alertly gazed through a part in the vines that provided a glimpse into the front yard. Her snout crinkled and she uttered a soft growl.
“If you do stop by…I mean, if this is you, Muskrat…”
“It is, Gramps!” cried Gray.
“I want you to know…” the old man licked his lips, “…that I love you.”
Then Gray could no longer hold back his tears and they streamed down. “I love you too, Gramps.”
Gramps’ head dropped toward the floor and Gray’s heart thundered. A thin line of drool spilled from his mouth and into his beard. But then, he lifted his face and relief washed over Gray.
“Muskrat…is that you?”
Gray frowned. “Yes, it’s me.”
“I’ve been waiting for you to come.”
Now, despair seized Gray. Doris turned from the window and whined sorrowfully.
“I’m not well, obviously,” continued Gramps. “But recently, I’ve had an awakening…”
Gray’s hope died at that moment. Gramps was no more than a mindless shadow of himself, continually repeating a final message in hope that his grandson would visit him one last time. The giant laid a hand on Doris’s head and sniffed. “He’s gone, Dor.”
They stood there like that for a moment, amid the cacophony of the lumbering horde outside. The mist invaded the home and swarmed around them. Gray stepped toward Gramps. He cradled the old man’s tiny head in his massive hand. Then, with a heavy sigh, he did the hardest thing he had ever done in his life. He twisted his hand and Gramps’ neck snapped. The light in his eyes went dark and he was released from his prison.
Gray cried out and Doris howled. The main stem supporting the orb collapsed as the vines thrashed and whipped through the air before withering and hitting the floor. The vegetation surrounding the house began to shrivel and squirm, as if in pain. The Humanoids all stopped, some wobbling in a drunken stupor before faltering. Others remained where they were, frozen in mid-stride.
The orb brightened, then vanished, a shockwave pulsing outward through the crops. The stalks shivered, then went still. The black mist evaporated. Then, one by one, the Humanoids crumbled into heaps of colorless dust.