She popped a Lean Cuisine into the microwave.
After she was done, she stepped away from the kitchen and into the basement. There, she got on her computer and checked her email. One new message. She opened it, but not eagerly. Placidly, as everything she ever did was done. When she finished reading it (spam, of course, but she read it anyway; maybe because she was bored, maybe because she longed for companionship, but either way, she regarded it with a placid nod).
She switched off the computer and went upstairs to use the bathroom. The sounds of her business echoed off the empty, tiled walls and she listened to them as if they were music, nodded along to the splashing. She grabbed at the place where her toilet paper usually was, only to be welcomed by the coarse feel of cardboard, indicating that the toilet paper was no longer on the roll. She reached for the tissue instead. She wiped herself and flushed the toilet. She washed her hands. She exited the bathroom and went downstairs, grabbing a shovel from the closet in the basement.
Walking into the brisk October air, she began her journey into the little playhouse just a few yards from her own large, real one. Once she reached it, she opened the door. Screaming was the first thing to hit her ears, and she lifted the shovel. The screaming thing in the corner back up and threw up its hands in self-defense. She nodded placidly, and then lowered the shovel.
"May I please have the tea?"
The creature screamed, and she raised the shovel again.
"May I please have the biscuits?"
She asked, placidly. The creature didn't move for an instant, so she brought down the shovel on the outstretched arms. This raised a shrill shriek from the creature, and it cowered further in the corner.
"I don't have any of your fucking biscuits!"
"It is a shame," She whispered, and lowered the shovel once again, taking a step toward the figure. "I thought you would have my tea, but you do not. It is a shame," She repeated and lifted the shovel. The creature stumbled backwards, failing in a pathetic attempt of self-defense.
"What the fuck are you talking about? I don't have your fucking tea! Get me the fuck out of here, you fucking psycho-bitch! I swear to fucking God, I'll give you money! Anything you want! I've got connections; just get me the fuck out of here and—PUT DOWN THAT FUCKING SHOVEL!!"
The creature shrieked when she lifted the shovel far up above her head.
"You have no tea for me. You have no tea for two. Now why oh why, because, because, should I listen to you?" She sang, placidly, and still held the shovel poised above her head.
"Because, because," She sang, cutting off the creature, who seemed to be getting agitated and frightened. She could smell the fright, but she didn't care; she was trying to smell the cream and sugar.
"I've got money. I-I've got lots of videos and—my son, he has video games, he's got the new X-Box 360, you can have it. Anything. Just take it. I've got my wedding ring—you want it? I'll give it to you. Here, take it," The creature threw something shinny at her. She didn't move, just stood there, listening, nodding, placidly.
"DVD player—uhhh, uhhh—dresses, food, shelter, I can make the voices stop, I've got medicine—"
She raised the shovel a tick. The creature became desperate.
"Anything. Anything!! I swear to fucking God, it's yours! Just let me go—I won't tell the police—the pigs—the cops, whatever, fucking, ahhh!" The creature pulled at its pretty golden hair and screamed in frustration. She saw this and nodded placidly. "Drugs! You like heroin? Uhhh, alcohol? I can get you a new house, I can get you money, you want power? I'll fuck for that, too! Just… please, please, don't , I have a son—"
"Because, because, now I'll kill you, honeydew." She sang, not hearing the answer that she wanted. She never heard the answer that she wanted. Always 'blah, blah, blah, this and that, this and that'. It was all nonsense to her. She brought down the shovel on the creature and was rewarded with a scream of terror and pain. She hit the creature again, and the wailing got louder. Another hit, and it stopped completely. She was about to move when she heard broken sobbing from the corner that the creature dwelled. She hit it one last time and blood flecked her face. She did this all in the rhythm of her own music, tapping along to the beat in her head, and nodding in tempo, placidly.
On her way back to her real house, she took out the trash.
She placed the bloody shovel back in its closet in the basement and went upstairs to use the bathroom. She listened to the 'plip, plop' or her own urine and hummed along placidly. She checked her email and read her spam and went upstairs. She put a plate on her table—a tea set, doilies underneath each platter and cups of the finest china. A teapot went in the middle, dainty and beautiful, with elegant roses painted up the sides, dancing, weaving, between green vines. She sat down for a few seconds, a placid look on her face. She got up.
She popped a Lean Cuisine out of her microwave.