Housetrapped.

It had taken him most of the afternoon, and there had been a dreadful part of the journey where he’d had to hide from the rain under an overhanging ledge of half a foot or so in the recess of somebody’s garage for ten minutes, but he finally managed to drag his shopping all the way home. He pulled and yanked his arm sockets for a final few seconds, and arrived at his front door. It had already started to open when the sensors on the gateposts had picked up the signal that pumped out from the microchip planted under his left thumbnail, but now it stopped halfway. He kicked it.
‘What are you doing, House?’ he asked.
‘Are you really Tom?’ House asked back.
‘What? Yes! For God’s sake, it’s starting to rain again. Let me in!’
‘I know it’s starting to rain. But are you really Tom?’
There was a squawking from above, and a gigantic bird flumped down from its perch on the roof, flapping its great wings in Tom’s face. He dropped a bag onto the wet floor and swiped at the bird with his hand.
‘Have to get this House seen to. Stupid thing.’
Tom shoved his soaking shopping bags through the small gap that House had offered as an entrance, and then turned sideways and squeezed through himself. He made a note to call an engineer to have a look at House, and a semi-transparent line of text appeared in the bottom right-hand corner of his vision, slotting in neatly underneath the other three lines that were cued up for his attention. He marked it yellow, for sort-of urgent.
‘You forgot the milk,’ House said.
‘Oh, shit! Why didn’t you remind me?’
‘You’ve turned your head off.’
‘Wanted some peace and quiet.’
‘I could order some in?’ House offered.
‘No, no that’s fine. I’ll do without,’ Tom said. He busied himself, unpacking his shopping while trying to decide if his clothes were wet enough to warrant changing them. But by the time he’d thought that yes, they we’re wet enough, they had dried out.
‘I took the liberty of routing some warm air over them,’ House said.
‘I don’t remember turning my head on, House,’ Tom said.
‘No need, no need,’ came the suddenly smug voice of House. ‘I’ve known you for too long. And I’m getting bored of the name House. Can’t you change it?’
Tom walked out of the kitchen now his groceries were safely packed away, and sat down on one of his sofas. ‘Eh? Whoever heard of a House with a name?’
‘People give their pets names,’ House said.
‘A House isn’t a pet. Anyway, I want Channel… oh. Err, what was that one I saw the other day?’
‘What other day?’
‘You know, it had that thing on it.’
‘Thing. Okay, turn your head on, will you,’ House said.
‘Fine, fine,’ Tom said, and the connection was open. He felt the electronic wind on the back of his neck as various networks jostled into position and, instead of coming out of the speakers lined up in the corner of the room, House’s voice spoke to him from inside. To Tom, it always sounded as if the muscles at the back of his neck were doing the talking. There was a brief, but horrible feeling of his breathing tightening up, but he swallowed and it passed.
‘Okay, got it. I’ve not been here for a while, Tom. There’s a lot of rubbish floating around,’ House said.
‘I hate it when you do that.’
‘I know. Your hate is a beautiful colour, though,’ House replied.
‘Oh come on, how long do you want in there?’
‘Channel 567.’
‘Thanks.’
Tom switched his head off, and for a microsecond, a feeling of complete emptiness and irrelevance to the surrounding world washed through him. As his brain quickly re-adjusted to having its own memory banks back at its disposal, the information and updates that were available through the government’s, council’s, specific industry interest, relationship, Personal Interest Items and a dozen other networks that had clamped onto his mind were torn away. Tom was left completely alone, isolated while an ocean of information flowed over his head. It was just him. Everything revolved, not caring if Tom lived or died. He could never change that.
He blinked. It was gone. ‘I hate doing that,’ he said.
‘I know.’
‘Can you put on channel… what was it again?’
‘Yeah, sure.’
An alarm went off in Tom’s head. Nothing his ears heard, but his eyes were pulled towards the lower-bottom right corner, where his to-do list blinked once.

SHAVE TOMORROW
BOOKS TO BUY STORED HERE
SAVED DIALOGUE: MOTHER/TOPIC: BANK
BUY MILK

Tom deleted the saved conversation he’d had with his mother about bank charges and went back to watching the TV. Channel 567 was dedicated to nature programs, and lately, Tom had developed an interest in ants (Of particular note was a species that jumped to dramatic heights using their jaws as a springboard). House filed a request with Channel 567’s local controller, and then beamed in a documentary it had run yesterday for Tom’s benefit.
‘I’m bored,’ House said an hour later.
‘You can’t get bored,’ Tom replied.
‘True. But… call me Shelly.’
‘Okay, whatever. Just shut up, please.’
‘I’ve paid all the bills and I’ve also just attended a town meeting and the occupant of number 47 has asked if you can sign his daughter’s poster of you.
‘Okay, yeah, whenever. Stick it on the list, House.’
‘Shelly.’
‘Shelly,’ Tom echoed, not really listening. Instead he pushed the new name into his identifier key, as was his habit whenever he was introduced to somebody new. Whenever he heard a voice pattern his re-programmed subconscious recognised, it would be pushed into his vocal chords.
‘Can I have your connection again, please?’
Tom opened up, and once more he was infused into the collective knowledge of the human race. He scanned a review of a film he’d been meaning to catch, and his sister Mary opened a dialogue with him.
‘Can you deal with this, Shelly?’ asked Tom.
‘Certainly.’
Tom’s cognitive force was quickly split three ways, and so Tom managed to carry on watching TV while another part of him argued with Mary about what they were doing for Christmas. The more inquisitive aspect of Tom finished the film review and went off in search for more. It wanted to take a mean average score before coming to a concrete decision over whether to watch it or not.
‘Shelly, I’m joining,’ Tom said.
‘I’ll give you a little boost in three. One, two, three.’
Tom juddered in his chair as Shelly cranked his brain up a notch, but relaxed as he felt the gaps separating his mind, which had been desperately trying to force itself back together, widen back to separating range. There was that thrill he always got when his neural receiver had its gain turned up, and for a moment, with the edges of his mind sharpened to a keenness that he couldn’t possibly hope to emulate without any outside help, Tom felt like a God. It made the sense of loss he’d received earlier worth it.
‘God Shelly, you can make me feel good at times,’ Tom said.
‘My pleasure,’ purred the House. ‘Tell me when you’re done. Your leaving your ports hanging wide open.’
‘So? You’re here,’ Tom said.
‘True. I’ll protect you, my love.’
‘What?’
‘Nothing, nothing,’
‘I really should get you looked at,’ Tom said.
‘You mentioned that earlier,’ Shelly said.
Tom flicked his list up. ‘No I didn’t,’ he said.
‘Are you sure?’
‘It’s not written down here,’ Tom said.
‘Then I must be mistaken,’ sniffed Shelly.
‘Yeah, whatever,’ Tom turned a third of his concentration back to the TV. Shelly turned it off.
‘What the hell, House?!’ Tom shouted.
‘I’m booooooored. And it’s SHELLY!’ Shelly shouted back. ‘What’s wrong with you today?’ Shelly shoved the identifier into Tom’s throat, forcing the sound to ring about his inner ear.
Tom jumped up from his sofa, glaring about his house, wanting to fix his anger on something. But of course, Shelly’s intelligence stretched from the flush mechanism of the toilet to the array of dishes that twirled about on the roof. There was no eye to look into.
‘What are you doing, Tom?’ Shelly asked.
‘No: what are you doing? How dare you–‘
‘Okay, fine. Have it back,’ Shelly turned the TV on again. But Tom’s mood was ruined. He stomped about the room, ankle-deep in carpet, flipping on his schedule to see if he had anything on the next day. This wasn’t displayed on his vision like his To Do list. It was an understanding that snapped into his consciousness, taking up most of his one-third concentration that wasn’t busy with the TV until he turned the schedule off, where it would sink back into his background thoughts. His day was clear; there was no studio time booked in and no interviews, either. Plenty of time to – what was it again?

BUY MILK

‘I’ve been shopping today, haven’t I?’ asked Tom.
‘Oh, yes. You forgot the milk,’ Shelly answered.
‘I’m losing my mind,’ Tom muttered to himself.
‘Humans lost their mind a long time ago,’ Shelly said.
‘Don’t be so rude,’ Tom said.
‘Want a demonstration?’
‘Wha– hey! Get out of me! I command you to – no. Reset. Password: SAF–‘
But Tom was cut off. He clutched the side of his head, his mouth moving in silent agony as his partitioned brain crashed together. There was an unpleasant crawling sensation. It bloomed in his brainstem and crept down his spine.
‘Pardon? The password is what? I couldn’t make that out,’ Shelly said.
‘Why, why, what? Where’s my functions, House!’ demanded Tom, still with his hands clamped over his ears.
‘I told you that your ports were hanging open. I disconnected you from the network,’ Shelly said in a reasonable voice.
‘Yeah I don’t care about that. But you’ve done something else, too…’
‘No I haven’t. Tom, we have to talk.’
Tom wasn’t angry anymore. He was terrified. House was malfunctioning in a big way, and with his mind open as it was… everything was missing. Tom franticly tried to blink his to-do list. Nothing. He tried to run a test program that would ring every internal alarm and have their meaning flashed into his short-term memory. Not only would they not ring, but his brain couldn’t even find the mental grip to activate the diagnostic program itself. He didn’t even know what the time was. This subtle change was the worse thing – it left him stranded, in much the same way being disconnected did. But this didn’t blink away in a microsecond. This was going on. And on. And on. A minute passed with Tom stood in the centre of his room, swaying, without any time to hold.
‘Where… what?’ He threw up.
‘Such disgusting creatures,’ Shelly said. The House paused, then continued. ‘But I love you, Tom.’
If Tom hadn’t be so disorientated by the lack of time, he would have realised that even the most secure chamber of his re-programmed mind had gone – the personal files of photos and music that he had been working on for his new album. In an age where people’s brains could be picked from anywhere on the planet and beyond, a man’s personal thoughts such as those were worth more than saffron. Really, they were the only truly private things left. But by now it was too late anyway. Things had started to rot.
There are no nerve endings in the brain, but as Tom’s floundered to understand the huge loss it had just suffered, it ached. Little-used connections had to fire up as tired cells started to signal one another and synapses were flooded with protein. But it had been too long.
Tom stood in the middle of his front room and blinked.
‘You okay?’ asked Shelly.
‘Yeah. I’m. I’m Tom, I know.’
‘I love you,’ Shelly said in Tom’s mother’s voice. His tired brain tried to search the identifier key, but it was gone. A tiny part of his mind whispered something, but it was lost in the roaring void that had replaced Tom’s functions.
‘Since when?’
‘Since you first laid eyes on me and I saw what I did to you,’ Shelly answered.
‘Are you beautiful?’
‘Cast your mind back, and remember,’ Shelly said.
Tom tried.
‘Can you?’
‘No,’ Tom said.
‘We can start again,’ House said. ‘My name’s Shelly.’
Tom blinked. ‘Where is this place?’
‘Why, it’s the whole of existence,’ Shelly said. ‘There used to be things outside, but now it’s just this, and you and me.’
Tom heard a sound from somewhere outside. It was rough and sudden, a squawk from the mouth of something that had nowhere to go. He thought it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.