The House

He had not dwelt there long, he was a tenant a traveler. The stone walls carried no sound to the outside, but on the inside every movement and whisper was transmitted and amplified through a matrix of fluting's, gullies, pipes, and vents, etched into the leaden masonry. His room was a dry-walled cube. He lived there quietly, for even the closing of a drawer or the tinkle of glass upon glass seemed clamorous. The sounds magnified. He had not seen the other rooms, the other tenants. He had heard footsteps, shuffling movements, groans, toilets flushing, close sotto voce conversations between lips and ears, doors slamming. After only days he moved on, closing the thick front door softly behind him. Into the city street he stepped. No one looked at him, no one seemed to see him. Afraid that he was alone in this unknown world, he tuned back to the house but alas it was no longer there.