When the realtor first told me about it, I scoffed. Perfect house? Oh please. As if such a thing existed. It was always the same old story, they would show me a property, prettied up and conveniently just within the upper limits of my price range, which would inevitably have some large problems they never mentioned like bugs or leakage.

To my surprise, the house was perfect, or at least as close as it could be. It was a solid two story house, painted in bright pastel colors, with a large backyard and lawn and at a surprisingly low price. The rooms were much nicer than I expected, I saw zero evidence of infestations or structural problems, and the plumbing worked great. I looked around a few weeks more, and signed a lease.

Everything was fine at first. I moved in, said hi to some neighbors who were also moving in, and settled down.

The first sign that something was wrong was when I tried to plant flowers. No matter what I did, my plants would inevitably shrivel up and die within a few days, even things like cacti. Thinking that maybe the soil was just horrible, I bought some compost and worms and dumped them on the lawn. The worms resurfaced in seconds, writhing in agony and dying.

The pattern repeated. Outside of the strangely uniform grass already present nothing would take on the lawns. I soon spotted dead caterpillars, millipedes and even rats, which would inexplicitly disappear in a manner of hours. Things got worse when my next door neighbor Mr Kenning came to us panicked that his dog had slipped under the lawn and disappeared. Police came and dug, trying to find the molehill or sinkhole the dog had slipped into, but came up with nothing.

Soon after, my paintings began to fall from the walls. I had thought that maybe I hadn’t attached them properly, but no. My nails were just disappearing, smooth plaster where holes and nails once were. No modification lasted, Miss Ritz three floors down complained how after repainting her house had changed back to pastel red overnight.

Now, nothing out of place is allowed. All wildlife dies as soon as it gets close, sucked into the law. Any damage to the house vanishes in seconds. I knocked over a fondue pot and I could only watch as the table repaired itself as it was set ablaze, the wood fizzling like soda as it healed.

You know what scares me? Today, the house door wouldn’t unlock. I can see Mr Kenning, Miss Ritz, and all my other neighbors banging on their windows trying to escape. I can also see the curtains coiling towards them, the lamp wires twisting towards them like snakes.

I think the houses think we’re imperfections, and it’s about to get rid of them.