You take in the bedroom's more congruous elements first. The bed, the armoire, the quaint window dressings. There is a desk in one corner, and a chair; the nightstand has a cute reading lamp, and a bookshelf opposite the bed sags with knowledge.
Passing clouds darken the room, so you reach for the switch by the door—and it is as the overhead fixture blinks to life that a concurrent brightening in the center of the room allows you to truly notice, for the first time, the dominant feature of the room: an intricate blue dollhouse atop a wide stone platform.
Three stories tall, with a basement accessible through a cutout in the pedestal, the structure stands over two feet high and wide. Each of its dozen discrete rooms is meticulously outfitted with miniature furniture. A single light glows from the ceiling of the center bedroom. The tiny lightswitch is almost too small for your clumsy hands, but you find it, and flick it twice, darkening and brightening the room. You turn your attention to other rooms. Every element seems articulated and interactive. You open the kitchen oven, turn on the family room TV, run the bathroom shower.
As the minute spray splatters across the shower tile, chair legs scrape against floorboards in the dining room, where a family of five incredibly lifelike dolls sit motionless at their meals—no, not motionless. These must be automata, of some sort: their mouths move, their hands pull knives across steak. The youngest throws peas on the floor. It is the father's chair that has been pushed back from the table, and you watch in astonishment as he walks from the dining room to the bathroom. He curses the misbehaving plumbing and stops the shower.
The responsiveness of the figures is intoxicating. You've played with dolls before; nothing compares to this wonder. You poke the father with an index finger wider than his waist and the force knocks him against the wall. He slides to the floor, leaving a red mark where his head made contact, and then lies motionless. Screams from the dining room: you see his wife and kids run to find him, wailing in horrified anguish.
They cry, and cry, and you become bored of their antics, so you flatten the whole family.
The dollhouse is eerie in its silence, and you search for its next novelty. Surrounding the dollhouse on the pedestal are what seem to be additional, free-standing rooms: floor, walls, and furniture. No ceilings. A piano room, a conservatory, and more, seemingly endless options. There are dolls in these rooms, too, but they are stiff and lifeless. Looking back to the dollhouse you see the mechanism by which rooms can be removed and inserted, an incredibly flexible modularity, and you replace the bathroom and its splatter of doll guts with a room featuring a billiards table, a bar cabinet, and a couple female dolls in short skirts and cropped leather jackets.
As the billiards room clicks into place, the women spring to life. More gently, now, you coax them into your preferred position: cue sticks abandoned, one seated on the edge of the table, legs spread, skirt riding up, the other with her face between the thighs of the first. They obey their positioning. You hear the wetness of their sex and smell its smell. Reciprocal arousal fills you, and, with a rare urgency and rapid hand, you bring yourself to orgasm as you watch. Fluids spray over the billiards room, coating both their faces. They splutter, wipe themselves off, and get back to business. It is sexy but predictable, and you swat them away before removing the defiled room from the dollhouse.
Out come the kitchen, dining room, and living room; in, the ballroom, statuary hall, and trophy room. Again and again you change the layout, each time granting life to a new group of dolls, only for them to fuck or die at your whim.
You burn through room after room, doll after doll, but there are always more: new rooms to slot in, new dolls to humiliate or mutilate, a parade of violent sexual horrors to sate your aberrant curiosity.
After some hours, you tire of these games and turn to leave.
But the doorway is gone, as is the entire wall, and all you can see is a giant, a horrible creature with your face and seventy times your height. It smiles and licks its lips as its enormous hand descends upon you.