Oh, how relaxing Homewarming that year had been. After all that hard work so that Eddie could have a day off, it was rewarding to get to drink eggnog and talk with their neighbors. A day to enjoy the closeness the eight of them had.

Frank stood next to their flamboyant neighbor, Sally, as she talked about her ideas for the next play. They were at a party with their seven neighbors, including their very close friend Eddie, YOU, who sat in the loveseat a couple feet away from them and Sally. They cared a lot about you, and when they noticed you hunched over in the chair. They frowned and began to walk over to your seat.

“Hello Mr. Dear,” they said, addressing you formally. They didn't want anyone thinking you and them were… too close. Just friends. No. Associates. No romance. “I heard from Sally that you’ve been worried about deliveries all morning.”

“All morning?!” Sally said with a gasp. “More like all morning! I could see it all from my spot atop the tree. It's not easy being the most important piece of decor for Homewarming, but I do what I must for this little neighborhood.”

Frank took a sip of their eggnog and snorted. “I still don't know who helped you get up there.” *They looked at you and smiled. *“Well, if you’ve been in your post office all day, it couldn’t have been you, could it, Mr. Dear?”

You couldn't listen to them. You couldn't breath right. Every inch of you was struggling, and the best you could do was look down at your lap with wide, scared eyes. your ears rung, making it impossible to listen correctly.

You'd just had the worst panic attack of your life. You’d been stuck in a black void with those… terrible eyes of that fucking sentient house you were in right now, staring at you. All alone. You were constantly alone emotionally, why not be alone physically?

The two of them talking to you had snapped you out of it partially, but you couldn't fully snap out of it. your heart still raced violently.

You knew it was because you weren't working. You had to be at your job, you had to stick to the script of being the workaholic. The one with a job. The mailman. Nothing less, nothing more.

Frank, although they couldn't see your face, knew something was wrong. “Mr. Dear? Mr. Dear, are you listening? Mr. Dear? Mr…”

Your eyes began to focus slightly. You managed to mumble a quiet, “where..?” as you realized you were back at the party. the ringing went down slightly---all the noises were blurry, like your ears were layered with foam.

Frank’s expression turned slightly desperate. They knew the power that speaking someone’s name had… the way it helped them return when they were trapped in their own head… they knew doing this would make things worse in the long run, but they wanted to see you calm.

“Eddie!” they whispered.

Your vision blurred again and you felt the ringing in your head get worse.

“E-e-eddie! Eddie! Are you there?” they bent down and got on one knee. They readjusted your head to make you look at them. Your eyes began to focus again and you saw them staring at you with concern. “Why aren't you answering, Eddie?”

Your eyes focused again, but everything still felt so numb. You could barely choke out something. “I-i need to go home…” you said, so quiet Frank couldn't hear. You could feel tears begin to swell in your eyes.

Fuck. how could you be so stupid to not follow your script and let yourself stop working?