evolution of dust, a short story - electrostatic air filter

One horror story of Tamara wilhitthe only thing worse than cleaning up a dead relative's house is cleaning up a dead hoarder's house associated with you.
Clearing each layer of debris is like peeling back a layer of memory, good and bad, while discovering everything from broken toys to moldy clothes to dust and debris.
Emotional consumption is as bad as physical consumption, but the emotions triggered by clean behavior threaten you and paralyze you.
The dust in the house is everywhere, but when you can hardly find the floor of the garbage, even though it is expected.
I found myself sitting in the closet, emptying far enough and suffocating, and I cleaned up an empty hole trying to get close to the back wall.
I hope, just hope, to reach the wall of clothing that may not have been exposed but wrapped in protective plastic.
Actually, I might get something from consignment or charity.
I want all this work stuff instead of spending the legacy that may be left after selling the house to empty and clean it up.
The hired person may throw everything away and don't know the valuable antiques or biography heir I really care about.
Vague paranoia at least makes me look back at everything I can understand for myself, which is the beginning of hoarder's instinct, but hatred of chaos is the reason to hold it back.
Two parents, twice as many as the only lonely old man on ho Ji's TV show.
Almost too much.
It is in this state of mind that dust seems to be everywhere, floating in the room behind me, as layered around what is in front of me.
The blurry pattern is formed from the corner of my eye and may be the result of the airflow that can be formed from the clear ceiling around the debris.
The house has no dust rabbit, it has dust rabbit, and maybe the whole ecosystem.
When I was cleaning, the dust fell down.
I took a bunch of pieces to the rented bin and measured the progress with the percentage filled, although it was very slow.
Every time I walk outside into the gray weather, my breath becomes more relaxed and the Dark Sun is still warmer and brighter than in the house.
Oh, my God. it's really depressing.
It's no wonder that they died so isolated, even though the family tried to transfer them to assisted care.
They were embarrassed by the sight, and they did not dare to ignore it.
No one wants to live like that, but they dare not live without all this.
Only negative emotional energy can ruin a person's life.
After I finish this, I will have the freedom to do what I want to do.
The rest of the day was boring, but I felt like I was making progress.
Instead of cleaning up a room, starting with the next one, I tried to go through it.
Then I have time and leisure to look for the valuables I wish to find.
When I slowly start to realize, or the space for the staff to work.
I put a small pile of valuables at the door to remind myself that I will leave one day.
A thick layer of gray dust on the floor seems to be getting thicker and thicker, before I settle on the floor like thick sand, I throw it up while walking.
I swear I will install air filters here before this stuff suffocates me.
My old bedroom, in addition to what I left in my childhood, was eventually deprived of everything.
It's not much, it's just the bed, the table, the Encyclopedia earlier than Google, the PC in the museum, the drafting table.
I am a minimalist and I resist the way my parents overstocked.
The room was gray and dull, as if viewed through the lens of depressed people.
The shadows on the walls look heavy, almost 3D.
Before I heard the sound of the truck in the driveway, I almost fell into the reverie of all the missing things.
They came to pick up the latest bins.
I rushed out to see.
Every effort is like a win and I need it given how frustrating the job is.
On my way to the door, I almost tripped over four air filters, all crowded around more and more valuables.
When I was standing on the concrete outside evenly, the dust seemed to hover in the smoke around the air filter, pulling back and forth against the pull.
My brother's bedroom was cleared.
There's more in his room.
He was less than me when he left.
I would like to know what he intends to do with anything left in the estate, but the only information he gives me is to mail the legal documents he needs to sign if necessary, and send him half the money when it's done.
He is afraid to go home and be infected with memories, shadows and nightmares.
The bathroom was finally as clean as I always dreamed.
Unless they live here, someone will think it's crazy.
I walked into the corridor from the place where the bathtub was scrubbed and heard a movement from the hall.
When the support is transported, it is easy to think that something is slipping.
This is the sound of a pile of books or a bundle of clothes falling off the shelf.
This is something completely different but unfamiliar.
I turned in that direction, briefly afraid that something would fall on me, though I cleaned up almost everything in the hall except the last thing.
A pile of rubbish at the end of the hall was there, but there was something blurry between me and it.
I was briefly wondering if it was a ghost of a parent, but it didn't move or act like that.
I would like to know individually if this is the result of all the clean chemicals in the enclosed space.
I instinctively wanted to run away and start to stay away from it.
But the messy memory of a house has twisted my ankle a dozen times, which makes it impossible for me to do so.
I'm here alone, no one help me, my phone is in the car.
I turned and looked at where I was going.
As I walked to the back door, I turned around when the sun came out of the dirt.
The thick dust cloud rotates like a miniature dust devil, without definition, but independent.
I walked into the Sun, took off my dirty clothes and shook out the dust, no matter what an older neighbor saw.
The dust on my clothes floated back in the breeze.
I was sitting in the car and out of the habit of working in the city center, locked the doors for safety reasons.
I couldn't do anything for a while and was too nervous about what happened.
I have to finish it, but I don't know how to do it.
It was too frustrating and took too long.
I stood at the door and stared at the shadows on the wall of the living room, the box was not open yet.
Part of it feels like a challenge that makes me dare to take the time to dig it.
Part of it feels like a torture task that takes a lifetime to complete.
A pile of valuables by the back door seems to have grown up.
There is an incredible temptation to go back, sort it out, organize it, decide what to keep and what to throw.
The bins behind me are half full and I can do more today before the next load arrives.
I went in and the dust devil in a corner started.
Not sure what to do, I grabbed a vertical electrostatic air filter I bought and lifted it up.
The Dirty Devil came to me.
I walked into the door and it seemed to hover under the lights. A human-
Like a shadow, it's not the face of a dead family member, it's something else.
I walked five steps outside the door and gave me a lot of sunshine between us.
The air filter seems to be shaking during operation. I put it down.
Then I realized that I had moved away and the stuff was not plugged in anymore.
I knocked it over with my feet.
The door of the air filter fell down.
The filter fell out and some gray dirt fell out.
It was blown up by the breeze and floated back into the house.
When I saw it, a cold wave hit.
The hair on my neck was raised out of fear, but not on my head because there was no breeze blowing it.
I sat down in the car that locked the door.
I can think about how to deal with werewolves, vampires and zombies.
Ghost is a strange thing, some are just familiar things, some have something.
Despite my efforts, there are many things here.
I went home and took a hot shower trying to get rid of dirt and emotions.
I stood in front of the open door and walked in unwilling.
I have my phone in my hand and am ready to dial the speed dial when necessary.
Now the soil flows through the house in the faint River, around the objects
Although heir was not piled up, it was taken apart.
It splashed on the window like a wave, and then retreated in front of the Sun, which seemed darker than on the road.
Is it to protect them from being thrown away?
Do you want me to come in and get those things?
What if it wanted me to live there with my emotions, my life force?
Coroner's report blamed their deaths on the combination of chronic lung disease, heart disease and old age.
This may kill them, though slow, but can choke them when it sucks their life power?
This will not fly with the coroner. I needed help.
I called the second number in my speed dial, garbage Porter.
I said that if someone is just coming now, my salary is twice as high as the original one.
I need help, and I need it now.
The Mexican crew spoke a different Spanish than the one I didn't speak in high school.
I let them in, get rid of the debris, throw away a lot of stuff and finish this.
They came out in ten minutes.
The house is too dirty to even smoke and they can't work.
In this case they can't work and they won't work and I still have to pay for them to come out.
They left when I paid.
When the truck is traveling along the right lane and parked on the asphalt road, it seems that the thick smoke that rises like smoke has settled down.
It stopped flowing up like smoke and dissipated through the door.
Instead, it settled in the form of a human shape, standing in a shadow far from the window.
Has the dust rabbit evolved into a human being?
Is a ghost drawing from the pieces of their lives the emotions that this place evokes?
Has the mental energy of their mental illness become this form?
No evidence. no one believes you.
I tried to take a picture with my phone, but it all looked like shadows, photos and my reflection on the window.
I wish I could have a neighbor talk to me and give me a second opinion.
Of the three houses I have tried, no one has opened the door, even though they have avoided us for years.
I went home. I don't know what to do.
The melody of the song "Sunshine Home" floated through my mind.
When I put everything out and let it go, the house burned happily.
The ashes of the house rose with smoke, but I was careful to wear a gas mask and not breathe it in and keep the distance in the car at the end of the driveway.
Tables are made and broken down in smoke.
To my surprise, no one called the fire department when the house burned down.
As the building burned, tempted me, and laughed at me, some brass, sculptures, and strange objects stood out from the ruins.
I did not accept it.
I want freedom. it's worth more than anything.
To prevent dust from infecting the car, I paid for it to be completely cleaned.
I even paid for the car to detail and put the clothes through the laundry mat.
Even though it looked strange, I threw away my dirty shoes and bought a new pair at the dollar store next door.
They don't know, and I don't want to talk about it either.
I don't know what to tell the insurance adjuster, the estate attorney, or any other officer.
I tried to tell my brother and only told him what I did.
He simply said, "I see.