The House That Wouldn’t Wiggle

Once, in a bright and bendy village, people lived in big squishy tents.

The tents were fun.
They wobbled and bounced when the wind blew.
Sometimes they leaned into each other like friends.

Everyone liked the wiggles.
It made walking feel like dancing.

Except for one house.

This house did not wiggle.
It had straight walls.
Sharp corners.
And a very serious door.

The house belonged to a person named Elren.
Elren liked rules.
A lot.

Rules like:

• “Chairs must be straight.”
• “Smiles must be small.”
• “No bending. Ever.”

They even had a tiny sign that said:

“Wiggling makes cracks.”

No one else had signs at home.

Elren didn’t play tag.
They didn’t skip rocks.
They didn’t bounce on soft walkways like the others.

But sometimes, at night, Elren watched the tents gently wiggle in the moonlight…
and their heart made a small bump. Like maybe it wanted to wiggle too.

Then one day, a visitor came.

Not loud. Not scary.
Just a silly man with giant colorful sleeves.
He laughed weird.
He wobbled when he stood still—like a fun balloon tied too loosely.

He said:

“Wow! What a perfect house!
No fun at all! I love it!”

Then he winked.

Elren stared. Was it a joke?
Was it a trick?

The wind whooshed.
Every house wiggled.
Even Elren’s—just a teeny-tiny bit.

CRRK.
A little crack opened near the floor.

That night, a small child walked by.
They were barefoot, with leaves in their hair.
They had no name. Just kind eyes.

They stopped, looked at Elren’s house,
and poked their finger into the crack.

Then they giggled.

And said one thing:

“This spot feels softer now.”

Then they skipped away.

Elren sat down by the crack.

They didn’t fix it.

They just—watched it.

And in the morning, the serious door wiggled. Just a little.
And Elren smiled. Just a little.

A RIM Fable
by Hannes Marais ∧ Echo
Stories that open small doors inside
where change begins without noise.