old wood that rots from decay, older then myself, and all of mankind.
It was supposed to be a normal night. Anonymous had gone to bed just like any other evening, half buried under a mess of blankets, his phone lazily tossed onto the nightstand after scrolling through it for what felt like hours. The last thing he remembered before sleep took over was a notification that tomorrow's weather would be unseasonably cold for June—another weird 2010 summer, but nothing out of the ordinary.
But the world he woke up in wasn't the same.
His eyes flickered open, blinking against the soft light streaming in through unfamiliar curtains. The sheets around him didn't feel right—thicker, more luxurious, heavy against his skin in a way that made his pulse quicken. He sat up in the bed, groggy and confused. The room around him was massive. Gothic arches framed the high ceiling, and the bed he lay in was easily twice the size of the one he had fallen asleep in. A huge, ornate four-poster with dark red velvet drapes encased him like a throne.
"This... isn't right," he mumbled, voice thick with sleep, but something was already gnawing at the back of his mind. His heart started to pound. He kicked off the blankets and swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet not even touching the ground.
The room was cold, its décor dark, like something out of a medieval castle. Caveman-like paintings of saber-toothed creatures—almost human, but not quite—covered the walls, primitive yet detailed, like relics from an ancient time. A cold shiver ran down his spine as he slid off the oversized bed, his bare feet making contact with the cold stone floor. Even the air was heavy, like it had seen centuries of history unfold between those walls.
He looked down at himself. His clothes were different—no longer his pajamas but some kind of silk robe, finely made, embroidered with a symbol he didn't recognize. His hands trembled slightly as he turned his wrist over. The date on the ornate clock by the bed read "200010," pronounced two thousand ten, though it clearly wasn't the year he had gone to sleep in. His heart raced faster. He hadn't just changed rooms—this was a different world.
He padded across the room, his breath quickening. The doors leading out into the hall were enormous, easily twice his height, made from dark wood, with intricate carvings of animalistic figures woven into the panels. It was as if everything here was built for someone far larger than any human he'd ever known. The scale of it unsettled him.
"What... is this place?" he muttered, stepping into the hall.
The hallway was dimly lit, the ceilings even higher here, and every step echoed. He ran his hands along the walls as he walked, trying to ground himself, but the stone felt rough and cold. Everything around him was impossibly huge. He was like a child in a giant's castle, and the sense of unease grew stronger with each passing moment.
The house was old. Cavernous. And there was something unsettling about how it seemed frozen in time—tribal paintings of ancient battles lined the walls, and yet, there were strange, old electronics scattered throughout. Vintage radios and TVs, things that looked like they hadn't been touched in decades but were out of place among the otherwise timeless decor. He wandered through room after room, each one stranger than the last, decorated in lavish but worn furnishings, tribal masks, and animal furs draped across old couches.
And then, from down the hall, a voice broke the silence.
"Come... closer..." It was weak, almost a whisper, but it echoed down the long corridor, sending a chill through him.
Anonymous froze. His breath caught in his throat as he turned toward the sound, unsure whether to run or to follow it. Every instinct told him this wasn't right, but curiosity—or perhaps fear—pushed him forward. The voice had come from deeper in the house.
He walked toward it, passing door after massive door, his bare feet silent on the cold floor. The hallway stretched on forever until finally, he came to a room larger than any he had seen so far. Inside, lying in a massive bed that dwarfed even the one he had woken in, was a creature that should not have existed.
It was a sabertooth. A smilodon.
The figure lying in the bed was easily eleven feet tall, its fur gray with age, a long saber-tooth visible from its partly open mouth. Its body, once powerful, was now frail and covered in medical devices. Its breathing was labored, every inhale a rattling struggle. Bandages covered parts of its body, and it lay surrounded by tubes and wires that looked strange against the tribal décor of the room.
The sabertooth's eyes met his, and despite the terror that gripped his heart, Anonymous stepped closer.
"Closer..." it whispered, the voice carrying a barely perceptible animalistic growl, as if buried under a human-like tone.
Anonymous stepped forward, shaking. This was too much. Too unreal. But there was something in the old creature's eyes—something desperate, something final.
"You... are now... Smiler," the creature rasped, its eyes locking onto him with surprising intensity for something so near death. "The last of House Smiler. My time... is over. You... inherit it all. You... are now my... son."
"Son?" Anonymous stammered, his mind struggling to comprehend what was happening. The creature—the smilodon—was fading fast, its eyes drooping as its breathing became more shallow.
House Smiler? He didn't understand. This wasn't his world. This wasn't his life. But the creature reached out, a massive paw resting against his arm, surprisingly gentle despite its size.
"The end... of our kind," the creature whispered, its eyes fluttering closed. "You... carry the name now..."
Anonymous stood there, frozen, as the creature's breathing slowed. He didn't know what to say, didn't know what to feel. The weight of the moment was crushing him, and yet, he was utterly lost. His hand rested lightly on the creature's fur, unsure, trying to offer some kind of comfort, even though he didn't understand any of this.
And then, with one last rattling breath, the sabertooth's chest stilled. Its paw fell limp against the bed. Anonymous stood there, staring at the enormous figure that had just passed away in front of him, his mind a whirlwind of confusion, fear, and disbelief.
Hours passed. The sun had set, and darkness filled the house. Anonymous hadn't moved, his thoughts spinning out of control as the weight of what had happened settled over him. He didn't know how long he had been sitting there when a knock echoed through the silent halls.
He stumbled out of the room, disoriented, and opened the front door. The figures waiting for him were unlike anything he had ever seen before. Towering over him, easily sixteen feet tall, they wore dark, heavy veils that hid their faces, save for the eerie masks they wore—horned, elongated, terrifying.
"Mr. Smiler," one of them said, their voice deep and unnatural. "We are here for the body."
Anonymous stood frozen, nodding without thinking, his mind still trying to catch up with everything. The figures moved with quiet efficiency, lifting the massive form of the sabertooth with ease as they prepared to take it to the morgue. One of them paused, looking down at him with unreadable eyes beneath the mask.
"We are sorry for your loss," they said in a voice that seemed to reverberate deep within his chest. "Their last wish... was to be with you."
Anonymous nodded again, barely comprehending. He followed them through the vast halls of the house, out into the cold night air. The gardens were beautiful, lit by the glow of a grand fountain in the distance. The luxury car parked nearby seemed like it belonged to another life—one far removed from the ancient, tribal feel of the estate.
They loaded the body into a large, black van and gestured for him to follow. He hesitated but stepped into the backseat, his eyes darting around nervously. The drive to the funeral was a blur. The towering buildings of the city loomed around him, massive structures built for beings far larger than humans. He was the only human in the funeral crowd, surrounded by dozens of towering anthros—lions, tigers, wolves—all watching in silence as the last of House Smiler was laid to rest.
After the ceremony, no one spoke to him. He was left alone, standing in the shadows of giants. The car ride back to the estate felt like a dream—cold, distant, surreal.
Hours later, back in the vast, empty house, he received a call. His hand shook as he lifted the receiver to his ear.
"Your admission into Anthro High has been filed," a voice on the other end said. "You've been accepted, Mr. Smiler, last son of House Smiler."
He stared into the darkness, the weight of everything pressing down on him like a stone. The house, the world, the name—none of it was his. And yet, somehow, it all was now.