Arthur had just moved back into the house to clear it out. The silence was the worst part. His father, a man who filled every room with the roar of cable news and baseball, had been reduced to dust in an urn. Now, Arthur sat on the carpet where the La-Z-Boy used to be, holding the manual.

The house went silent. The toaster oven clicked off. The microwave display went dark. The ceiling fan stopped mid-spin.

Real silence. The house settled. The furnace kicked in. Normal.

The remote beeped once. The LED died. The television shut off with a high-pitched whine, shrinking to a single white dot, then nothing.

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