Le Morse

Since I mentioned the walrus in my previous post, I thought I'd bring this one back:

I am the walrus. You know, the one sitting outside your bedroom window. I suppose that should something smell fishy, you can just coelacanth the window.
Do you ask why a field burns or a plague spreads? Then don't question my porpoise. Alright, enough with the puns. I've already established that I'm the pundit, no ordinary punchinello, here to dole out punishment. But what grievous offense hast ye committed that I was sent? Well, it was just a response to an SOS you gave. Yeah, nice try, with that Latin there, but 'Morse code' does not entail lining up short and long dead people in patterns, as the name would suggest. No, my friend, I must be your jailer. The penalty: storage in a were-house.
The walrus then proceeds to bite a corner of the house, and then leaves. An eyebrow remains fixedly raised for the rest of the day on the perplexed boy's brow. That night, however, the house begins to shift and morph, and grows a silvery coating of fur. The windows become eyes, the kitchen, a stomach, the attic, a dusty and unused mind, and the small peaks above the attic windows, nervously twitching ears. round and round the hoar-haired house turns, in search of its long lost tail. The boy-inhabitant became frightened at his new wall-carpet, and at the odd howling and whining sounds apparently coming from somewhere very near. He was on a scary-go-round, and there was no way off.
From that night on, he was generally a somber and taciturn veck, letting others answer the questions at school, even if he knew the answers. He tended to be a loner -- a lone wolf, even. Some speculated, but none ever guessed the experience that caused his silence. He was scared for life.