When he storms off upstairs the room erupts into angry whispers.

“Who woke him up?” Hisses the shapeshifter.

A snarl. “It was you, you fool!” The werewolf growled. “I was taking a wiz.”

The shapeshifter sighed. “Dude, you need to stop peeing on the trees, it’s killing them.”

He gestured out the window, to where a rather sad looking tree drooped, devoid of leaves. “It wasn’t me either. I was sleeping too.”

“Yeah, I nearly sat on you!” Declared the witch, “stop transforming into a black cat!”

“They’re not unlucky.”

“Maybe, but they are hard to see. Next time I am using your whiskers in a spell.” The witch grumbled. “I know a spell that could help here, actually…”

“What is it with with you and spells?” Asked the werewolf.

“I could ask the same of you and Your tennis ball.” The witch brandished it suddenly. Seeing his eyes light up.

“Touché.”

“H-hey, guys? I think it was me.” Stammered the quiet centaur. “I got my tail caught in the door again…”

The room collectively rolled their eyes. “Such a klutz.” The shapeshifter sighed.

Soon the clumsy centaur was freed and the house settled into uneasy silence, waiting for nightfall, when the vampire landlord would wake up for real.