I live in a house of monsters

I live in a house filled with monsters. They're in the paintings and on the walls, and sometimes in a sculpture or two. The most terrifying is the 29 lb builder's beige one with claws and teeth and liverwurst breath. He follows me around the house, impervious to my pleads for privacy. He has no need for sleep, no desire to play with his own kind, and he insists on conjuring the most shocking and vile of skin lesions, the cost of which to cure would also pay for the installation of a small community pool. Sometimes he opens doors too.