Just some halls and the kitchen

The Genie premptively lit the way to the kitchen, as well as practiced on the stove some. Oh how long had it been since he's helped a hunter hunt his game! He remembered like it was yesterday; granting Dogerland Hooligan his wish to always have perfect aim, and then "his second wish" to become a werewolf by will. He never did come back as a human, no sirree...

Bernie rubbed his eyes (with his clean hand), to see if the gas lights were actually getting brighter. After a moment of staring, he settled on it being his imagination. Those weird thoughts in That Room must have been getting to him. That or the undecorated hall. He wasn't a designer, far from it, but he at least expected a small table or a painting on the wall.

Eventually, he found a kitchen that was larger than his old apartment. He mumbled a bit of envy before scowering for a pot & knife. Just like the hall though, the kitchen was emptied out.

"Dammit. Wish I didn' sell the cooking tools. No poi'n coin if you cannae eat."

He dropped the squirrels into the sink and tapped his foot on what to do next. Whoever let this place go down shitter basically took anything not tied down. Maybe a large bed was left behind? Where would he start looking for a bed... room. . .

As Bernie turned around the room, a sack & stick that were definitely not on the counter before invaded his sight. A cartoon gag suddenly appearing in the real world. The stick wasn't anything special, but the sack was very familiar. It was actually a bedsheet—an old one his mother bought him way back when, and that he had to sell after getting evicted. Undoing the sack, likewise, revealed the exact cookery he had just wished he had.

The lights were definitely getting brighter here. It was beginning to smell pretty badly too, like rotten eggs. He forced a coughing fit to push out the smelly air from his system, but it came back quick. Hia headd was starung to hyrt s kittlr. . .

"Man, I wish I was immune to natural gases," said Bernie's voice. Something about that sentence felt off, but he ignored that in favor of the vast relief. He didn't feel like he was going to keel over in a minute, and that made everything fine to him.

"Still smells like spoilt food 'nd fire. Wish it was. . . better?" Bernie realized what was going on, and held his magic mouth shut. Just as the rotten egg smell shifted to a something like a meaty steakhouse, the gas lights brightened like headlights, running down the road and through his body.

Bernie ran out of the kitchen and through the halls. He thought it'd be easy to find THE AMAZING INGENIOUS POOL OF 20TH CENTURY ARCHITECTURAL GREATNESS! ! ! BUT HE WAS LOST!

Room after room only led to unopenable windows and liminal space purgatory. Each inescapable slice of abandoned mansion tempted his mouth to speak again, but he kept it shut. It wouldn't take long however, for a single slip up to change Him, England, Earth, and the entirety of the Universe into a perfectly normal yet pleasant experience.

"IwishIwasn'tsoscaredofthishouse!!!" shouted Bernie, before realizing there was no reason in yelling. There was no reason in running around like a bat out of hell. There was no reason to be so afraid.

No. He was afraid, and would have still been afraid if he hadn't wished for himself to be calm. He'd probably be afraid that he was accidentally making wishes, but there was no reason to.

Bernie walked back to the kitchen, making the alien calmness his own.

The Genie sighed in relief. He didn't think he'd be able to finish his "2 foundational wishes" before the vagrant left. As the currently-mortal man skinned his meat, he plainly wished for, "the faucet to work," to which The Genie gladly repaired it. He decided to fullfill this beyond the literal words, and repaired the mansion's entire water system. For his own wish, he said through the man, "And while your at it, I wish for a bedroom for me to sleep in. One with my name on it" The hobo rubbed his chin through his sticky beard, but otherwise did not suspect the wishes were made by anyone other than himself.

The Hooligans and their guests wished for things so long ago, so The Genie had forgotten the art of subtlety. The homeless man appeared calm, but if he slipped up and said, for example, "Hey Genie, I wish for a sexy bear-man butler and maid," then he was as good as ditched. The new resident needed to figure out the source for himself, and he needed to naturally mention his pre-existing kinks. Start off slow, and then make him yours.