Monster Neighbor Family House Download

Meet the family of monsters that settled in the neighborhood! You play as a boy who arrived home after the holidays and saw that monsters had settled in a house nearby! They are acting weird! Sneak into their house unnoticed, explore all the rooms, expose their secrets and escape.

Monster family patrols the house. If they see you, they will chase you and catch you! Say hello to your new opponents, escape and complete all missions. Break the window with an object and climb into the house through the window! To perform all levels you will need to seek for various items. Collect and eat food to restore stamina. Throw items to stun your neighbor enemies. Escape and hide from the scary monster family under beds!

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First there was that little Beach Bungalow. It disappeared. Then the cozy Craftsman down the street, fed into the maw of the demolition dumpsters. "Oh, my," Doris Sosin thought. "What's happening here?" Then the gracious Spanish in need of some TLC was bulldozed into a rubble pile and replaced by the 6,000-square-footer, a two-story, neo-Mediterranean pink-stuccoed palace as big and boxy as an apartment complex, bulging to the property line, with five bedrooms, six baths, a nanny suite, home gym, great room, two offices, underground parking and those soaring entry foyers that seem to announce like nothing else that the new owners have arrived. It was sometime later that Doris Sosin learned a new and unflattering term to describe a phenomenon occurring in communities around the nation: Her neighborhood was being invaded, as Sosin saw it, by "monster homes." She vowed to stop it. And Sosin is not alone. The resort towns of Aspen, Park City, Jackson Hole and Palm Beach have all placed limits on the size of new houses. Similar ordinances have passed or are being batted about in Sarasota, Oakland, Seattle, Dallas and a dozen other locales, including Montgomery County and elsewhere in the Washington area. But the debate is not one-sided. "Okay, here are these monstrous homes and yeah, they're sort of obnoxious, but we can't say nope, you can't build this house because it's ugly. We have to look at the impact of the larger home," said planner Gabe Preston of Colorado's Pitkin County, home to Aspen. It is a most emotional debate, and it is playing out largely below the political and cultural radar, in somnolent zoning and planning board meetings. But it touches on one of the most personal and telling of choices -- in an age of greater affluence and changing family dynamics, what should the new American home be like? And more to the point, how big is too big in the land of the free and zealously guarded property rights, where one family's new spacious dream home is another neighbor's worst nightmare. "There is an ongoing explosion in the size. Houses keep getting larger and larger and larger. This is true," said Robert Stern, the new dean of the School of Architecture at Yale University, who has designed his share of big homes. "It is a return to the kind of house once reserved for the very rich. But now the middle class also expects quite a big house." America is enjoying a building boom. The Commerce Department reports that construction in January reached its highest level since 1986, and figures kept by building associations and government agencies confirm that new homes keep getting larger. According to Gopal Ahluwalia, director of research at the Washington-based National Association of Home Builders, American houses have grown from an average of about 1,500 square feet in 1971 to 2,185 square feet last year. The very rich have always been different from you and me, because they had the wealth to build really large spreads, explains Austin architect Phillip Reed, from the Temple of Hatshepsut in Thebes to Hadrian's Villa in Tivoli to George Washington's elegant Mount Vernon estate, which comes in at 17,248 square feet, not counting the kitchen and other outbuildings. Today, the mega-rich are building more mega-houses than ever before. Fueled by the bull market on Wall Street, the market for the truly large house is exploding, for technologists in Silicon Valley, for lobbyists in suburban Washington and dentists in Dallas, houses so big they make Mount Vernon look quaint -- with playrooms, beauty salons, massage parlors, sports bars, screening theaters -- single-family houses so spacious that their builders compare them to entire Tuscan villages. Bill Gates erected himself a 40,000-square-footer in Medina, Wash., and why shouldn't the richest man alive be able to do so? Industrialist Ira L. Rennert got a tut-tut in The New Yorker for building 42,000 square feet in Sagaponack, Long Island. Prince Bandar bin Sultan, the Saudi ambassador to the United States went for 55,000 square feet in Aspen, which is just about the size of the White House (the prince built before the new Aspen regs came into play). But as Stern points out, the "mini-mansion" is now the desired home of many in the upper-middle and middle classes, too. That seems to be the rub. Where the American middle classes were once content to move out of stuffy tenements and narrow row houses for tract homes in the newly created suburbs, the houses of the post-World War II generation feel to many new families cramped -- lightless places with small galley kitchens and no place for the television, which hadn't been invented when they were built. A 1,200-square-foot starter with two bedrooms and a single bath? You might as well call it a studio apartment by many buyers' new standards. Phone the contractor and start swinging the sledge hammers! Even in the famous postwar suburban development of Levittown, N.Y., the smaller houses there are rapidly being converted to mini-mansions. "It's like technology," Stern explains. "You don't replace old things. You add. You have a phone? You get a fax machine. But now you need a computer, because you get e-mail. In the home office. All this takes more space. People want a bathroom for every child. Then they discovered, perhaps in hotels, two sinks in the bathroom. Brushing teeth in rhythm. You gotta have that. Plus a bathtub combo, a separate shower and tub. But not any tub. A tub you could launch a flotilla in. Houses had to get bigger." The changing American house is changing, too, not only because Americans have more stuff, and need more space to put the stuff, but because houses are used in different ways. They are now, for many, also home offices. With women in the work force, there is a need for nannies and baby-sitters, who often live in, and so they need rooms of their own. Few busy Americans spend hours on the front porch, greeting their neighbors, because their neighbors are all running errands in their sport-utility vehicles (another trend toward big). Many children of the middle classes don't play down the block anymore; they're shuttled to ballet and gymnastics and tae kwon do, and so the backyards, too, are shrinking to provide more indoor space for playing video games. The smaller the yard, the smaller the upkeep, and many homeowners don't have the time or desire anymore to mow their own yards and so employ weekly gardeners. What is a monster home? That is a knotty question to answer, for like the famous Supreme Court pronouncement on pornography, it is in the eyes of the beholder -- people think they know it when they see it. Critics of the trend toward big have come with all sorts of shorthand to describe what they do not like: they call them blockbusters, walmarts, starter castles and trophy homes; they decry them as "houses on steroids" and "homes with thyroid problems." When a really big house is built next to a smaller one, overpowering its diminutive neighbor with bulk, it is said to be "mooning." The trend toward bigness, however, has its roots not only in desire for more space, but economics. Sarah Susanka, a Minneapolis architect and author of a popular new book "The Not So Big House," believes one reason for bigness is that when owners decide to rebuild a "tear down" or renovate with additions, they are convinced by real estate agents and builders that the most bang for the buck is added square footage. Meaning: if you're going to add some space to a galley kitchen, why add 200 square feet when you can add 800? Because it does not add much to the cost of construction, but increases that potential resale -- although this may turn out to be a myth. Regardless, for many Americans, the place they stash a lot of their net worth is in their homes. The new American home is not only a nurturing environment, it is the modern equivalent of the tax-friendly 401(k). "How do you tame the megahouse?" asks Ray Gindroz of Urban Design Associates in Pittsburgh, who has consulted with Palm Beach community in how to keep their homes from looking like architectural Rambos. "How do you keep the big house from becoming the rude boorish guest at the cocktail party?" How indeed? "I've never had a client tell me they want a big showy home," Susanka said. "But that's what many people are buying, and I'm finding a lot of megahouse disappointment out there. It's not what they expected. It's too much house." Buyer's remorse notwithstanding, many communities are trying to buck the trend -- but it is fraught with peril, and not a little class conflict. In Santa Monica's monster house spat, the issue is not class: all the residents in the community struggling with the issue live in the so-called north-of-Montana Avenue neighborhood, the poshest address in this beachside town. What they seem to be arguing about is taste. So far, Doris Sosin's newly formed group of homeowner activists has succeeded in placing a temporary limit on the girth of homes in their neighborhood. A full-blown ordinance is being vigorously debated. At a recent meeting in the basement of the Santa Monica library, dozens of speakers spent the night pleading with the planning board to either: (A) Protect their inalienable right to make full use of their very expensive lots and build as big a house as they want, or (B) Protect the "charm" and "character" of their streets by limiting monster homes, which many neighbors, in impassioned appeals, said were robbing them of light, privacy, and yes, tasteful surroundings. The battle has been engaged. Another neighborhood association was recently formed to fight the opponents of megahouses, calling itself "Citizens for a More Beautiful Santa Monica." Amy Goldberg is one of the founders. "The problem here is they want to regulate taste, and that is a very emotional issue because you're talking about your home," Goldberg said. "People in this neighborhood, some of them won't talk to me anymore." Goldberg believes, within reason, that property owners should be able to build the kind and size of house they desire. It is, after all, their money and their home. She believes that many of the opponents of "larger homes" are deluded by nostalgia, for a time that does not exist anymore, when neighbors talked over fences. Now it is more likely, in the neighborhood north of Montana Avenue, for maids and nannies to talk over fences. "Fifty years ago, you used to know your neighbors," Goldberg said. "You don't anymore. The size of the homes don't have anything to do with it. When my home was built, TV didn't exist." The Goldbergs renovated and expanded, because they need a room to watch television in. "People have two and three kids," she explained, making the case for bigger. "You want each to have their own bedroom. So that's four bedrooms, with the master. I need five, because when my relatives come, they stay with us. You need a home office. You need this and that." Staff writer Cassandra Stern contributed to this report. CAPTION: In Santa Monica, Calif., a case of a new house "mooning" its neighbor. ec 006ab0faaa