Open House

“Welcome, welcome. I’m Sally. The house is vacant and just went on the market this week. If you could just sign my information sheet, that would be great. Have you been looking for a house long?”

James shook his head as he signed the empty information sheet titled VISITORS. He made sure to “mistakenly” write the wrong last digit in his phone number as well as his e-mail address.

“Are you a drive-by or did you see the ad in the paper?” Sally said.

James set the pen down. “Paper.”

“Looking for a new home for your family? Or is it just you?”

“Just me.”

Sally nodded. “That’s good. We don’t get many singles all the way out here.” Sally stopped and covered her mouth. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”

James waived the apology away. “No need to apologize. I imagine you mainly get families or people looking for investment property out here.”

Sally started laughing. “Well, with the market the way it is, we haven’t gotten much of anyone out here lately.”

The laugh sounded nervous to James but he didn’t linger on it. “Don’t worry, I’m not speculating and I’m not a looky-lou. I saw the ad and it grabbed my attention.”

“I’m glad I ran the ad then.”

James picked up the listing sheet. The price tag was $200,000. Not bad for the area. Good piece of land with few neighbors. Remote. Still rural but not too far from the city. Just the type of place James could see himself sitting down and writing again.

Sally commenced the obligatory realtor spiel. “This home is a true gem. It’s a 3/2 with a two-car garage. Central air and heat. All the appliances...”

James tuned her out. He didn’t care about the modern details of the old house. The space, the distance from the masses he craved more than any kitchen updates. He’d lived downtown for years. What did James have to show for it? One bestseller and five flops. Just too many distractions. But here, maybe, he could get some good work done.

Sally trailed him, describing the different rooms as James walked around. He paid no attention to anything she said. He just took in his surroundings. The house didn’t look like anyone had lived in it for years. The air smelled stale. The rugs appeared pristine but old. The white walls gleamed but the coat didn’t shine like fresh paint would. The house was preserved in a time warp.

James turned to the middle-aged realtor and asked, “How long’s this place been empty?”

“Long time. But it just went on the market this week.”

James nodded. He’d heard the first time when she mentioned its recent addition to the listing system.

“Well, it’s in great shape.”

“Yes. Although it’s been vacant, the owner has made a point to come every week and clean thoroughly. The house was built after the Depression and has belonged to the same family ever since.”

The house’s history intrigued the writer in James. “Why did the family leave it?”

“Family tragedy, sadly. The home was a place of happiness. Then it wasn’t, know what I mean?”

James shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t mean to be forward but what happened? I mean they didn’t die here did they?”

Sally’s eyebrows narrowed. “Are you one of those types that looks for haunted houses to buy? Some kind of ghost freak?”

James flashed an innocent smile. “I’m a writer so my interest is purely creative.”

Sally gave a reluctant nod. “Well, this may interest you then. The family was very isolated out here. But they also didn’t make any attempt to reach out to anyone. Just kept to themselves. No one knew much about them. According to local legend, they used to invite strangers over every week or so--”

“And those strangers were probably hobos and drifters, right?”

“Yes. The story goes that the family were good Christians that wanted to show mercy to someone down on their luck.”

“And let me guess: none of those strangers were ever seen again?”

Sally smiled this time. “So you already know the story.”

“No. It just sounds like a lot of urban legends.”

“Well, it’s good you have such a positive attitude. The story of the family shouldn’t surprise you much then.”

“What happened?”

“The strangers stopped coming. The stories had gotten around the ‘hobo’ network, I guess. Soon after, as the tale goes, the family wasn’t heard from again. Seemed to just disappear except one, the youngest child. That’s who owns the house now.”

The more James heard about the family and the house, the more he wanted to buy it. “Did they find the bodies of the family in the freezer?”

Sally chuckled. “No. They never found them. And the child, now grown of course, never talks about it. Who would? I guess it really doesn’t matter what truly happened. People already have the stories they’ve chosen to believe. What truth could be said to change them?”

James nodded, seeing the wisdom behind the point. People would believe what they wanted, regardless of the truth. “So the surviving kid just left the house empty and went about his life?”

“Something like that.”

“What was the family name?”

“Clark,” Sally said.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that story scaring me away.”

Sally’s eyes lit up. “Good. I tell you what; finish looking around and if you’re still interested, we’ll see what we can work out.”

“What else is there to see?”

“The basement.”

James craned his head to the left and his eyebrows poked up slightly. “Is it finished?”

Sally nodded.

James saw his perfect writing room form in his mind: An isolated, subterranean writing room.

“Where is it?”

Sally motioned to a door. “Right through there.”

James walked toward the door. He opened it and saw a staircase descend before him. He took them slowly, soaking in the downward travel. Dark red shag carpeted the stairs. Pine board paneling with cherry stain ran the expanse of the walls.

The air temperature cooled with every step down. When he reached the bottom, James knew in this basement he could write quality stuff again.

The house was sold in his mind. James reached into his pocket and pulled out Sally’s business card. He wanted to make an offer, to make this place his.

But his heart seemed to skip up into his throat when he read the name on the card.

Sally Clark.

James eyes flashed up the stairs. The door slammed shut and the deadbolt twisted into place, locking him where he stood.

The hair on his arms stood up. James sprinted up the stairs and beat on the door. He could only hit it twice. It felt like he punched metal. His hand throbbed.

James ran his other hand over the surface of the door. His knees shook. A steel door painted to look like wood.

“Open up.” James pounded the door, blocking out the pain.

No response from the other side.

“Interesting way of selling a house, you bitch!”

James planted his left foot heavily on the second step from the top and prepared to kick the door with his right. But he looked down at the carpet again.

Not dark red shag. Beige shag with dark red stains.

James’s eyes floated from the carpet to the pine walls. Uneven cherry stain. Then he realized it was sprayed on the walls in gruesome arcs.

Panic twisted his stomach into tight knots. James pounded on the door, turning his hand into bloody mush.

“Let me out!”

“I’m sorry,” Sally’s calm voice said from the other side of the door. “If I don’t feed it, it’ll come out and kill more people.”

“Stop messing around!”

James kicked the door.

“It won’t do you any good,” Sally said. “It needs to be fed once a week or it’ll come out. Got to keep it satisfied.”

Beating on the door drained the energy out of James. He dropped to his knees and sucked in deep breaths. Sweat dripped off his face and disappeared into the red stained carpet.

The lights in the basement went out.

What is going on here? his fatigued mind wondered.

James heard a growl that seemed to answer his question. It drifted up the stairs from the darkness. Not canine and unlike anything he’d heard before. Something unholy and deep.

James turned, slowly looking behind him but unable to see anything in the lightless basement.

Then two rows of six glowing yellow eyes flicked on at the bottom of the stairs. They stared at him.

Whimpers and other sounds clucked from James’s throat. The eyes seemed to bob up and down. The sounds of feet, lots of feet, echoed in the stairwell as the thing made its ascent toward James.

The smell of something dead and wet hit his nose. Vomit found its way to his throat. Piss warmed his thighs as James’s eyes locked on the yellow orbs climbing his way.

Something latched around his legs. Sounds of clicking, like teeth chattering, greeted his ears as it yanked his body down the stairs.

* * *

“Welcome, welcome. I’m Sally. The house is vacant. If you could just sign my information sheet, that would be great. Have you been looking for a house long?”

“No,” the prospective homebuyer said. “How long has it been on the market?”

Sally smiled. “Just went on the market this week.”