Chapter 1: The House on Black Street |
The realtor arrived early to park her beat up and rusted silver Honda Civic out of sight around the corner. The first thing she did was pick up the fallen for sale sign and brush the mud off. At first she had assumed it was gophers disturbing the ground or local kids having a laugh but gradually she had come to realize that the house didn’t want to be sold.
The locals had warned her about it when she accepted the listing.
“It’s haunted,” they had said. “You’ll never sell it,” they had said. Of course she had assumed that it was just superstition. Every time there was a gruesome murder involving three people, an axe, several stuffed animals and a meat grinder people couldn’t help but gossip. But after her fourth time scrubbing bloody writing off of the walls, Gail was starting to think that their claims of paranormal activity might just be true.
She did a quick sweep and clean before getting into her best dress and throwing the door wide open in preparation for her clients’ arrival. They were from out of town and so far as she knew were blissfully unaware of the house’s history. She looked at her watch, only thirty minutes before they were supposed to arrive. It was time to deploy her secret weapon.
Gail glanced around like a thief. What she was about to do was manipulative and unethical, but she really really needed to sell this house. She reached into the cabinet for a baking pan and some parchment paper then started pressing handfuls of store bought cookie dough into neat little balls. “I will sell this house today.” She repeated under her breath like a mantra. “I will sell this house today.”
---
The clients arrived right on time with a little girl that Gail assumed was their daughter. The man was tall, skinny and wore a long thin goatee that was several centuries out of date. He eyed the entryway critically from behind a pair of half moon glasses on a golden chain. A woman that was just as tall and angular and could only have been his wife pushed past him without hesitation.
“Anybody home?” She called out with a voice that boomed through the house from the rafters down to the basement.
Gail came around the corner with a tray of cookies fresh out of the oven. “I’m so glad you’re here! Have some cookies, they’re my Grandmother’s secret recipe.” She offered the tray to her clients with a broad smile that flickered and abruptly fell.
The man who against all reason was wearing the thickest wool sweater Gail had ever seen despite the summer heat picked one of the cookies off of the tray and started munching through it with every sign of enjoyment. “How thoughtful.” He mumbled between mouthfuls. ”I must say, these really are quite excellent.”
The wife wordlessly picked a cookie off of the tray and handed it to their daughter, a cherub faced little girl with blond pigtails and a look of quiet concentration on her face as she devoured the cookie then asked for seconds. Apparently the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.
“So where are you from?” Gail asked, still somewhat shaken by the unexplained transformation that had taken place on her baking tray.
“We’re from down south.” The man answered before reaching for another cookie.
Gail looked him up and down. He didn’t sound like he was from the south. She hazarded a guess. “Louisiana?”
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“A bit deeper than that.” The man said with a chuckle like he was laughing at his own private joke. The wife shot him a warning glare.
Undeterred Gail pressed on. “Georgia?”
The man looked to his wife who gave the briefest of nods. “Yes, that. We’re from Georgia. Born and raised.”
“Maybe you should show us around the house.” The wife abruptly suggested. “Though of course thank you for showing us that at least the oven works.”
“Ah yes, the house.” Gail said with a sense of dread and foreboding filling her. “This house. The house you’re here to see. The house I’m here to show you.” Somewhere upstairs a door slammed of its own accord and the windows began to rattle.
“Yes, that house.” The man said as he ate his third cookie. “The house we’re here to see.”
By some miracle they made it through the rest of the tour without any more apparitions, manifestations or mysterious circumstances. For a brief moment Gail thought she saw a reflection in one of the mirrors that wasn’t supposed to be there, but that could have been her imagination playing tricks.
Against all logic the couple, including the little girl, seemed to love the house. They weren’t deterred by the long narrow hallways or the damp dark basement. Or even the quiet sense of gloom that seemed to settle over the entire property like a veil.
Just when she thought the property was all but sold the husband pulled Gail aside with a serious look on his face. “Look, my wife seems to really like this place but I have one simple question and I want an honest answer. When I was upstairs I noticed a bit of a chill.” He rubbed his arms at the memory. “Now my wife, let's just say that she would be less than pleased if I were to mention it. But I have to know, for my own comfort. Is this house h-”
“Ah yes, I think I know where you’re going with this.” Gail cut him off, knowing that she was probably throwing away her chance at selling the house and finally earning her commission. “I’m no expert in the field. I’m just a realtor. But yes, the house is definitely haunted.”
“What?” The man gave her a confused look. “No, I was going to ask if it was heated. My wife and I, we fight over the thermostat. She’s… a bit more hot blooded than I am.” He whispered as if afraid that she would overhear him.
The realtor wasn’t sure how to take that. “Yeah, the house is heated.” She finally said.
“Awesome. We’ll take it. Just don’t mention anything about that to my wife.” He gave her a sly wink.
Gail looked her client up and down in disbelief. “My lips are sealed.” She said.
---
They paid for the house with cash that very afternoon. Everything seemed fine until it came time to fill out the paperwork.
“I’m sorry.” Gail said, momentarily flustered. “But I can’t seem to remember your names.”
She could swear that they had told her over the phone but for some reason she was drawing a complete blank. She could only remember that it sounded foreign.
“Oh, well then please allow me to introduce myself.” The man said with a smile. “I’m a man of wealth and-” A stern look from his wife stopped him mid sentence. “You can call me Bill. Bill Sharoth.” He said with an edge of defeat in his voice.
“Margaret.” The wife said, extending her hand. Gail couldn’t help but notice her long perfectly rounded fingernails were a shade that could only be described as blood red. Her touch was also warm, almost uncomfortably so. Bill hadn’t been lying about her running hot.
“And I’m Six.” The little girl chimed in last.
“I’m so pleased to meet you all.” Gail said with another one of her fake smiles, wondering how she possibly could have forgotten their names so easily. She looked over them, they all seemed to be genuinely nice people. Margaret was a little overbearing but Bill didn’t seem to mind and their daughter Six was cute as a button. Gail almost felt bad for selling the house to them.
---
Once the wife had gone to the car to grab her things Bill pulled the little girl aside and gave her a conspiratorial wink. “Don’t tell Margaret, but I asked the realtor. She says the house is heated.” A warm smile crossed his thin lips. “I have a good feeling about this house.”
“Too bad you can’t stay.” Six said with the beginnings of a pout. “Why can’t you stay?”
“You know why we can’t stay. We have to find you a family and get back home before it’s too late.” Bill gave her a hug, his wool sweater made her face itch but Six didn’t mind.
“You need to be with your own kind.” He said softly. “A demon can't raise a human child. You know that."
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If you are reading this anywhere besides royal road or my patreon this ebook was ripped and posted without my consent... again. -TheDeliciousMeats aka Alex Karne
