Writing For G.O.T

The House --Dark Story #44 --B&W

The House
2021 words

I should have known what I was getting myself into when Martin--the agent with the stained teeth from Watson Realty--said, checking his computer, “You know, I’ve never been in this house, but we have it listed here. I think Celia has seen it and gave it a four-and-a-half-star rating, so it must be good and it seems to fit your needs.”

I should have asked why the house was so cheap, right there and then. But I didn't.

“Is there any way I can talk to Celia first, Martin?” I asked instead. “Maybe she saw something we might miss. Something that needs attention before I move in...if I like it?”

He frowned and looked down at his hands and scratched the top of the left one with his right hand’s fingertips. “Unfortunately, Celia is not with us anymore,” he said, in a solemn voice.

“Oh, she quit the job?”

“She was in an accident. She’ll be missed. So young!”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “My condolences.”

Martin looked at me for a second as if I had drawn blood and caused him to suffer. Then he struggled for a split second to pull himself together.

“Yes, getting back to business, do you want to see the place today?”

“Is the house occupied?”

“No, it has been empty for quite some time. I don’t know how long.”

The house was of brick, stone, and wood construction, and the building wasn’t all that large but more than enough for me. With six bedrooms upstairs, two with fireplaces, I imagined turning it into a small B&B, eventually. Then, I could quit my job and devote my time to what I love doing the most, which is painting. Painting had been my first love since I’d discovered crayons in a sixty-four-count box. Luckily, I didn’t stay with crayons but finally graduated to oils.

We passed through an ornate arched entryway into a gloomy foyer with dark paneling and found our way around and up the stairs with Martin leading the way with a flashlight, although it wasn't necessary. The house was probably built around the latter end of the nineteenth century for it was constructed from totally natural materials like the cherry-wood banister and moldings, stone fireplaces, and a brick façade.

“The electricity is turned off. I hope you don’t mind,” Martin said, his voice taking on a dismayed tone. “As there are no appliances in the house, no harm is done, right?”

“What is missing can be bought,” I said. “I have my own appliances, anyway.” I wouldn’t miss a bargain like this place. For the money the phantom owners were asking, it might have been the steal of the millennium. Surely, I didn’t tell Martin that.

“Good,” he answered. “The wiring and the pipes have been replaced and updated only ten years ago. So that part shouldn’t be your concern.”

“Who owns this place and why are they selling it?”

“Don’t bother with trivialities. People sell houses for many different reasons.” He shrugged as if my questions were frivolous. “The owner wishes to stay incognito and Watson Real Estate honors both the sellers’ and the owners’ wishes.” He spoke in a tone that wouldn’t tolerate any objection.

I was annoyed some, but I let it roll. No need to get into a squabble over something so petty when I had my heart set on the house, which led my mind venture into an enhanced decorating mode, one that I’d probably go bankrupt paying for. I imagined frilly lace curtains, canopied beds, and thick, hand-made quilts I would order from Lancaster County, Pennsylvania…Imagining all this almost brought tears to my eyes, but I didn’t want Martin to see my happy drops and raise the price. So, I looked away and didn’t say anything more.


When the moving truck backed down the driveway, I felt I was in seventh heaven, but just before that, when I was paying the driver, he shook his head and murmured, “I hope you know what you’re doing, Lady!”

“Isn’t this the agreed price?” I asked. “I even added tips for the men.”

“Not that…but…” He shook his head. “May God look over you and protect you!” he said in an evasive manner.

A Jesus Freak, is he? “That’s nice,” I said. “You, too.”

He put two fingers to the side of his head and jumped into the cab where the other movers were already seated.

At least, then, I should have suspected something. But I didn’t.

I was alone now, in my beautiful house. I had the cleaning crew earlier before the furniture came and the movers put everything I place. I looked around, feeling I was like a princess in a Victorian setting.

One of the large rooms downstairs I had turned into a library with a corner sectioned off for my painting projects, my easel, table, paints, brushes all neatly arranged. In fact, I had arranged this corner myself before the furniture came.

The house itself seemed to love me. I was now the queen of my realm, and I was alone in it, or at least, I thought I was alone at the time.

For a while, until the dusk settled down, I walked...no, jumped and leaped and danced from room to room, up and down the stairs, into the kitchen, to the library, to the living area, to the front porch and did that again and again.

I felt so tired, as the excitement of the day had worn off, that I decided to skip dinner and head to bed, which was only a metal bed frame with box springs and a mattress over it, but it would do until I could put my financial situation in a better shape.

I opened the curtain just a tad to sleep to the view of the moon, which floated high and shined white with a golden tint in the dark night. I must have taken a fetal position then when a dream came but only in sound. “Poor girl,” said a man’s soft voice, “you’re outdoing yourself.”

I raised my head from the pillow and looked around me. In the glowing nightlight, I could easily see the shapes of the furniture. Just my mind, playing tricks

I went back to sleep, still feeling deliriously happy. “Your face is so lovely on the pillow, so so beautiful, a bit pale, though.”

I opened my eyes again and reached to turn on the light on the night table.

At the side of my bed, stood a gentleman in a black wool morning suit with tight-fitting trousers, over a white linen shirt. He held a top hat in his hands, which I didn’t see right away.

“How do you do?” His tone was pleasant, conversational.

Thinking I must still be dreaming, I answered, “Fine, thank you. And you?”

“Enchanted! Finally, you’ve arrived. I waited for you for a long time, a very long time.”

Then, at that very instant, I saw him holding his top hat with bony fingers.

“President Lincoln?”

He looked startled then threw his head back with a hearty laugh. “Hardly! But I am flattered, just the same.”

His height could equal Lincoln’s, but he had a very handsome face with large greenish eyes and proportionally shaped features.

“The others,” he said, “they, too, wanted to stay. Unfortunately, they couldn’t live up to my standards, but you are special. I sensed that when you first set foot in here.”

“The others?”

“The others, yes. The last one was named Celia, I think. She wanted the house for herself, and she thought she could knock down a few walls. So uncalled for! I couldn’t let her do that.”

“What? You killed her!”

“A designed accident, let’s say. She wasn’t doing her job well, either. She wasn’t showing the house to customers and…she wanted it for herself for nothing. No one should have what they haven’t paid for.”

“But this is my house. I paid cash for it.”

“Does cash make things belong to people? The cash you handed out doesn’t make it your house. When you love a place, it is yours. I saw that you love this place. So do I. It is a fifty-fifty deal, now.”

I sat up in bed and reached for my robe. No, I wasn’t in a dream or a nightmare. I realized that much. Was he a ghost, this man? He was such a gentleman, too.

The dawn was breaking outside and I could see the first lights of the day through the curtain, which I had left slightly open to watch the moon before I fell asleep.

“Please, Sir,” I said. “I need to get dressed and go to work. Please, forgive me…”

“No,” he said. “You can’t leave the house. I can’t either.”

“Why not?”

“Because the house loves us. It will not let you leave.”

Goose bumps were flaring up on my limbs, now. “But I have to work, pay for things.”

“You won’t need to. Stay inside and paint. That’s what you wanted all along, right?”

I ran away from him, then. I ran to the front door but it wouldn’t open. I ran to the kitchen door. It wouldn’t open either.

I reached for my phone, but it came apart in my hands.

“You need a measure of discipline, my dear girl!” He called from the top of the stairs. I didn’t see him there, but I knew he was there. I didn’t know how I knew.

“It is a pathetic tendency trying to resist what cannot be resisted.”

His voice, which I had found pleasant at first was irritating me now.

I went and sat in the living room. I’d wait for the full daylight. Then, maybe he’d be gone. Ghost or ghoul, whatever he was.

“You can think of me in whatever form or shape you wish, but you are now tethered to me, as I am tethered to you and the house. The house is our master, my beauty.”

Now, he was sitting in front of me in the living room. From where had he appeared? I thought I had left him in the bedroom.

“What are you?” I put my hands to my face, trying to contain myself as I questioned him.

“That is a rhetorical question that doesn’t deserve an answer. Let me tell you this much. You are a remarkable woman. You need no one, but I need you. My heart is touched by your unique strength. And you are curious, too.”

I looked at him for a moment, trying to think of a way to make him disappear for good and find a way to reestablish myself.


“Watch it,” he said, nastily. “Now that we are tethered, I can read your thoughts. I know you have questions. First, am I a ghost? Ghosts love darkness, don’t they! But darkness troubles me. What I am I don’t exactly know.”

He stared away at the far wall for a second. “I long believed myself to be the spirit of the house, as I was built in its architect’s image.”

Oh, Crap!

“Please, do not think in atrocious words. That hurts my psyche.”

I crossed the room, now the recipient of more attention than I had ever wished for, and looked out the window.

“Can’t I go to the garden or sit on the porch? Are you going to confine me to the house?”

“Oh, yes, you can, but you must stop considering running away and leaving me.”

“You or the house?”

“What difference does it make? We are one and the same.”

And that was that. Now, I stay inside or go out in the garden where lovely flowers are always in bloom, but I can’t use my car because it stopped working. My computer, too. All my needs are taken care of, and there’s always food in the storage and the fridge.

When I paint, he stands behind me, watching and making suggestions. He’s been rather nice, really, once I surrendered.

Will I ever be able to leave the house? It is a question I dare not ask.

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Prompt: You check everything before you buy a house, but you didn't check one thing and now you're dealing with...