That House

You'd think people would stop going to that damn house.

The broom salesman, the truant officer, the kid who wanted his ball back. All of them stopped by, none of them ever came out, their bodies were found hidden in the bushes by the lake after a month. And of course, it's always me, Alec Bronson, who finds those bodies and has to tell the families.

Autopsies showed blunt force trauma to the head, poisoning, and asphyxiation. Only the first one died right away and that's still a hell of a way to go.

I got into law enforcement to lecture shoplifters and teach kids how to cross the street. When I got married everyone told us move to Jefferson, it's the safest most wholesome town in the state, perfect place to raise a family. And for a while, it was.

Then they moved in.

It used to be just an ordinary house. No backstory, no skeletons, some guy built it for his family fifty years ago and when he and his wife retired to California another family moved in. Rinse, repeat. It was a house to grow up in and leave once the kids were off on their own.

The Harpers were just another family. Mother, father, cute little girl with pigtails. They kept to themselves, more than even other private types we've had living here over the years. And yeah, private types can be weirdos, but the worst we had before them was crazy Blaine who kept changing the paint job on his house every month.

But even Blaine let people come into his house.

I should've noticed the red flags when I tried to walk my dog past the place, and he started barking like the devil was coming after him. Their mailbox is three feet away from the property. It's a real pain in the mailman's ass, everyone else's is within reach just outside his truck and with them he's gotta keep getting in and out, even when it rains. And one time, Carol Lewis swore she saw the father come home from the store with a bag of lime.

Nobody likes salesmen, but the poor guy was just trying to make a living to support his wife and kids. Old Mrs. Winchell the truant officer's no one's best friend, but the worst anyone ever did to her before was make faces. And little Benjamin, poor kid didn't mean to throw his ball that far.

Three people dead, and all cause those creeps wanted to be left alone.

We sent a couple forensics investigators over to look for clues last time the Harpers went out. Every now and then they go out, probably to stock up on lime and bleach. The investigation came up empty. The poison, the weapons, the wall neatly patched back up, everything's nice and clean. That was enough to get us a search warrant for the place.

It's been eight days since those guys went over and they're not back yet. Today, someone said they saw smoke coming from the kitchen windows.

Looks like I have some phone calls to make.