My House

“I shouldn’t be here...” I thought to myself as I gathered the folded moving boxes from my trunk. It was a promise I had made myself when I left seven years ago. I wouldn’t be back. Standing in front of the grand house I grew up in, I cursed myself for being in this place. 

My grandfather died recently, leaving the house and the rest of his garbage to me, the last living relative in his family. He hated that almost as much as he hated me.  

My mother had passed a few years earlier after a sudden sickness during a trip to Cuba. She loved to travel and dedicated the last few years of her life to going places once she could. What a fucking sick ending.  

She was the only kid born to my grandparents and unfortunately for us, she lost her mother early in life, being raised by a single dad. My grandfather was old school, to say the least. He did what he had to do until my mom was old enough to do it. She had no say or she got the belt. She never talked about it but I know, because I got it too later. We had no other choice but to live with him in that awful place. My mom got pregnant young to a man who was too scared to be a father.

The cold air stirred me from my thoughts and my body ached for warmth. I stood, stuck in place, staring at the house. I couldn’t bring myself to look at it anymore but my feet wouldn’t move either. 

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, 10, 9, 8... you just have to gather shit up.. 7, 6, 5... you can do one night... 4, 3, 2... then you’re out of here... 1... 

Finally, my feet began to move forward but my brain screamed to go back. 

I located the shiny key on my overburdened keychain and place it into the hole. The place hadn’t changed a bit but apparently the locks had.  

The door swung open to reveal a dusty mud room lined with coat hooks and shelves. The walls were bare except for a deer head that hung above the door. The house smelled musty, but there was the faint scent of something else that I couldn’t figure out. Metal?

I took in the dust coated floor, and looked back to see my footprints had been left behind. I looked towards the door and down at my feet again, deciding to leave my shoes on for a swift exit. 

I walked through the mudroom and past the basement door, closed as always. My grandfather was always adamant about that. Even in death, apparently. 

The mudroom led directly into the kitchen, which was every chef’s dream. I glanced at the iron stove, recalling a time it had been left on and I was burned as a child.  

Looking at the scar on my wrist, I touched it instinctively thinking back to that night. Everyone swore it had been off before they went to bed. “It's a lesson learned,” my grandfather had said. I shouldn’t be sneaking into the kitchen for cookies past my bedtime. He had wanted me tend to my own burns but after insisting we went to the hospital, he let my mother take me.

“I won’t get a good night’s rest anyway, with this little bitch crying.” finally giving in and waving us off as he climbed the stairs to bed and my mom hurried us out the door.

Turns out, having third degree burns and crying about it makes you a little bitch. I could never be the man he wanted me to be.

“You don’t know what I have to do to make sure you have a roof over your head,” he would say anytime I complained about something, whether it was a scraped knee from my toys being placed in weird areas I didn’t leave them or when I was pushed out of bed and cracked my collarbone. He told me I shouldn’t be so clumsy but I know I was pushed by something. 

It was always the same thing with him. I could never understand what he did to keep a roof over our head. Couldn’t we get a new, smaller roof? 

I always felt that this house wasn’t a house. I remember as a child, I would have nightmares and complain to my mother.

“The house is intrusive,” I would say and she would laugh. 

“You don’t even know what that means, don’t say that,” she’d reply looking around for my grandfather, but I knew she understood. I knew she felt it. That’s why she wanted to leave too. 

The house bore its thoughts into you and forced its sickness into your mind while you slept. Sometimes, I would feel like it was watching while I played as a child and later as a teen, when I bathed and showered. 

My grandfather didn’t take kindly to unwelcome criticism towards the house and if he heard, it meant a belt lashing. He would repeat the same thing in between lashes. That I didn’t understand what it takes to keep a roof over our heads. I learned to stop complaining around him quickly. 

I dropped the boxes on the wooden dining room table, cursing the old man for keeping so much shit. I had attempted everything in my power to avoid coming to this place but no junk removal company would enter and sweep it clean.  

“Too many lawsuits after an idiot threw away some gold coins and baseball cards worth thousands,” they told me when I finally asked why so many rejections. Couldn’t I just sign a waiver? 

My thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock at the front door. I shifted towards the noise, hesitating for a moment when the person knocked again, this time louder. 

“Who the fuck?” I wondered out loud, walking slowly towards the now aggressive knocking.  

“I’m coming, Jesus!” I yelled, agitated by their impatience as the knocking grew louder and faster. 

I pulled the door open just as the last knock hit the door and jumped back quickly to avoid a punch, facing nothing but trees.

"Hello?“ I yelled at the air, my breath leaving a crisp trail from the cool November night. I peered my head around the corner, and looked down the walkway towards my car, seeing nothing but blackness.  

I’m not a fucking wuss, I thought as I stepped past the door's threshold towards my car, knowing deep down I was scared shitless.

Suddenly a wailing screeched through the air, my skin crawling from the high-pitched noise. I looked towards the house, where the screeching was coming from and retreated back inside.  

Closing the door behind me, the house shook and the wailing stopped, the metallic odour getting stronger. 

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, trying to ignore the growing smell... 10,9,8... this place makes you crazy...7, 6, 5... let’s get the stuff packed... 4, 3, 2... and get the fuck out of here... 1. 

I opened my eyes and started back towards the kitchen, noticing my shoeprints scattered on the dusty floor, my trail from earlier obviously marked from the table to the mudroom. 

As I walked closer to the table where the boxes sat waiting, I noticed a set of footprints made by bare feet, the obvious outline of a human foot with ten toes and a heel.

My stomach sank, realizing that these were freshly made and hadn't been there earlier. The footprint trail led from the boxes and towards the mudroom, where they stopped, presumably watching me as I checked the front door.  

The trail turned from the mudroom entrance and towards the basement door, which was now left ajar. My heart pounded into my eardrums and through my chest.  

Every horror movie tells you not to go down there... I thought, almost chuckling at the absurdity of my next thought. But I have to. 

My legs somehow moved me towards the open door and my hand reached for the handle, pulling it open. I stared into the darkness and felt for the light switch on the left wall. My hand grazed something wet and when I finally hit the switch, I was horrified to see it was covered in something red and sticky, immediately recognizing that it was blood. I looked at the ceiling and saw it flowing from the beams above. Bright red dripped down the walls leading into the basement and pooling on the steps below. 

Shock and horror filled my body as I stared at the scene in front of me, the dusty footprints turning to bloody ones. “What the fuck?” I thought out loud as the shrieking started again from the direction I was supposed to be going. 

I started down the stairs, the shrieking getting louder as I got closer. Finally reaching the bottom, I saw that the basement was empty except for a door on the back wall, the bloody footprints leading towards it. The concrete walls were dripping with blood and pools formed on the grey concrete floor. Ahead of me, the door, blindingly white, was pristine, not a speck of blood on it. A pool of blood ran from the bottom, disrupted by the footprints of whoever was screaming. 

The shrieking, which had now turned into a whine, was coming from behind the door. I started towards it, the metallic smell making my head spin and filling my mouth with the taste of blood. 

I reached for the door handle, hesitating out of fear, when it began to turn in my hand. 

Scared, I turned to leave when the latch clicked and the door swung open. Hundreds of arms sprung from the dark room, pulling me in and slamming the door shut, darkness surrounding me. 

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply as hundreds of hands pulled at me, ripping me apart... 10, 9, 8... Why did I come back?... 7, 6 ,5... I shouldn’t be here... 4, 3, 2... guess I really didn’t understand.... 1. 

6 Months Later 

“You will absolutely die when you see this kitchen,” Inga told the potential buyers. 

“I’m sorry we had to meet so late, I know you guys wanted a first look and I just got the paperwork for the sale this evening,” she told them, using her phone as a flashlight along the dark walkway. 

She finally had the opportunity to sell this place after the owner had mysteriously disappeared. He contacted Inga six months ago, asking if she would help him sell it and she was excited to do so but when he didn’t call back, she assumed he went with a different agent. She was bummed but she moved on and then when her boss asked her if she was still interested in the listing, she asked about the man immediately but was surprised to hear he had vanished. Her boss told her that the house was going into Power of Sale because of past due payments, including his car which was left behind as well. 

Inga led the buyers through the newly cleaned mudroom and into the kitchen, where the floors sparkled after a buff and shine. 

“We just had someone in to give this place a good scrubbing, all those machines probably caused that metallic smell. Should go away soon,” she told them. “Let me show you the rest of the house and we’ll come back here to finish.”  

Inga started towards the living room with the couple when they heard a loud knock at the door.