A good deal

She had always dreamed of living in an old, charming house with creaky floorboards and a fireplace that crackled with warmth on cold winter nights. So when Olivia stumbled upon the quaint Victorian house nestled on the outskirts of town, she knew it was fate. The price was very affordable, and, as the agent said it was once in a lifetime opportunity! Excitement bubbled within her as she crossed the threshold of her new dwelling, the scent of dust and ancient wood filling her senses. The house was everything she had hoped for and more, with its high ceilings, intricate mouldings, and a grand staircase that spiralled up to the second floor with a stained glass window above it. The house was gorgeous. And the agent didn’t lie saying that the house had its own character. It did. But as the days turned into weeks and Olivia settled into her new home, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss. It started small. A fleeting shadow in the corner of her eye, a chill that lingered in the air long after the sun had set… things like that. But soon enough that escalated into a constant sense of unease that gnawed at her insides. It was ridiculous, she would tell herself, it was just the stupid cliche horror movies were so infamous for. At first, Olivia tried to dismiss all those weird feelings as nothing more than the product of an overactive imagination. After all, she reasoned, old houses were bound to have their quirks. But quirks alone couldn’t explain the feeling of being watched that followed her wherever she went. That was silly… wasn’t it? Alright, maybe it wasn’t all that silly but she just didn’t have it in herself to admit that she had made a mistake. And an expensive one, to say the least. Yes, it was a good deal. Yet it was an ESTATE good deal, not the same thing financially as buying a new pair of shoes that turned out not to fit you really well. But as the days stretched into weeks and the feeling of being watched intensified, Olivia felt it was time to admit, at least, to herself that someone… or something was haunting her home. This realization didn’t bring her any comfort. It wasn’t one of those situations when you understood you had a problem, you now just had to find a way to solve it. Even admitting this problem existed felt ridiculous and irritating. You know what to do with mould you accidentally find growing in your house. You know what to do with a leaking roof. There are people who can help you with these problems. But what do you do with the feeling of your house being haunted? How do you even address that issue without the feeling that you might very much likely be going insane? And if you are brave and straightforward enough to admit openly that you do have this problem and try to go out there seeking help… how do you protect yourself from those predatory quacks babbling about past-life experiences, the power of crystals and yada, yada, yada? Her night grew long and restless, and sound sleep became nothing short of a distant memory. Every creak of the floorboards, every whisper of the wind now was a harbinger of the unseen presence that lurked in the shadows, watching, waiting. Desperate for answers, Olivia started searching for any clue that might shed light on the mystery that plagued her home… Well, of course, there should have been a terrible crime committed here! And that made the whole once-a-lifetime opportunity the agent pitched to her so much more understandable! Boiling with anger, Olivia started her search. She found nothing. No town legends, no backstories, no records of the house’s previous occupants. It was as if the house had sprung into existence out of thin air, with no history to tether it to the world. It was just an old Victorian house that just happened to be a good deal, money-wise. No skeletons in the closets. Period. As the weeks turned into months, Olivia’s fear dimmed. Perhaps, she thought, she would never uncover the truth behind the haunting of her home. Perhaps some mysteries were simply meant to remain unsolved. But just as she began to resign herself to her fate, Olivia’s sleepless nights took a turn for the worse. One evening, as she lay in bed, tossing and turning in the grip of insomnia, she felt a presence in the room — a cold, clammy breath against her neck, a weight pressing down on her chest. Olivia jolted upright with a gasp, her heart pounding as she scanned the room for any sign of the intruder. But, again, there was nothing but darkness and silence, broken only by the frantic beat of her own heart. Trembling, Olivia reached for the lamp on the bedside table, her fingers fumbling with the switch as she bathed the room in soft, golden light. And there, standing at the foot of her bed, was the dark figure of something that might have looked like a man but didn’t. It was pitch dark aside from the place where the eyes were supposed to be. The eyes were white. And it was watching. Probably, that was the worst thing of all. That this thing, THIS THING, was watching her all the time with those terrible white eyes with nothing even remotely close to pupils in the milky whiteness, cold and devoted from any resemblance to anything that had ever lived. For a moment, neither of them moved, locked in a silent standoff. And then, with a flicker of recognition in those terrible eyes, that thing spoke — not in words, but in whispers that echoed through the room like the rustle of dry leaves crumbling in the wind. “I have been waiting for you,” it murmured, the voice a mere whisper in the air. “Waiting for someone to find me.”

***

The next thing Olivia remembered was her standing in the darkness of the cellar. It was shrouded in darkness but completely empty. There were no cobwebs, no spiders, no rat faeces in the corners, nothing. It felt vast, and she wasn’t sure she could see the walls at all. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decay, the musty aroma clinging to the senses. Shadows danced upon the stone floor, their shapes shifting and twisting even though there was no source of light. “I have been waiting for you,” the darkness murmured again, and there was nothing personal about “you”. How many of those “you-s” have heard that before? And then it whispered, the cold of its breath touching her ear almost intimately. “Start. Digging.” She did. Dirt was getting under her nails. Sweat from all the hard work was trickling along her back. With a sinking heart, Olivia realized that some mysteries were never meant to be solved.

***

At the brisk of the dawn, Olivia returned to her room. As she lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, she knew that, after all, the house wasn’t haunted. Her dirty fingers clutched the blanket leaving traces of earth and blood. The house was not haunted. She was.