The kitchen was beginning to please her. Ella stood back from the sink for a moment and took a look around. As soon as she got it clean, it would be a great kitchen; a shiny, wooden dining table, plenty of counter space bathed in light from the glass window over the sink, shimmering white tiles, enough cupboards for her food. It was the largest room in the house and obviously intended to be the focal point of life there.
She opened the door to the woodshed. It was chilly yet comforting. She found a pile of split oak and poplar. Someone had done a pretty good job for weather like this. There was a sharp axe in the woodshed should she need some more kindling. She brought some woods to the stove, made herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table to consider what still remained unfinished. The bathroom was clean, the living room too and now, the kitchen was done. That left the bedrooms and if she bothered, the attic.
The house, according to the agent was over a hundred years old. The beams had shown. They were massive yet made lovely out of some expensive dark wood that lasts for ages. The living room was spacious enough. There were comfortable ornate couches, a hearth made of red bricks, a glass table with a vase filled with freshly picked red roses and a crystal chandelier that enlivened the first room of the antique house. Ella was satisfied. It was her dream house – a vintage bungalow-style home.
From the living room, there was a hallway leading to the 3 bedrooms. It was spooky walking in there since she hadn’t bought fluorescent lights yet. What added to the spooky feeling was its vaguely musty smell that was present nowhere else in the house. It wasn’t terribly comfortable. One by one she carried the creaky chairs outside and beat the dust out of the cushions. In a way, she was beginning to have a sense that this was really hers, now that she had rescued it from its patina of dust and grime. In three days, she’d receive her salary and finally be able to pay the remaining half of the house’s cost. The agent had to agree to let her live there for two days to make sure if she really wanted to buy it and live there for the rest of her life.
Now, it was time to visit the attic. She started up the stairs and opened the door. It creaked, naturally, but seemed safe enough. The place was a mess. Few hangers were scattered around the sandy floor. There were an old mattress with nauseating particles creeping on top of it, a heavy old dresser with most of its drawers missing and unexpectedly enough, a second door. She pulled the doorknob. It was locked. She groped for the keys in her pocket then tried them all to open the door. Nothing happened. It was still locked. The agent hadn’t given her the key for this door. Anyway, maybe there was nothing important inside. Maybe it was just a storage room or a panic room? A panic room with a swollen, dilapidated door? Yeah, right. Before turning her back, she noticed a peephole. What are you going to do with a peephole? She looked through it. Nothing. She saw nothing but red. The color red. Bloody red.
“Madam, just a random question. Do you believe in ghosts?” She remembered the agent had asked her the first time she saw the house.
“Nope. I don’t. If you’re telling me that this house is being haunted by ghosts, well I tell you, I’d buy this as soon as possible.” She snickered at the dire face of the agent.
“That’s good to hear, madam. Well anyway, I just heard that the last owner of the house stabbed her eyes to death.”
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OMG. I'm having goose bumps while finishing this story.. Grr.. How would I sleep with the lights off now? O.o
