Open House

The house was scrubbed clean of its previous owners. It was ready to be filled with new furniture; couches you could sink into, boxes of shiny toys, bookshelves teeming with the smell of old leather and paper. It was ready for new clothes to fill its closets, new soap dispensers in its bathrooms, and new pans to hang above the stove. It was ready for new coasters, stained with rings, from shiny new coffee mugs. Most of all, it was ready for framed pictures with new people. Unlike the house’s former owners, these people would be alive. Now, all the rooms were empty spaces. The hardwood floors were polished, the carpets were freshly washed, and entire house smelt of fresh paint. It was a beautiful 3 bedroom house, tucked away in a cul-de-sac in a safe, lovely neighborhood. The price was a steal, way below market price. And yet, every family who had seen the place thus far had turned it down.

Laura had already shown this couple the downstairs portion of the house. So far, they were very enthused. She took them upstairs to see the three bedrooms.

The couple peered into the master bedroom cautiously, like they didn't want to disturb someone sleeping inside. The room was completely empty, but it was on a side of the house that was shaded by an elm tree. This gave it the ominous quiet of someone sleeping. Once inside, they swung their heads around, and nodded approvingly at the space. They cooed at the master bathroom with its big bathtub.

Laura nodded along with them. Sensing when they were ready to move on, she motioned them along, “There's two more bedrooms to show you."

The next bedroom was smaller, a perfect square. "Oh, this is perfect for a nursery," the wife cooed. She smiled up at her husband, who smiled back bashfully down at her. Laura thought they looked like a Rockwell painting, and that they probably felt like they were in one too.

Laura stood with her hands clasped behind her back, letting them imagine how the empty room would look with a crib, pastel walls, and teddy bear print curtains. They wouldn’t even mind if their nonexistent child got some washable marker got on the walls.

Suddenly, they heard a door opening downstairs.

They all turned to the open bedroom door, alerted by the sound. The couple’s harmony disrupted.

Laura frowned, "I'm sorry, please stay right there."

Downstairs, the front door was swinging open. The warm afternoon air intruded on their fortress of air conditioning. Laura cursed at herself for forgetting to lock the door. She slammed it shut and set the deadbolt. She shook her head vigorously, and made an effort to walk softly back upstairs. She paused on the landing to take a couple deep breaths and counted to ten.

They love the house, everything is going fine. Just calm down.

She repeated this to herself until she was ready to join them in the bedroom again.

"I'm so sorry about that, someone wandered in, they thought the open house was today, instead of tomorrow."

They nodded, uninterested, now that crisis had been averted.

The last bedroom was round, and had a floor to ceiling bay window. When Laura opened the door to the room her breath hitched. She knew the room was empty, but her mind was playing tricks on her again. Infront of the bay window was a desk, its chair facing away from her. A man's torso was slumped over to the side, blood was dripping down the back of his neck. Laura’s mouth gaped and shut over and over like a dying fish. She closed her eyes and started counting.

One. Two. Three.

"Oh my goodness, this room is gorgeous!"

Laura opened her eyes and the room was empty, unfurnished, and bloodless. The bay window let in long slants of golden, late afternoon light. The couple held hands and looked out the window, their long shadows stretching behind them.

After seeing all the bedrooms, the couple wanted to look at the front yard on their own.

Alone in the house, Laura's mules thumped on the hardwood floor. Her unbuttoned navy blue blazer caught air as she walked briskly to the kitchen. She sat at one of the barstools with a shiny, faux leather cushion and took a deep breath.

Outside, she saw the couple nodding and smiling on the paved pathway. A tall, burly man with a scruffy beard spoke to them. Suddenly concern plastered onto their faces. They cautiously turned to look at the front door, with the uncertainty one has towards an intimidating stranger.

Laura pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead.

Great, the neighbor told them.

After a muffled argument near the front door, they were ready to come back inside. Laura softened her features to welcome them.

They stood close together, squeezing eachother's shoulders, and took a few small steps from the front door.

Laura was getting impatient, she wanted to get this over with.

"It's a nice neighborhood, isn't it?" She said wide a wide, daunting smile. The husband nodded "Yes, yes it is"

Neither of them made eye contact with her. The husband looked at the floor. The wife craned her neck to look out the window.

She finally spoke.

"Well... we talked to one of the neighbors."

Yeah, I gathered that, lady, I was watching from the window. Go ahead and spit it out so you can stop wasting my time.

She cocked her head at them in feigned wonder, "Is there something wrong?"

They stole a wistful glance at eachother. Finally, her husband was the one to speak up.

"Is this really the house where the Spencer family was murdered?"

The rest of the conversation was scripted, predictable, and polished. Laura assured them nothing was wrong with the house. She offered to drop the already-below-market price even lower. They smiled and nodded. They politely pretend to listen while shifting their feet towards the front door. The wife suddenly remembered that they had something very important to do that afternoon. How could she have forgotten? And yes they would call, and they were so, so sorry and so, so thankful for Laura. Within moments they were out of the house. Laura looked outside the window as they huddled, moving as one unit towards the safety of the car. The breeze rustled the juniper bushes lining the front lawn. It rocked the branches of the elm tree, and rocked the for sale sign with Laura’s headshot on it, back and forth. The scruffy man was watering the bushes at the house next door with a garden hose.

---

At home that evening, Laura was supposed to be working. Her mind wandered as she stared at her laptop. She grabbed a mouthful of kettle corn and typed up "Spencer family murders" in her search bar. Her boss had told her the house would be hard to sell, but if anyone could do it, it would be her. She had sold houses where children had drowned, teenagers had committed suicide, or old people had been alone on their couch for days before anyone found them. While one person dying seemed to be forgivable, no one wanted to live in the house where the Spencer family lived, and died.

She wanted to know what all the fuss was about. She began to read. Gregory Spencer killed his two daughters and wife in the early hours of August 13th, 2023. He strangled his wife, then shot his daughters. Just minutes later, Gregory Spencer had sat in his desk chair in his study, pulled his revolver out of the drawer, and shot himself. When she first learned that he had shot himself at his desk, her blood ran cold.

Her fingers trembled as she scrolled further down the page. The police were called at 2:20 am, Sunday, August 13th, when their neighbor woke up to gunshots. No one really knows why he killed them. She wondered if it was the scruffy man she saw outside earlier this afternoon who called the police. He was the one who scared her clients away. Soon, the facts of the incident were all committed to Laura's memory, like the layout of the house. She visualized Gregory going from the master bedroom, to his kid's room on the other side of the upstairs landing, then finally to the study. She had made this same path herself many times, with prospective buyers. She realized, no one had slept in the bedrooms since the night of the murders.

She kept reading articles until her eyes got dry, and she realized how late it was. She had to get some sleep for her big day tomorrow.

---

It was time for the open house. The mostly empty living room now had a folding table in the entry way. It had a tablecloth, coffee dispensers, and assorted bagels. She filled a water pitcher and garnished it with fresh lemon slices and sprigs of mint. At the end of the table was her framed headshot and her business cards. She pressed either side of the stack to form a perfect rectangle. The house’s fresh paint smell combined with the robust hot coffee.

The first few people to trickle in grabbed cups of coffee, and made failed attempts of idle conversation between long sips of their drink. Soon, they excused themselves to look around the house. Laura was left alone in the living room, her own cup of coffee warming her hands in the air conditioned cold.

Some people asked her questions. Some of the parents talked amongst themselves in hushed whispers. Eyes widened and hands covered their mouths. They complimented the house and told her it was beautiful with strained smiles. None of them had the gall to ask her about the truth of the house infront of her, but she knew they were burning with questions. If they asked her, she would’ve told them all the gory details. What did it matter if they weren’t going to buy the house, anyway? As soon as they made it to the safety of the sidewalk, their talk became more bold and animated.

Hours went by. The tops of Laura’s feet started to hurt from pressing against the straps of her heels. She refilled her coffee cup. The dispenser spat out the remainder of its contents. She wouldn’t bother refilling it. The stack of business cards was still a perfect, untouched rectangle. The fresh paint smell in the house was suddenly nauseating. She wanted to grab her framed headshot and smash it against the wall.

No one had entered the house for at least an hour, but once the open house was officially over, she checked every room, and locked the front door. As she was rinsing out the coffee dispenser, she heard movement in the room above her, which was the master bedroom. Had she somehow missed someone? She thought she checked every room.

There was a woman in the master bedroom, looking out the window.

“Hi, thanks for coming, but the open house is over.”

Laura’s voice sounded more sharp and irritated than she meant it to. The woman didn’t even turn around. She took a step closer to her.

“Excuse me? Ma’am, thank you for coming, but we need everyone to leave now.”

When the woman turned around, what Laura saw was a walking corpse. The skin around her mouth was gray. Her eyes were deep set and murky. Her neck had black rings around it, like some grotesque necklace.

Laura screamed and ran down the stairs, ignoring the stabbing pain in her feet. The tablecloth fluttered as she ran past it. It was uneven, covered in crumbs and coffee stains. Laura didn’t even notice as she ran out the door. She scrambled to lock it with shaking hands and got into her car

As she drove away, she didn’t think about what she saw. She didn’t think about whether she was going crazy. She had just one thought on her mind. I just need to sell the damn house so that I never have to set foot in it again.

----

This last couple had been at the open house, they had told Laura. She didn’t recognize them. She was so sleep deprived, and the event had been such a failure, she hadn’t committed any faces to memory. Still, she widened her eyes and pretended that she did recognize them, but could they please remind her their names and where they are from? They were the Brennans, from California. They had just gotten foreclosed on, and were mainly looking for an affordable home. They had a daughter with them. Her name was Jamie, and she was 10 years old. She looked around at the house like it was an uncharted island. The small bedroom would be her bedroom, they had decided.

When they entered it, Jamie ran to the window and pressed her nose and palms to the glass.

“Jamie,” her dad grumbled, and she pulled away.

Laura saw that behind them, there were two big bloodstains on the wall. They were like two streams of a red tide crashing against a giant rock.

She stammered, “Oh, oh … I am so sorry about the stains on the walls … I”

“Stains? They look clean to me” The family turned to look at the walls, which were alabaster white.

“Right,” Laura laughed nervously, “Someone at the open house yesterday. Well, they had a mess with their coffee in here yesterday. They must’ve cleaned them already.”

As they walked to the final room, Laura counted to ten in her head. Thankfully, the room was empty this time.

"This will be perfect for your study! Look at that beautiful bay window"

She turned to Laura and explained, "My husband does a lot of work from home." Laura clenched her jaw and nodded

It was his study too, it was this very room where he...

She shook the thoughts from her mind.

"Well, that's all the bedrooms, shall we head into the kitchen?"

In the kitchen, Laura stood by the stairs while Mrs. Brennan walked around the kitchen, and Mr. Brennan squinted at the doorframes, knocked on the walls, and inspected the floors. Laura couldn't restrain herself from rolling her eyes.

Jamie asked her mom to go look at the bedroom that would be hers, again. She nodded, and Jamie darted up the stairs.

For a few minutes they talked about the neighborhood, what shops were around, and what would be the best school for their daughter. Jamie came downstairs again and went directly to her mom, but spoke at a volume they all could hear.

"Mom, is there anyone upstairs?"

"Of course not, it's just us"

"I thought I heard someone walking around"

Mrs. Brennan turned to Laura.

"The place has been checked for rats, right?"

"Oh yes, of course, the place has passed all its inspections. Of course, it is getting colder. If something did wander in, let us know and we'll take care of it."

Jamie had her arms crossed and looked up at her mom, pleading with an intense certainty.

"It wasn't a rat, mom, I heard footsteps."

Mr. Brennan cut in sharply,

"It's just the house settling Jamie"

His voice was both irritated and final. Still Jamie pleaded

"But-"

"Jamie" he turned to look at her, "stop."

Jamie rolled her eyes and ran back up the stairs.

Mrs. Brennan laughed and smoothed her hair, trying to hide her embarrassment. "She's just so imaginative." Laura nodded knowingly, as if she knew what it was like to have imaginative children, or any kind of children.

Laura decided to cut to the chase before the neighbors got to them, since she legally had to disclose it anyway.

"So, I do have to disclose some unfortunate history about the house…"

Mrs. Brennan waved her hand to cut her off, "Oh, we know about the family who lived here. The family that was..."

"Murdered" her husband finished.

"I assure you, this is a very quiet and safe neighborhood."

"Laura, we’re not worried about that. This is an amazing house, and, between us, it’s all we can afford.”

The Brennan’s held hands in the entryway, beaming with pride and certainty.

“We'll take it"

—

Laura got into her car and put her purse on her passenger seat. She let out a sigh of much needed relief. She felt bad for the Brennans, but the house was no longer her problem. They knew what happened, and they said they didn’t care. Anything that happened from her on out was for them to deal with. The scruffy neighbor was looking at her from his front yard. They made solemn eye contact for a moment, then she broke away to start her car. As she fumbled for the keys, she realized her hands were shaking. She wanted to flip the neighbor off, but she just drove away.

As she drove, she thought of the things she saw in that house, and gripped the steering wheel tighter.

Time to count again Laura.

One. Two. Three.

In her mind’s eye she saw a man slumped over at his desk, blood dripping down his neck. This time, it was Mr. Brennan.

Four. Five. Six.

What was she supposed to do? Tell them the house was haunted?

Seven. Eight. Nine.

As long as you got your commission, you don’t care what happens to them, do you, Laura?

Laura screamed and slammed on her brakes to stop at the red light infront of her. In the soft glow of twilight, the red traffic light illuminated all her skin. In that light, her hands gripping the steering wheel looked like they were soaked in blood. She took in one last deep breath.

Ten.

The light turned green and she kept on driving. She promised herself to never think about that house, the Spencers, or the Brennans again.