Horne, Ted Houses

The Fishers walked up the weed-strewn path to the front door, holding hands and smiling.

Ted Horne’s heart lurched. He hadn’t expected them for another twenty minutes; they were early. He’d been in his car – a beaten-up, rusted, unreliable old thing he’d gotten secondhand – psyching himself up for the job. Somehow, Ted always found himself showing the worst houses imaginable. Take this one, for instance. Rumour had it that the dad went crazy and tried to kill his wife and son with an axe. His wife went crazy first and was one step ahead of him. But the son was the first to lose his marbles. He committed parricide with an axe he struggled to lift. And then, somehow, he froze to death outside even though it was the height of summer. Ever since that fateful incident, the house had remained, for the most part, unoccupied. Oh, sure, people had stayed in it from time to time. But they’d always left sooner than they’d imagined. And with more screaming than moving houses usually entailed. So, here came Ted, unfortunate sod that he was, who now had to try and sell the bugger after its unique history. All he wanted was to find real success finally. But, to be a successful real estate agent, you had to sell houses. Well, he would sell this one, spooks or no spooks. He threw open the driver’s side door and scrambled out, snatching up his file from the passenger seat. ‘Oh, good morning Mr and Mrs Fisher! I didn’t see you there!’

Dale and Molly turned, smiling. Dale stuck out his hand. ‘Ted! So good to see you! What’re you doing out here? We thought you’d be in the house.’

Acidic bile bubbled up to the back of Ted’s throat. ‘What, are you kidding? I’m not spending a second longer in that deathtrap than I have tooooaaahhh—’ He gave a nervous cough. ‘I mean, I was out here enjoying the lovely weather.’

Mr and Mrs Fisher craned their necks to look at the grey and overcast sky. ‘Hm,’ said Dale with a nod.

Ted was already sweating. He wiped his hands dry on the sides of his well-worn suit trousers. He fished the keys out of his pocket and approached the front door like a man approaching a poisonous snake.

The rusted number next to the doorbell said that the house was number twenty-six.

Ted shivered. It was like the number thirteen – unlucky for some – only twice as bad. He slid the key into the lock and opened the front door with an ominous creak.

Inside, shadows twirled and twisted like ink in water. Somewhere, a small child giggled, followed by the sound of tiny, rapid footsteps.

Ted, wide-eyed, flinched as if expecting some cheap jumpscare. The type that would make teen audiences scream, hoot, and spill their popcorn. He turned and gestured with an open arm to the door. ‘Well, come on in, you lovebirds! Welcome to what I hope – and so does my bank balance, ha-ha-ha! – will be your new home!’

Dale stepped up to the threshold with his wife in tow. Before entering, he pressed the ancient doorbell. DIIIIIIIIINNNNG-DOOOOOONNNG!

The sound reverberated through Ted’s bones and bowels, and he had to bite down on his fist to keep from screaming.

Dale, meanwhile, was grinning. He stepped into the gloom of the abode that had claimed several lives, where evil was resident. ‘Hey, honey, isn’t this great?’

Trembling, Ted followed Molly inside. After a struggle, he closed the front door after him, telling himself it did not sound like a thudding coffin lid.

Molly oohed and ahhed with her husband. ‘This certainly does seem like it has some potential!’

Ted’s cheeks were already beginning to hurt from all the fake grinning. ‘Wait ‘til you see th—’

‘GEEEEEET. OOOUUUUUUT.’

His already wide eyes popped out of their sockets. Ted fought to get himself under control and won by a slim margin. He tried to offer a calm, confident laugh but only succeeded in a maniacal trill. If heard by a medical professional, it would have landed him in a straightjacket. ‘Never mind that. It’s just pareidolia. Old houses like this play tricks on you. Happens all the time!’

Dale pulled a ‘well-wouldn’t-you-know?’ face and nodded along. Molly, meanwhile, seemed not to have noticed anything at all. She was busy marvelling over the wallpaper pattern. ‘I love how it seems to be watching me! I wonder how the artist managed that effect?’

Ted, whose sweat had now gone cold, panicked. ‘Well, it’s not! It’s not watching you at all! Nothing in here is watching yoouuuaaahh—’ He gave another nervous cough. ‘I mean, look at this lovely painting. Isn’t it exquisite? The previous owners left it here, and it now comes with the house.’

The trio squinted at the somewhat abrasive image of a witch burning at the stake. There was no date or signature, only a scrawled ‘666’ in red. The figures in the crowd – exultant, exuberant – seemed to be moving.

Ted gasped. This illusion was a new one for him. ‘Well, I’ll be.’

And then the painting flew from the wall – shrieking – and crashed into his face, glass exploding.

Ted yipped and batted away the painting like a bat caught in his hair. Tiny needles of pain bloomed across his skin, and something warm and wet trickled down his face.

The painting fluttered back to its original spot, intact. Dale and Molly each issued an impressed ‘Hmm’.

Ted picked out the glass fragments from his cheeks and forehead, letting out tiny squeaks. ‘Just a draft! These old houses are full of them! Just a draft, only that and nothing more. Happens all the time! Come, let me show you the kitchen.’

A cauldron of something was bubbling on the stove top, and the dials were rotating over and over and over again. The drawers burst open when Ted entered the room, sending knives spinning. They pinned him, via his clothes, to the wall, except for the butcher’s knife, which punctured through the palm of his left hand.

He screamed, then turned his scream into regular speech. ‘It’s just magnetism,’ he said, waving his non-pincushioned hand. ‘Old houses like these are funny like that. It happens all the time!’

Dale and Molly paid Ted no mind. They were wandering through the kitchen, looking at everything. ‘Oh, Dale!’ said Mrs Fisher. ‘Look at this kitchen!’

Ted unpinned himself and sprinted for the cauldron, which he hadn’t set up. He slammed the lid on top, scalding his unwounded hand. Ted ignored what was floating around inside the bubbling broth. He blocked the view of the stove with his back. He gasped for breath. ‘Now, how about we take a look at the bedroom?’

Ted, half-crazed, was halfway up the step when the stairs split in half. The step he was on crashed out into the house’s basement.

Ted dropped with a shriek but managed to catch himself – and a few lovely splinters. He hauled himself up using the railing, leaving a big bloody handprint. He looked back at the Fishers and smiled broader than ever. ‘It’s just the foundations settling. Perfectly normal for a house as old as this. Happens all the time!’

Mr and Mrs Fisher nodded and smiled at his explanations. They leapt over the missing step with no problem and no fuss. ‘Look at that bannister, Mol,’ said Dale. ‘I think that’s real mahogany.’

Ted raced down the hallway and threw open the bedroom door to block the Fishers’ view of the hanging man. ‘In here, in here! The bedroom’s in here!’

Dale and Molly marvelled over the kingsize bed. They admired the balcony that nobody had ever thrown themselves from. Yet, they missed the little girl crawling like a spider on the ceiling. She turned her head round and around. But Mr Fisher frowned and pointed when he opened the wardrobe. ‘What’s that?’

Ted’s heart, which hadn’t left his throat in ten minutes, jumped and began to pulse through his Adam’s apple. Oh Jesus, what was it now? One had to question the motives of these ghosts. If they scared off every prospective buyer, they wouldn’t have anyone to haunt. Wouldn’t that be a dull existence for them? ‘What’s what?’

Inside the wardrobe, twin girls with black eyes and choke marks around their necks stood side by side. They both smiled and giggled in unison. They opened their mouths wider than possible, unhinging their jaws like snakes. Inside those mouths awaited a roaring abyss. Despite their mouths being locked open like that, words whispered out of those chasms all the same. ‘Please, mister, won’t you play with us? There are all sorts of games we can play. Like Swallow the Soul, or Torture the Flesh, or—’

A low whine began to emanate from the back of Ted’s throat. He slammed the wardrobe doors on the daughters from hell. ‘NOTHING!’ he yelled before getting his vocal cords under control. ‘Nothing. It’s just pareidolia, like I said before. Houses like this can do that. It’s perfectly normal. It happens all the time.’

As they turned to leave, a cold, dead hand – covered in black-green moss – snaked out from under the bed and tripped Ted.

He squealed and scrambled on all fours away from the bed. His twisted ankle throbbed, already beginning to swell. He looked up at the Fishers, who looked down at him in mild confusion. He offered a pathetic smile. ‘Loose floorboard.’

Dale nodded and helped him up. ‘Oh, sure,’ he said without a trace of sarcasm. ‘Happens all the time.’

Aching and trembling, Ted led them back down the stairs, which somebody had repaired. He limped and bled, wincing at each step. ‘So, whaddaya think?’

Mr and Mrs Fisher stood at the house’s door and exchanged a smile. ‘Well,’ began Dale. ‘We love it! The only problem is that there’s no garden shed.’

In three seconds, Ted had gone from miserable to joyful to confused. ‘No… garden shed?’

Molly nodded. ‘We need a space to keep all our gardening supplies.

‘B-B-But,’ said Ted, scrambling for words, ‘you can build a garden shed!’

Dale pulled a reluctant face and shrugged. ‘Sorry, Ted, but it’s just not for us. Hey, listen, though. Thanks for showing us around this place. We’re sure you’ll find someone who loves it just as much as us.’

Ted blinked, speechless.

‘Who doesn’t mind the lack of a garden shed,’ added Molly.

Ted was unbelieving. He shook both of their hands and thanked them for their time.

They shut the door behind them, leaving Ted alone with the ghosts and the thing crawling out of the basement.

As the shadows coalesced around him, Ted’s shoulders slumped. Other people could be a mystery, sometimes – more of a mystery than the paranormal. Things that bothered you might not even register on others’ radars. It was strange how some could overlook major flaws while getting hung up on minor ones. Ted let out a long breath and spoke aloud to the spooks.

‘Any of you know how to build a shed?’

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Tuesday, August 6, 2024

Written for the August 2024 #BlogBattle: ‘Pareidolia’