Cursed Home I

[WP] The house you just rented is beyond compensation - staircases and extra floors coming and going, rooms rotating and changing places. You just ignore it. On the fourth day, the eldritch horror informs you that you are the first to stay inside it for more than 72 hours without going insane.

*****

“Mr. Matherson?” I asked tentatively as the thin, rather short man in his late forties entered his house again. It wasn’t so much what he said but how he said it that shook me. The fact that this house was meant to make me insane was a mathematical fact to him that should have resulted in the outcome that he… it? It had wanted.

—

Three days ago, a thin, short man looking much like the one that glided into the supposedly two-story bungalow that I had wanted, twitched and shook occasionally to unseen triggers. I had felt bad for him. Maybe it was a sudden medical condition or trauma that he never wanted to talk about and honestly I didn’t know if I could handle it. He needed the extra income from the house though and the three-bedroom had a hauntingly sad feel to it.

I stood in a room of vibrant pink that day wondering what happened to the girl that had so obviously lived here. It was empty but a couple of half stickers on the walls of unicorns and fairies caught my eye. I didn’t know if I should try and finish removing those if I had accepted his offer. The long strands of hair still stuck in the carpet made it clear that he hadn’t the effort to thoroughly clean this room himself.

“This would make a good off, office,” Mr. Matherson studdered as he stared at the floor. He didn’t seem to be able to look at the walls but added in a quieter voice, “Lots of plugins.”

“What’s your policy on painting?” I asked, knowing maybe I shouldn’t but having rented before I had always gotten approval and praise from helping improve the places I stayed.

“I,” Mr. Matherson hesitantly started before almost breathless saying, “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” I said quickly. I had gone too far with that, “I don’t mind the colour. It’s very cheery.”

“Yes,” the thin man agreed before stepping into the hall and whispering to himself, “she was.”

Try as I may, I never was able to get how he said that out of my mind. The entire upper story of the house was bare and if I had my wits about me I would have seen such potential in it. That forlorn little whisper stuck with me though through the tour. I needed to know after that what had happened. I needed to know the how on top of the why of this man’s pain.

I signed the paperwork for the rental on the top of Betsy, my trusty sidekick of a van and handed over both the first month's rent and the damage deposit. Regardless of where or why, this house was the best deal in the city and I knew it. I just sort of wished it didn’t come with a story as it did. If it had been a story that I could write about that would have been one thing but this poor old man looked like he had been through enough.

“Mr. Matherson?” I asked as the man quietly looked at the cheque I handed to him, “Is everything okay?”

“Call me Ira,” he responded a lot smoother than he had ever been before but studdered out, “You, you di’ don’t know what this, this means to me.”

“Well, if there is anything I can do let me know,” I responded on instinct. I really didn’t want to be at this man’s beck and call regardless of how he was doing but something inside felt different.

“Just stay Ed,” he quietly said back, “Ma, make this your home for a while. Tha’ll, that will be enough.”

He handed me the key, a rather old-looking brass thing with a far simpler grove pattern than I was used to then left in his offwhite, possibly rusting sedan. Private rentals always felt weird to me for their simplicity of them. Renting from a corporation always had move-in dates and credit checks and all sorts of nonsense. I wasn’t even sure if Ira could do a credit check. Not that that matter to me. I knew I was good for the money.

Most of my family didn’t think that my life in art would have been as successful as it was. I had managed to get a full ride to USarth and had gotten my BA quickly and with honours. My mom was so proud. She kept saying that I would change the world and even in the end, Dad seemed to be happy with what I was doing. That was before everything collapsed and I couldn’t find a studio that would touch me.

I had a thousand and a half projects on the go at any time though and if someone needed an illustration or concept art whipped up I was always on it. The internet changed a lot of what I thought I was going to do with my life and now with working from home, studios wanted some people that could work without supervision.

With this house, I could pay my bills, have space to spread out and work on what I wanted in the spaces that I wanted. I frowned at the idea I would probably have a darker edge to everything that I was working on now but such is life. Maybe do a couple of the more macabre projects in his daughter's room just to get the vibe right and then sing something to compensate for it.

The master bedroom was nice but I figured I set up my room in the bedroom just opposite the pink one. It had a clean sense about it. The grey walls were a nice neutrality to an otherwise lived in and earthy house. Downstairs had a large den, with a standard washroom and utility/laundry room combo. The door on the other side was just a closet that Ira said had some spare cleaning supplies.

“I’m not sure if this counts as a closet Ira,” I muttered to myself as I opened the door to what was an almost identical copy of the grey room upstairs. Smiling, I added, “four-bedroom, two-bath for fifteen hundred? Not bad.”

It sort of made sense in my mind, this room would have been right below the one above and the layout was a bit wonky. Maybe Ira just had forgotten about it? Seemed like someone in his state would probably be forgetting a lot. Hopefully, he was taking care of himself.

Leaving the room and walking out the front door, I started to plan where everything was going to go. Well, that and trying to change over my utilities. Janice would probably be happy to get me out of her house. She was a good friend but staying with her these last couple of weeks reminded me why we always kept to being friends.

“What, wasn’t I in the basement?” I muttered to myself when I got to Betsy. Looking back at the house I tried to remember where I had been but couldn’t quite remember coming back up the stairs to check the other room. Did I check the other room? Sighing and shaking my head, I muttered, “Ira, you’re wearing off on me,” before getting in and starting the task of moving.

Janice was indeed happy to hear that I had found a place at last but was then rather jealous when I went into the details. Ira’s place was closer to both downtown and the college campus that Janice had told me had better functions. She had graduated with a degree in software engineering a couple of years after me when she said she found the strengths to deal with mouthbreathers for a job. Saving for two years after that, she bought this place and had spent a good amount of money fixing it up.

“You should really just settle down somewhere though,” Janice told me again, “My mortgage isn’t that far off from what you're paying.”

“But if something goes wrong,” I countered, “You are on the hook for it. I phone Ira and he comes and does what he can.”

“You really going to make a man that lost his daughter and needs the money renting out his family home do home repair?” Janice asked, rather coldly, “For that rent?”

“Yes,” I stated, “Why wouldn’t I?”

“You know what, Ed,” Janice backtracked and put her hands up in her own defence, “You do you, I just want my basement back and a schedule that is actually followed.”

“I’m sorry little miss I-have-a-calendar-for-everything,” I mocked, “I do when I can and do other things when I can’t.”

“And nothing in between,” she muttered as I stuck out my tongue and walked away to start my journey of moving

*****

TO BE CONTINUED