Calvin claps his hands together and spins for the house, waving cheerily at the next failed buyer who dashes for freedom.
The smell assaults me first before I set foot anywhere on the goddamn porch. Putrid. Septic. And with a glance to my right as I approach the door, it doesn’t take much to figure out where it comes from.
Mom covers her nose with the loose fold of her blouse collar. “Oh, my. That’s an interesting place to make compost.”
Compost? Or some dead rodent that had trash thrown on top of it and leaves blown in on the wind until the drift against the wall became something that more resembles a picture from a horror story.
“The owners left in a hurry with no interest in preparing the house for sale,” Calvin explains as though the biohazard were merely a drooping houseplant. “Hence, the bargain price.”
“Why did they leave?” I step into the great room and barely manage to school my expression before he notices my shock.
A sizable hole in the ceiling provides a clear view of the room above.Well…Certainly not what I had on the cards.
“They didn’t feel inclined to say,” Calvin drones. “All our dealings have been via Zoom or phone call.”
The plot thickens.Mom lifts the hem of her skirt as she steps lightly over a pile of discolored newspaper. I raise an eyebrow at the stack and then lean right to discern whether it’s a pattern on the wallpaper or dirt. A broken TV sits propped against the staircase, the fireplace boarded up to my left. The front windows are tall and would probably let in a lot of light if the sagging porch weren’t the way it is, but given the current state, shadows cloak the room in a strange sense of regretful melancholy.
“It would have been beautiful in its day,” Mom whispers while Calvin attempts to wrangle contact details from the final fleeing buyers.
She’s right. Neglect may color the walls in tobacco orange and mold green, but the bones of the house are exquisite in their detail. Finely carved scrolls in the mantlepiece, deep cornices,and a dusty and crudely painted built-in bookcase on either side of the fire. I tip my face to the hole in the ceiling and imagine what must lie beyond.
If it’s even safe to have a look.
“Shall we move through to the bedrooms?” Calvin asks, hands casually draped in his pockets, where he stands at the precipice of the room as though terrified the dirt will taint him should he move any further.
A mouse peeks its head out of a hole in the wall behind him and then promptly vanishes.
The moron mistakes my smile as one for him. “This here is the primary bedroom.” He gestures through a doorway to the right of the entrance.
I exchange a wary glance with Mom and then follow him through. To a more pleasant surprise, the ceiling is vaulted, sturdy beams framing the plastered peak. There’s plenty of space for furniture, yet no apparent bathroom is attached.
“What’s behind here?” I gesture to the wall, where the faded outline of a bedhead is visible.
“A bonus room. It’s accessible through the laundry, past the kitchen.”
Odd.The floorboards beneath my shoes seem solid enough and level, which is a nice change from the rest of the house. Figuring I’ve seen enough, I take myself back through the great room to said kitchen and laundry.
“Wow.”
Mom hums her agreement, arms folded lightly over herself as she stands at my shoulder to survey the mess as well.
Cupboard doors either hang off broken hinges or are missing altogether. The sink is tarnished and an interesting shade of brown, although I can tell porcelain lies beneath. Grease buildup lines the window frame above, and it appears the French doors to the back porch are nailed shut.
“Nothing a cheap flatpack couldn’t fix.” Calvin’s smile loses some of its luster.
“Provided the pipes and electrics are in good order.” Considering the mouse, I wouldn’t bet on it.
“Laundry is basic but usable,” Mom states, head poked into the adjacent room.
I slip past her and into the so-called bonus room. Pop a few bars on the sub-par window, and it would pass as a prison cell. Lord only knows what they used this space for.
“Shall we go upstairs?” Calvin presses, gaze roaming over the split and peeling wallboards.
“I might stay down here,” Mom says gently. “But you go ahead.”
I catch Calvin’s gaze and shrug. I mean, I’ve got this far into the horror show, why quit now?
The stairs are pleasantly sturdy as we make our way to the second floor, emerging onto the world’s smallest landing between three rooms and the house’s only bathroom. I figure I may as well tear off the Band-Aid and head there first. A rusty excuse for a shower head hangs over a cracked bathtub. I daren’t lift the lid on the toilet sandwiched between it and the pedestal basin.
