Back at the end of the school year, the listing for this gig had read:House sitter needed. 8 weeks. Must be discreet. Pays well.
It hadn’t screamedmurder ad.So naturally, I applied. Little did I know.Now, I started to wonder if maybe Craigslist wasn’t the best place to find life-changing opportunities.
I grabbed my phone, snapped a quick photo of the house, and texted my best friend Lena.
Me: Here. House looks haunted. If I vanish, avenge me.
Lena: Girl, no. Call me when you’re inside. If there’s a single doll, I’m sending a priest.
I smiled. The ice in my coffee clicked against its plastic lid as I took another sip and climbed out of the car. The air felt heavy, and it made me want to look around to see if someone was watching me. Somewhere above, a crow let out a dramaticcaw, which felt equally rude and well-timed.
“Okay,” I muttered to myself, juggling my keys, tote bag, and notebook. “We’re walking. We’re breathing. We arenotgetting possessed today.”
My sundress—a lemon print with a square neckline—flared as the wind picked up. My black combat boots crunched against the gravel. The enamel pin on my loose, white cardigan read:Read Books, Not Minds.My earrings—little gold lemon slices—jingled with every step. I looked like the human embodiment of a lemonade stand that had wandered into a horror movie, and that was exactly the vibe I was going for.
I took the front steps one at a time. The porch creaked. I paused halfway up and considered how many horror films started this exact way.
“It’s fine,” I said under my breath. “It’s just wood expanding with age. Or… warning me. Either way, we’re staying positive.”
A droplet of condensation slid down my coffee cup and onto my fingers. “Gross,” I muttered, wiping it on my dress. The bird overheadcawedagain. “Sir, I am not in the mood.”
The door was huge, dark, and ominous, like those you read about in dark fairy tales that required an incantation to open them. My reflection in the brass knocker looked small and nervous.
I inhaled the way my therapist had taught me.Four counts in. Hold for seven. Eight counts out.I set my coffee down on the porch rail and wiped my palms on my dress. Then I reached up, knocked three times, and waited.
Nothing.
I knocked again. Louder. “Hello? I’m the new house sitter. Please don’t be a serial killer. I’m not great at running.”
Silence. I looked over my shoulder, back toward my car. The gravel glinted in the afternoon light. The air felt still again. Stuffy.
“Right,” I muttered. “This is fine. Everything’s fine.”
I pressed the doorbell. Somewhere deep inside, a faint chime echoed. It sounded distant. I picked up my coffee and waited, pretending not to notice that the front gate behind me had slowly drifted closed on its own.
If this was the opening act of my summer healing arc, the universe had a dark sense of humor.
If this was ever made into a true crime podcast, I hoped the theme music fucking slapped.
June 14th. Woman in overpriced Target dress disappears mysteriously after responding to Craigslist ad.
The door creaked open. “Ms. Yates?”
The man in the doorway smiled as if he had practiced in the mirror and still hadn’t nailed it. He was tall, thin, and pale in the way that said sunscreen wasn’t a suggestion but a requirement. His hair was perfectly parted down the middle, his teeth too white, and his hands were clasped as if he was waiting to lead a prayer circle.
“Mr. West?” I asked, but who else would it be?
He nodded, beaming. “Welcome to D’Archeval House.”
Of course it had a name. Creepy mansions in horror movies always had names.
He stepped aside, gesturing for me to enter. “Please, come in.”
The air inside was cool and smelled faintly of lemon polish and old secrets. My combat boots thumped against wide wooden planks that groaned underfoot. The foyer stretched upward into shadows, a chandelier swaying slightly, crystals catching the weak light from the door behind me. I half expected a pipe organ to start playing by itself.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said.
“Beautiful is one word for it,” I muttered, clutching my iced coffee like it was pepper spray.
