Unbeknownst to Karen, on the day that she closed on her new house, the selling agent and former owner threw such a raucous party at the bar down the street that the police came… and joined them until dawn. They sold the house at a considerable loss.
Their excitement about getting out of the house fell in line with a long history of such celebrations. A century earlier the white settlers negotiated the sale of the lot where the house now stands from the Native Americans living there. John Dale, the man whose name graced the first deed for the land turned to his attorney as the natives danced away and asked, “Look at those savages! Whooping and dancing – don’t they know those trinkets are practically worthless?”
One of the Native Americans, meanwhile, said to the other, “Can you believe those White Devils took that land off our hands?!” “Right? Now we no longer have to perform the ceremony to keep the evil spirits in the ground!” They high fived. Really.
The first Dale house stood proudly in the center of town. It burned down in an unexplained fire a year later. Undeterred, John Dale rebuilt the house on an even grander scale: a tall, elegant Victorian. So proud of this second house (he referred to the first house as a “rough draft”) he sent for his wife to come from the capital to live with him. House complete, John Dale carried his newly-arrived wife across the threshold into the new house. A week later she threw herself out the third story turret. And the house burned down a second time a week after that.
Historians agree that John Dale was a shrewd, successful business man. However, they disagree as to what stupid stubborn streak drove him to rebuild the house a third time, bigger and more gothic than before. Some say he incorporated arcane patterns into the foundation, or the number of rooms pacified the spirits, but whatever the reason, this time the house didn’t burn down. John, however, joined his wife taking a swan dive out of one of the turrets later that same year.
Flash forward through owner buying and rapidly selling the grand, imposing Victorian at the corner of Main and Cross. Taken together, the house sat empty (well, not completely empty) twice as long as any people actually inhabited the place. But the series of owners always insured that the house never fell into disrepair.
So, when the relator accepted Karen’s offer, she thought she had won the proverbial lottery. Her friends that had helped her move her furniture and boxes didn’t stick around for the celebratory beer and pizza, several leaving without so much as saying goodbye. Only Louise stayed behind.
“Karen, I’m going to level with you,” Louise stated, one hand on her hip, the other on the door knob behind her, “This place is creepy AF.”
“Did you really just say ‘A’ ‘F’?”
“It applies,” she said. “Look, I love you. We’ve been through a lot, and I’m worried about you staying here by yourself…”
“But?”
“But there’s no way in hell,” a box crashed to the floor in the adjoining room, “HECK! No way in heck I’m going to stay here with you.”
Karen stared at the floor and sighed deeply. Then she looked up meeting Louise’s eyes, “Yeah, good thing I got such a deal on this place – I don’t think I’m going to be able to keep any roommates.” A vase crashed upstairs.
“You think?” Louise furrowed her brow. “Was that a vase?”
“Sounded like it.”
“You haven’t unpacked any vases, have you?”
“I don’t own any vases.”
“Huh… okay. I’m out!” she said opening the door. A crow sat on the railing of the porch and cawed at her menacingly. “Seriously?” She said with an arched eyebrow. Turning back to Karen, “Toodles, Kar. Don’t sleep with the lights off!”
Karen remained sitting on her couch, reflecting in the silence about the fact that the amount of furniture she had would barely decorate two rooms of the Victorian. Maybe, she thought, I bit off more than I can chew with this place. A ghastly shriek tore the silence and startled Karen. None of the crashes, bumps, and now, shrieks scared her. Really, they pissed her off.
“Hey, ghost! Shut it!”
The house seemed taken aback.
The box across the room burst open, loose papers swirling around like a tornado hitting Office Depot.
“Oh, hell no!” Karen stood up. “Enough!” she yelled and the papers stopped fluttering around and drifted listlessly to the ground. “Ghost,” she demanded, “You’re going to put those back where you found them.” A mocking cackle echoed through the house.
Karen clenched her jaw and bit back a curse, then reached down to the cooler next to the couch, opened the lid and removed a firm orange water balloon roughly the size of a grapefruit. Without hesitation, she threw the water balloon down on the hardwood floor. The balloon exploded in a cloud of steam as a shriek that seemed to emanate from every board in the house shook the place.
“Oh, I see I have your attention now.” The house was still. “I gotta say, I’m grateful – you have no idea what a pain in the ass it is to make holy water balloons.”
A slow clapping sound came from the kitchen. Karen turned to see a middle-aged man in tight black slacks, and an elegant red jacket over his tan vest. Perched on his salt and pepper neatly trimmed hair sat a genuine friggin’ top hat. He slow clapped a few more times as he smirked at her.
“John Dale, I presume?”
“Sort of…” the man started.
“You don’t think the top hat is a little much, do you?” Karen asked.
“Really?” he asked removing the hat examining it. “I’m rather fond of it,” he put the hat back on.
“You be you, Dale.”
“Yeah, see I’m not exactly John Dale.” His voice became sonorous, echoing throughout the room, “I’m the embodiment of an ancient evil manifest upon this plane in the human form of John Dale.”
“Ah, okay, that makes more sense.”
“Oh?”
“I did my research before putting in my offer….”
“Hence the water balloon? Nice touch, by the way.”
“Thanks.” She continued, “The historical society provided what amounted to a helpful dosier on this pace. One thing that became obvious was that John Dale didn’t exactly leave this place in a… voluntary manner? So, I was a little surprised his form would show up acting – and,” she gestured to him, “looking – like a boss.”
He bowed slightly, “Flattery will get you nowhere… well, at least it won’t get you out of here in one piece if you don’t leave soon. Well, soon-ish. I’ll give you…” He looked at his watch, “a month. Does that work for you?” When she didn’t respond immediately, his brown eyes glowed red, “Or do I need to get evil.”
Karen crossed the distance between them casually. “Dale,” she started, reaching out and straightening his collars of his jacket, “May I call you Dale?”
“Your human voice cannot begin to pronoun—“
“Dale,” she cut him off, “I get that you’re immortal evil, blah, blah, blah, blah,” she showed her teeth, “I don’t care.”
“John Dale left through the turret upstairs, you know?”
“Well aware.”
“And I tossed his wife out before him, yeah?”
“Before you burned that place down.”
“Thank you for noticing,” he flashed a condescending smile.
She returned the smile.
“By my count,” he half turned and started pacing the length of the great room, counting on his fingers, “One owner went crazy – institutionalized for the rest of his life. Another shot himself in the stomach and died slowly on that landing there,” he pointed at the stairs.
“Eww.”
“Yeah, my suggestion,” he turned and whispered, “it hurt more and longer.”
Karen rolled her eyes.
“Oh, don’t forget the Tuttle massacre.”
“Killed his wife and kids with an axe before lopping off his own head?”
“Impressive, right?”
She held out her hand level to the ground and tilted it back and forth. “Like the top hat, a bit over the top.”
“And they say I’m evil?!”
“Yeah, they do,” Karen said. “And I don’t give a crap.” She crossed to stand directly in front of him, “How many owners, Dale?”
His lips moved with the calculation, “25. No, 26 – I almost forgot about Gabe.” He laughed, “he screamed like a little girl. Didn’t last a week.”
“Yeah, about that ‘like a little girl’ bit, how many of those 26 owners were women?”
“Women? None. Why?”
“Because I am.”
“My dear,” he donned a patronizing smile, “I’ve killed, maimed, and driven crazy plenty of women.”
“Yes, but not any of them were owners. There’s power with my name on the deed.”
“You don’t have any clue what you’re getting into.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Dale. I wouldn’t have put my offer in if I didn’t. Look,” she said, “I’m under no illusion that I can get rid of you. You’re literally part of the land – I understand that. But this is my house now and we’re going to be living together.”
“You know I’m not alive, right?”
“Don’t argue semantics with me. You know what I’m saying.”
Dale stared at her, his eyes glowing again, “I take back my offer of a month. You’ve got a week, lady.”
“It’s gonne be an exciting week, won’t it?” Karen smiled.
To Be Continued…
