Welcome to the first installment of House! If you are here for another classic horror story, please be advised they have now been moved to Thursday. You may read all about it in 🎟️ Backstage Pass, Vol II No XII: House is Coming Home. Moving forward to end of this volume, House will be published regularly on Wednesdays. Read on to find out more!
We are so fucking excited to bring this story home, Backstage, where it belongs. We here at the Calamity had attempted to do something a tad different with this story; writing out in the open, we wanted to use it to rope in and expand our social media presence. And in the end we had to pull it from the platform we attempted to write it on thanks to that platform’s commitment to training their AI with every piece of content published to the platform.
Fucking terrible.
Well, we want nothing to do with that, particularly as this is proprietary IP. So here we are now, home with House. The story was well on its way—sort of—with five chapters published to the social media platform. Now, we’re not going to make you go over there and read those chapters, as they’ve been pulled. What we are going to do is a bit of editing and condensing to bring you up to speed with the story over the next few weeks.
So please, come in and make yourself comfortable! The house is large, spacious, though it has no furniture at the moment, as it is between owners. And whatever you do, take care you don’t overstay your welcome. The house, it hungers, and it is injudicious: any meal will do, including you.
He looked at his wife with skepticism. The house was large and checked off everything they were looking for, which is why he found it suspicious that such a find would be available at such a low price in such a nice area. He turned his attention to the real estate agent.
“Why is this so cheap?” He then maintained steady and severe eye contact as the agent fumbled through her roster of normal excuses before deflating.
Her shoulders slumped as she indicated to the couple to take a seat. They each settled into nearby stools—the man and his wife propped themselves up on their elbows over the counter, while the real estate agent remained standing.
“No one stays here for very long. Most of the departures are … abrupt,” said the agent after a few false starts.
“They died,” said the wife.
The agent sighed, looked away and down, then returned her gaze before replying.
“Not all of them.”
He exhaled long and slow as he considered his next steps. He glanced at his wife.
“We should look at other houses.”
His wife acknowledged him and turned her attention to the agent.
“Can we have a few minutes to discuss this privately?”
Continued after the break
on sale now
A traveling merchant finds himself in quite the predicament when he manages to win a duel, leading him down a dark path. A tale from the Odds ‘n’ Endings Boutique.
“Of course. I’ll be in the living room.” The agent lifted her affects from the counter and walked out of the kitchen.
“Babe, it would be stupid to let this place go,” said the wife.
“I know. But something feels very wrong here. The death isn’t even the bad part. It’s more … insidious.”
She knew she could not ignore him. He was rarely ever wrong in these cases, but the search for a new home had already gone on too long and she was tired. They both were. This was just too good of an opportunity to pass up.
Because of course it was.
She looked at him with those large brown eyes, imploring him to reconsider, knowing he was on the edge of making up his mind to pass, if he hadn’t decided already.
They spoke in low voices for a few more minutes before inviting the agent to return.
“I would like two weeks alone in the house before we make our decision,” he said to the agent.
She looked flummoxed.
“Mr. Garcia, this is unorthodox.”
“Unorthodox does not mean no.”
The agent sighed, then picked her phone out of her purse.
“Let me make a call.”
Filled with restlessness, he paced in the empty living room, thinking about the conversation with the realtor and the real estate management. He knew they thought he was strange, but he was okay with that. Whatever was here, he wanted it out before he moved in with his wife. If he couldn’t get it out, they’d have to find another place to live.
It was getting late. The real estate management was kind enough to cover the water and gas during this trial. The idea of the cost being added to their purchase as some fee lingered a moment, and then he dismissed it. That was an if. He needed to focus on the now.
He grabbed his sleeping bag and pillow from the entry and laid them out in the middle of the spacious living room. The hardwood floor would be a little uncomfortable to settle into, but he would manage. The bedroom would be more accommodating, with its thick, lush carpet, but he felt the presence strongest here.
He stripped, folding his clothes and stacking them beside the sleeping bag, then laid down. He began his ritual breathing, timing his inhales, exhales, and pauses, while focusing his attention to a point just between and above his eyes. As his restlessness subsided and drowsiness came over him, he turned his attention inward, reminding himself to look at his hands as he fell asleep.
Everything went quiet, and then he heard a whisper, so soft, yet so clear.
You shouldn’t be here.
Well that wasn’t creepy at all, was it? How interesting to hear voices in an otherwise empty house. Or is it empty after all? Only one way to find out! Continue to Part II.
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