Condemned

1 | Sam

It's still raining. I begged God for one break, and he couldn't even give me that.

I park my Volkswagen Beetle on a residential street and glance in the rearview mirror.

Odds are, Ted is already looking for me. He knows practically everyone at school, not necessarily by name but by their car, make, and model. He's driven my car a couple of times and pointed out dings and scratches. If he sees my car, even at a distance, he won't mistake it for someone else's.

The Winchester area isn't exactly a sprawling metropolis. Ted is from around here, too. His family has lived here since, well, colonization. He knows plenty of "people" like him. So, it's only a matter of time. He will find me.

Maybe I should leave the area. I could go home...

Norfolk is about four hours away, on the Virginia coast. Although it's a Thursday, and I can't deny that I'm tempted, I have a midterm first thing in the morning and a game tomorrow night. The available room on Craigslist is my only option if I intend to take the exam, somewhat well rested, and fulfill my obligation to my school.

I did study while I was avoiding Ted in the library, the least likely place he'd be. But who am I trying to kid? I should drop out and try again later, somewhere far from here.

What's stopping me? My reasons to stick it out are getting weaker by the day, but there's one that never fails to surface. I don't want my parents to be right about me.

I received an athletic scholarship to cover some of the cost, but otherwise, I'm on my own. I don't have their financial or ideological support. They don't think I'm ready for college or college material in general. According to them, I'm too trusting, too distractible, too nice to the wrong people.

I look in my rearview mirror again, this time to check my eye. Even in the dim streetlight, I catch a glimpse of the proof. My parents are right. They just can't find out about it. If I can minimize public exposure and avoid future damage, perhaps they'll never have to know.

Pulling up my hood, I make a run for it.

On each step to the porch, there's an intricately carved pumpkin. Beneath the shelter of a second-story balcony, I pause to catch my breath. It's a modest two-family house. The paint is chipping on the pillars, and the wood planks are warped, but it's free of leaves and clutter. The house stands out in the neighborhood, in a good way, but that says more about the neighborhood than the house. It isn't the best.

Through a hole in the shades, I peek into the first-floor apartment. I can't see much. It looks vacant, though. In what would probably be the living room, there are just bottles and cans, broken or dented, and a few crates and unlit candles in a roughly circular shape.

Beside the door leading to the second floor, a mechanical witch cackles in response to my movement, scaring me half to death. Dry ice puffs out of her cauldron.

Halloween isn't for another two weeks...

Whatever. Immediate vacancy. And I almost have enough money for it. I will by tomorrow, I hope. My paycheck should cover me until November.

I ring the doorbell. My phone buzzes at exactly the same time.

Jael: Enter at your own risk. 👻

He must have seen or heard me coming. I glance up and spot a camera in the crook above the door.

It's a red flag, probably one of many.

From what little "Jael" has told me via text, it's a peculiar arrangement. He's not the landlord or related to the landlord. He is, however, the only tenant—at the moment—and the property manager.