The Victorian Haunting

Demon In The House

The family pulled up to their new house early in the afternoon. The Neighborhood on Westcott street seemed silent and calm but little did they know that their new neighbor's were watching, and waiting, as the blue car pulled up to the driveway of the old Victorian home. 

"This place needs a little more work done then you let on," mumbled Mrs. Taylor who had barely let her husband choose their new home on his own, which had clearly been a mistake, after he received a new job offer. Mr. Taylor had always dreamed of renovating an old home, much to his wife's disappointment.

"I said it needs some work done, remember?" asked Mr. Taylor as he parked the car. The family started the work of removing their bags from the trunk. "You said as long as you can fix it. Well, I decided I could fix everything that needed to be fixed. What do you think about it, Bryan?"

Bryan walked by with head phones in his ears and shrugged. After ten hours in the car he was over speaking to his family. He ran his hand through his dark hair and pretended no one existed. He never really gave an opinion anyway. Mr. Taylor, unsatisfied with his son's lack of enthusiasm, asked his daughter Shay instead. Much like her mother she always had something to say but often had a strange choice on every matter.

"I like it," she said as she set her duffel bag on the ground. She examined the exterior of the house. She took in the two story for a minute. "I like the yellow, not really that bright, and the white trim gives it an old feel."

Mr. Taylor smiled at his wife as he pointed out their daughter to her. Mrs. Taylor rolled her eyes. 

"Well, I think it looks creepy," said Shay's mom.

"Well, I think it gives it character." Shay mimicked in her mother's voice in return.

"Well," said Shay's dad loud enough to stop a possible fight. "I think it's time to go inside and pick out our rooms, don't you think?"

With that offer Mrs. Taylor made her way to the front door, careful not to step off the stone path into the over grown grass. Shay rolled her eyes.

"You know your mother didn't want to move out of the city," her dad said before he followed Mrs. Taylor.

"You know she hardly can see the beauty in anything unless it has a brand name," mumbled Shay, but her dad was already walking through the front door. She stayed outside to give the house one more good look.  She examined the way the windows were long and half circled at the top and the way the  white porch with the broken step made her smile. A charming willow tree with an old tire swing in the corner of the yard gave character the home that she loved. Much like her father, a fixer upper was an exciting experience.  

According to the Realtor, the house hadn't been cared for in about forty years. Shay took that as saying no one had lived in it for that long. Little did she know that something had never stopped.

Shay picked back up her duffel and followed the rest of her family inside. 

*

*

They unloaded the car and the small pull behind trailer before it became dark. Bryan had chosen a room in the front with two big windows. Shay on the other hand picked the darker room that had a small, circled window like that of an attic. It had a crawl space where she could store things she didn't want her parents to find, the ceiling sloped, and the paint was peeling. The mustered yellow walls were an ugly sight; but, she had felt drawn to the room. Mrs. Taylor said it gave her the creeps, Mr. Taylor said he could fix the walls, and Bryan, like always, didn't give his opinion. 

Shay knocked on Bryan's door across the hall and waited for him to answer. Music drifted out from under the door and, after a minute, his music continued to blare so she knocked harder. The music level dropped low enough for him to yell through the door. This was typical Bryan.