Sinister in San Diego

Part 1

I pulled the van into the driveway of an unassuming house in Paradise Hills, a neighborhood perched on the southeastern edge of San Diego. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the quiet suburban street, its golden rays muted by a layer of coastal haze that drifted in from the Pacific. San Diego's characteristic mild weather had taken a cooler turn, the marine layer blanketing the city in a cool, damp mist that clung to the rolling hills and palm-lined streets.

Travis was waiting outside, leaning against the front gate of the small, stucco house that blended in with its neighbors. A short, stout man, he had a shaved head and a beard that belonged on a ZZ Top concert stage. His sun-weathered skin hinted at years spent under the harsh Texas sun before relocating to this diverse and sprawling city. "The bodies have been removed; we just have to scrub everything down," he said in a gruff voice that carried a hint of a southern drawl, molasses-like and slow, a vestige of the life he'd left behind.

"Why'd you stick around?" I ask.

"I didn't. I left to dump them and came back. Hey, do you have any smokes?"

I hand him an American Spirit and light it for him before lighting my own.

"Why'd you come back?"

He looked at me with a thousand yard stare, eyes glazed over, "Kid, I'm not leaving you to clean up that mess on your own, the place gave me the creeps. Felt like I was being watched. My instincts have kept me alive this long. Something isn't right."

I looked at him quizzically. Travis was a hardened criminal. Fairly hard to spook. Whatever waited for us in that house must have been truly gruesome. I decided to take his warning seriously and thanked him for waiting.

As I glanced around the neighborhood, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Paradise Hills was a place where life moved slowly, where families from all walks of life coexisted in a patchwork of cultures. It was the kind of place where kids played in the streets until the street lights flickered on, and the hum of distant traffic from Interstate 54 provided a constant backdrop. But today, the usual sounds were muted, swallowed by an eerie stillness that seemed to emanate from the very house we were about to enter. The air felt heavier, the familiar scent of the ocean carried on the breeze was replaced by something acrid, metallic. Whatever had happened inside, it was enough to shake Travis, and that alone was reason enough for me to approach with caution.

"Did you talk to the boss about helping me? You know how much he likes compartmentalizing; keeping all of us separated."

"He helped me load up the bodies, at least what was left of em'. Said to come back and help you when you showed up. All these years and I've never seen him spooked by anything until tonight. We need to finish these smokes and get to work. The less time we're in there, the better."

I opened the back of the van, the hinges creaking as the doors swung open, revealing a neatly arranged array of cleaning supplies. Travis moved to help me unload the gear—a stack of heavy-duty trash bags, industrial-strength disinfectants, and a couple of large, plastic bins packed with brushes, sponges, and scrubbers. We had everything we needed for the job: a five-gallon drum of enzyme cleaner for breaking down biological matter, a sprayer filled with bleach solution for sanitizing surfaces, and a portable UV light to ensure no traces were left behind. I grabbed a mop with a sturdy wooden handle and a roll of thick plastic sheeting, while Travis hoisted a bulky wet-dry vacuum out of the van, the hose coiled like a serpent ready to strike.

As we stood in front of the entrance, the darkness beyond the door loomed like a living entity, thick and impenetrable, pressing against the windows from the inside as though it was waiting to spill out. It wasn't just an absence of light; it was a void that seemed to swallow up the hallway and twist the shadows into unnatural shapes. The air around us felt colder, as if the house itself was holding its breath, and the darkness was its silent, watchful eye. It had a weight to it, a presence that pressed down on my chest and made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. The house seemed to exhale a breath of stagnant air, a faint, musty odor seeping through the cracks around the doorframe. I hesitated for just a moment before stepping forward, my fingers brushing the cool metal of the doorknob. It was locked.