Invisible 》l.p.

1

Why did it have to be this disaster of a house? I sneer, crushing a dried leaf beneath my shoe until it's in pieces. I glance up at the three story house in front of me. The white paint is peeling off, huge chips laying on the sidewalk in front of me. The shutters are in shambles. The wood on the porch is so rotten you have to be careful not to fall through. There's a foul scent in the air that I can only decipher to be a mixture of mold and dead animals. And not to mention the literal blood stains covering the walls and floor of the interior rooms.

"Can you grab this box for me, Rose?" My mom asks, struggling to balance them all at once. I take the top box labelled 'Dishes' to lighten her load and follow her inside.

"Isn't it beautiful?" She asks, setting her box on the floor. I drop mine on the counter with a loud thud and cringe at a particularly red tinted stain next to it.

"Yeah, it's just gorgeous mother." I roll my eyes.

"Oh come now Rosemary, it might need some tender loving care but we can handle it." She beams, wiping a good inch of dust off the dining table.

"Maybe with some Hazmat suits." I mumble, walking into the hallway.

"Why don't you go pick which room you want to sleep in." Mom calls as I glance into the parlor.

I take the stairs two at a time, memorizing which ones creak and which don't. I wander the upstairs hallways for a while until I find the room farthest from my parents and closest to the tree in the backyard. I open the window to let some air in and start coughing when a huge cloud of dust blows into my face.

"Stupid ass house." I curse, wiping dirt off my face with my sleeve.

I trudge downstairs and grab the broom from the kitchen, ignoring my mothers incessant questions about how I like my new room. After what feels like hours of sweeping, I finally have most of the dirt in a pile in the center of the room. A faint horn honk tells me that dad finally made it with the moving truck, so I lean the broom against a wall and run downstairs.

"Hey Rosy, how was the drive?" He asks, kissing the top of my head.

"It was fine, I'm glad we're here." I comment, grabbing the keys from his hand and unlocking the padlock on the door.

"Did you pick a room to call your own?" He asks, rolling up the metal door and pulling a box forwards so I can grab it.

"Yeah, the one closest to the tree." I take the box from the truck and go back inside to take it up to my room.

When I walk back into the room, the broom is standing straight up right in front of me like someone is holding it. I gasp and drop the box, staring at the sight in front of me. It falls and I hear the sound echo down the hallway, still stood in shock. I slowly approach it, looking closely at every square inch of my room, and pick it up off the ground.

"O...kay..." I mumble, leaning it back against the wall.

I pull the box further into the room and go downstairs to find another. When I reach the bottom I'm met with a new face. She's around my age and has fiery red hair and bright blue eyes that have mascara smeared around the corners. She's absolutely beautiful.

"Hi! I'm Amber!" She smiles, dimples appearing in her cheeks. She holds out her hand and I shake it gently, smiling back.

"I'm Rose. But you can call me Rosemary or Rosy. Whatever you prefer, really."

"Ooh, I love your name. I'll call you Rosy because you have super rosy cheeks and it's so cute." She giggles, her own cheeks turning a bright pink color.

"So, are you one of our new neighbors?" I ask.

"Yeah! We live in the house right next door actually." She explains, pointing towards to her right. I try to remember which house is in that direction, and I mentally groan when I remember that it was the white picket fence house. Typical suburban family status.

"That's nice." I fake a smile, zoning out when she starts to talk about how excited she is we're moving in and how often we'll see each other.

"Not to mention the old ghost story associated with this place. Honestly, it's so silly!" The words "ghost story" peak my interest, drawing me out of my trance.

"I'm sorry, what was that? A ghost story?" I ask, hoping she'll repeat the old lore.

"Yeah, it's actually been proven to be true unfortunately. What happened to that poor family. It's tragic." Her perfectly plucked eyebrows crease, making her look five years older than she is.

"What would the story be, exactly?" Come on, please tell me, please tell me, please tell me Amber.

"Well, there used to be a family that lived here somewhere around a hundred years ago. A man, his wife, and their two kids. They were the ideal family. Cute house, fluffy dog, husband had a full time job, and the wife stayed home to care for the house and kids. One night, the husband didn't come home. The wife assumed he had been working late or ended up going to the bar for a drink and lost track of time. Eventually, around 3 am, he stumbles back into the house. His wife asks where he had been, and if he was alright, and he just stares at her. The story goes that his eyes grew completely black, and he attacked her. He pinned her down right there-" She stops and points near the blood stains in the kitchen. A chill runs down my spine.

"-And strangled her to death. Once her body went lifeless, he bashed her head against the counter until he was covered in blood. Then he stumbled up the stairs and into the daughters room. He put his hand over her mouth so she couldn't scream, and held her there. After taunting her, he eventually raped her and slit her throat. By that time, the son had heard the commotion coming from down the hall so he stepped out to see what was going on. His dad came around the corner and caught him sneaking. He pushed him up against the wall and threatened him, that if he said anything he would kill him too. He let him go and went into the bedroom where he and his wife slept. He pulled the gun from the dresser drawer and went back out to the hallway where he left his son lying on the floor. He forced him to stand up, then jump over the railing down into the parlor. The fall broke his neck, and he died immediately. Then the father blew his brains out and attracted the attention of the neighbors. I guess the man who walked in on the scene ended up in a nuthouse from the trauma."

"Holy shit..." I whisper, hardly able to believe that happened here. In my house.

"Yeah, but anyway, that was years ago. No need to worry." She smiles, like the story was nothing. "Well, I better get going. See ya around!" Amber skips out of the entry way and towards her house, leaving me to process everything.