The Immortal Blood

Chapter 1

 Adam Walsh had watched the buyer walk between the rooms with an absorbed countenance, wondering how much longer it would take.
He usually didn't come in person to show the house, leaving everything in the hands of the agent, but since the man had assured him that he was more than willing to buy, he had made a break from the rule.
And he was bitterly regretting it.
He had carefully avoided the bedroom, but he could not fail to hear or see THEM, even if only with the tail of his eye.
An ornament had rotated half a turn when he had passed in front of it, in the hallway, also he had found one of the paintings in the living room face down on the floor.
The man with the beard (Todd Valentine, was his name) seemed not to have noticed, after all they were halfway through moving out, things like that could happen.
Shame that, in the course of the year and a half in which Adam, Cleo and the children had lived there, it had happened too often.
"A lovely house. . . great structure. . . they don't make it like that anymore. . . "
"No. " Adam had recovered from his stupor, placing a calm smile of convenience on his face. "As explained, it has been renovated keeping the original walls of the old farmhouse. Some parts are from the early nineteenth century. . . "
"Of course. You can see it clearly. . . "
Adam had maintained a polite behaviour. In retrospect, it made too much sense: old walls, old inhabitants. . .
Something had moved as he strolled through the corridor behind him, raising a cold breeze that had made his skin crawl.
"So, what do you say?" He cut it short, starting to really get nervous. It was a lot worse when he was alone, he just wanted to get the contract signed and leave as fast as he could.
"We'll take it. Did you bring the papers?" Todd nodded, coming in his direction.
"Of course. " Adam had taken them out of his work bag and placed them on the kitchen shelf. He had sent a draft to Valentine a few days earlier, so that his lawyers could evaluate it.
As for him, there was no need for third parties, it was his daily job and he'd practically forged the contract with his own bare hands.
Valentine had signed under the various dots and presented him a hand the size of a wrestler's. He was about one palm taller than him, and yet it was not his stature that put him in awe.
There was something strange about that man, almost like the presences inside the house. . . it was nothing tangible, but you could perceive it under the surface.
"Thank you Adam. . . " he told him, discovering a series of white, perfectly straight teeth.
"Thank you, Mr. Valentine. " He had shaken his hand, taking time to notice how cold it was before suddenly losing consciousness.