All the Lights are On

Eric Carson

Eric

I don't know where Brae Ridley is from. I think he's from somewhere in the south, though others swear by and by that he's lived here his entire life.

The only thing I can say with confidence is that he's young. If you saw him in the streets, a young blonde with ice blue eyes, you'd never guess that he was the sheriff. I think that was the point of making him the sheriff, but I don't know.

You can look into his eyes and you'd know that he's not the kind of man to break a promise. That's the kind of man I wish I could be. I made a promise years ago, one that I didn't understand and one that I'm suddenly regretting. It wouldn't be the first time, I guess.

What was I saying? Oh, right. I got a call from one of the deputies awhile ago. They said somebody turned all the lights on in the house. I hoped that she was kidding, but now I don't think she was.

It's a long drive from Depressing, so I don't get there until nightfall. I think that whoever named the cities in Death's Hand County either had a morbid sense of humor, or they were the most cynical man on Earth. I think that anybody who'd name a city 'Depressing' is out of their mind.

Anyways, I see it as I pull my car to the curbside.

I get out of the car, smoothing my tie against my shirt. I think I've got a few hours before the sweat starts to seep through. Damn the desert.

As I walk toward the house, someone approaches me. "Eric?"

I nod, unbuttoning the sleeves on my dress shirt. "Will. It's been a while."

Will nods, smiling. "Yeah. Guess you weren't kidding about that house. What happened?"

"I don't know. I only found out a few hours ago." There are still a few onlookers gathered around the gates, pointing up at the house and whispering to themselves. I think this is probably the most exciting thing any of them had seen in a while. Well, besides the Applewood Pines thing, but that was in Echo Hills...

Right, the house. This house has proven to be a difficult beast to sell. I was a bit suspicious when I first saw it. To me it looked like an American Colonial house trying to be a French Chateau. But the design of the house didn't make it infamous, the stories did.

Like that of the Clintons. The whole family got food poisoning from something. The town doctor had them sent up to Depressing for better care. Of course, Garrett Deacon, who ran the general store, was baffled. He said that there was no way they got food poisoning from his store since he sold products to the entire town and no one else was struck. First they got better, then they moved back into the house and dropped dead. Nobody could figure out why.

Or Henry Maxwell. Poor guy got shot when some punks tried to rob him. Turns out one of the robbers was actually his nephew and had no idea who he was robbing. Last I heard he committed suicide in prison. I think that's just rotten luck.

And another thing. Everybody I've ever met describes the house in a different way. I've had people say it's Gothic, Victorian, ancient, 'looks like something straight out of a horror movie,' and my personal favorite, 'the only people that live there are ghosts.'

I do believe in ghosts, because I've seen them. I've seen them after they come back from the army, shells of who they were before. They're in the streets, hiding out of sight. They're in the shadows where you never look, always watching.

I see Ridley leaning against the fence. He's got a few deputies with him, chatting amongst themselves. He's talking to someone who is smoking a cigarette. Reminds me of my time in the army. Pretty much everyone ended up smoking, even those who have never smoked in their life. Ridley nods at us as we get near.

"Eric Carson. Glad to see you're doing well."

"You too, Sheriff," I reply. I gesture to Will. "This is William McKenzie."

"McKenzie? You lived in this house?"

Will nods, staring up at the house. "Eons ago, yeah. Never liked that place. I've been working with Eric to try and sell it, but we're not having much luck." Will stares at it with a strange look on his face. "I've been thinking about tearing it down, rebuilding from the ground up. I don't know though."

The Sheriff nods and waves to one of his underlings. "Let's get a move on then. Sooner we sort this out the better."

I nod, taking the keys from my pocket. "Right. Lead the way, Sheriff."