The Sexton House - Harry Styles * COMPLETED*

8.

Once the door is fully opened, we both step inside. A small bed is pushed against the wall, along with a full-length mirror.

It's not as dark in the room as I thought it would be, considering the window is boarded up, and small pieces from the wood are laying below the window. I'm guessing they have fallen off over the years.

"There's nothing up here, let's go back downstairs, before that changes," Charlie tries to convince me.

"No. We need to look around while we can," I tell him, walking over to the window.

"I wouldn't mess with that, if I were you," Charlie warns me. I tear off a small piece of wood that was loosely hanging off the frame, forgetting he had just told me not to.

"I think we should open up this window," I tell him, pulling off another board. They are beginning to fall off anyway, so there's no need to leave them.

"I really don't think that's a good idea." I turn around to face Charlie.

"Why are you so afraid? Don't you want to figure this out?"

"I've been trying to figure this out for over thirty years, and in that time spent I've learned it's better to just let it be." He's crazy to not want to help solve this case (if you even want to call it one).

This may scream 'Danger: Keep Out' but, honestly, if I'm going to live here then I'm going to figure out why Anna Sexton haunts this place.

"I'm going back downstairs. Be careful," he tells me, before disappearing out of the door. I can't believe he's really that scared, it's not like I dragged him up here in the middle of the night. This was the only time I've ever encountered her so late in the evening, or early morning, as it is just before sunrise.

My mother will be down tomorrow, so I'm hoping Anna will be quiet and not scare her away. I would do anything for her not to come down so soon, I literally just moved in this week. The last thing I need is a nagging mother telling me how dirty my house is, and how I shouldn't have moved out.

I love her to death, I really do, but sometimes she just needs to mind her own business and keep her mouth shut. That's the big reason I moved out: I was tired of her constant nagging and overbearing nature.

She needs to find herself a man who is what she needs, someone to keep her occupied. I'll have to ask her about maybe joining a dating site... My mother on a dating site? Yeah, I can totally see that happening.

I run downstairs to grab a broom, looking throughout the kitchen in search of the stupid thing, when I hear the doorbell ring. I stop what I'm doing, heading for the door.

I'm guessing Charlie left, because I don't see him anywhere. I unlock the door, opening it with ease, and my eyes widen at who stands in front of me. "Mother! What are you doing here?" I'm stunned to see her standing before me.

"Well, I came to see my baby. What else would I be doing?" I fight back from telling her to stop with the 'baby' thing. I'm not your baby anymore, I'm twenty-one years old for God's sake.

"But I thought you weren't coming down till tomorrow?" Why would she come today? I'm nowhere near ready for her, the sink is full of dishes, there's trash all over my bedroom, and not to mention the ghost living upstairs!

"I just couldn't wait any longer to see you."

"It hasn't even been a week," I rudely remind her.

"Loose the attitude," she warns, pointing a finger at me. And this is why I can't stand my mother, she treats me like I'm a child. I was just telling the truth. "Well, are you going to invite me in, or are you going to leave your poor mother standing out here in the heat?" I was tempted to tell her 'yes', but then thought better not.

"Yeah, yeah, come in." I open the door further so she can walk through.

"It stinks in here," is the first thing she says, her nose is crinkled up in disgust as she holds it with her perfectly done-up nails.

"The house is old, what can I say?" She whips around, making her hair flip onto her face. I'm preparing myself for some lecture that is bound to come.

"Harry, darling, I told you this house was a terrible idea." And there it is. My mother reminds me, for the hundred time since I bought this house, of how bad of an idea it was.

"I know, Mom..."

"Let me finish." But I don't want you to finish! "I warned you about buying this piece of... What's the word?"

"Piece of shit house," I interrupt, smirking.

"Harry! What have I told you about cussing?" I swear I'm going to kick her out before the week is over with.

"Mother, I am twenty-one years old. I can say 'shit' if I want to, and any other word for that matter." I stand my ground, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Just know I warned you," she huffs, then walks off to only Gods-knows-where.

* * *

The past few hours spent with my mother have consisted of bickering back in fourth, telling a few off-coloured jokes (which earned me a few slaps across the back of the head), and her reminding me of my mistakes. Such as, you guessed it, buying this house.

If I'm being honest with myself, I cannot wait for my mother to leave. I love her dearly, but she just doesn't know when to shut up. "Harry, what all is there to do in this little town?" her voice interrupts my thoughts of kicking her out.

"Um, I'm not really sure, I haven't had the time to look around much. I've been busy," I tell her, tossing the dishes in the sink. I'll clean them up later.

"What have you been so busy with?" And here it comes, her never ending questions.

"I got a job, plus I've been trying to clean up a bit." She walks over to the sink and starts the water to wash the dishes.

"My son, cleaning? I don't believe it," she tells me, filling the sink with water and soap "What kind of job did you get?" Oh, Lord. How will I tell her I work in a graveyard? That's like the worst place to work in, other than McDonald's, which is worse.

"I work at the cemetery behind the house..." I take a few steps back from her.

"You what!? My baby, working with dead people? You have got to be out of your mind!" she raises her voice, throwing her hands in the air.

"It's not as bad as it sounds," I try convening her. It really isn't, I don't think.

"You are working over dead people!" she shouts. Does she think I am deaf?

"It's..." The sound of something shattering upstairs interrupts me.

"What was that?" my mother asks, fear written clear as day on her hard features.

"Great timing, Anna," I say, under my breath.

"Who's Anna?"

EDITOR: @directioneremo

{A/N}

I know I haven't updated this in a while but a lot has been going on with Psycho Sitter so I've been busy with if but I promise I will update this soon!

Please Comment! I love hearing your thoughts on this story it makes it much easier for me to write knowing you guys like it :)