The *** House

The open house was on a Saturday. I had already lost track of what day of the week it was, but the first couple to come and look at the house made a comment about wasting a perfectly good Saturday to look at some old house. They carried on about how it must have been falling apart. Why else would the listing price be so low?

Marcy was flustered by their attitudes, and I felt a pang of empathy for her as Tate and I followed the trio around the main floor of the house.

"Actually, it's not the house itself that has caused the asking price to drop so significantly. I'm obligated to inform you of any deaths on the premesis within the past three years, so I must mention that a young girl was recently killed in the yard. The case is unsolved, but gang violence is suspected."

I stopped walking. Marcy was being so casual about my death. It was as if she didn't know that my body had only been removed two days prior. Tate stopped by my side and squeezed my hand.

"She can't very well make it seem like it's still as fresh as it is, can she? She has to try and sell this place, and describing a death last week probably won't help her cause."

I felt mildly sick. Regardless, I clutched onto his hand and we began following Marcy once again.

"Is there a gang problem in this neighbourhood?" The young woman asked as she studied the stovetop in the kitchen.

"Not at all," Marcy said hurriedly. "In fact, that's why the case is still unsolved. There have been no other victims in the area at all. That girl was just unfortunate, I suppose."

The couple carried on throughout the house, though they were clearly not interested in making a purchase. If anything, they seemed to be there only to ridicule the colour of the flooring, or the thread count on the bedsheets in the rooms upstairs. Tate and I had agreed that we would give Marcy a fighting chance, but I was having a hard time keeping my hands to myself as I watched these people poke fun at my new home.

"We'll be in touch," the woman said dryly as she and her husband left a short while later.

Tate and I exchanged a silent look, and it was as if we both agreed that we couldn't sit idly by while another family judged the only thing that we could call a home. Marcy consulted a stack of papers that were filled with positive features of the house, refreshing herself before the next prospective buyers showed up. I knew that she had memorized every last note on those pages long ago, but it appeared as though going through the motions was calming her nerves. The door opened abruptly, and Marcy fixed a pleasant, almost painfully fake smile on her thin lips.

"It's show time," Tate grinned.

I returned the gesture, fully prepared to take on the task of my first haunting. The thought of it thrilled me. After all, wasn't that kind of the purpose of ghosts?

"Come in, come in!" Marcy greeted the newcomers.

I turned to face the doorway, readying myself for whatever new assholes I was about to find. Instead, I found that my eyes were instantly brimming with tears, and I could no longer draw a proper breath. My hand reached out for something to grab on to, and I found myself leaning against the stair railing. Tate was too caught up in his own brainstorming to notice my distress. He picked up a decorative blue ball that was resting in a wooden bowl by the door, and he tossed it up and over the banister. The result was a tinkling of broken glass that made all of the gathered company look upstairs in search of the source.

"Stop," I gasped, feeling my chest shake as I forced myself to inhale. "Don't bother them."

Tate finally took in the state of me. He rushed over and placed his hands gently on my shoulders. I could feel his eyes on me, begging me to look back at him. But I couldn't. I couldn't tear my gaze from the three people that had just entered the house.

The woman was in her mid-fourties. She had long black hair that was tied back into a braid. Her skin was pale, and her eyes were heavy. She was holding onto a man's hand. The man was curiously inspecting the entrance to the mansion with tired eyes. Dark circles beneath his eyelids weighed down his entire appearance, making him seem grounded and depressed. Behind the couple lurked a boy in his early twenties. His high cheekbones were hollowed out underneath, and his eyes appeared to be the same way. It looked as if none of them had slept in days.

"That's my family," I whispered faintly.

"Listen to me, Ainsley," Tate said, shaking me just enough to successfully gain my attention, if only for a moment. "They can't know that you're still here. They'll buy this house to be with you. And nobody survives in here. You want them to be happy, right?"

I nodded, though I wasn't really focusing on his logic. I had thought that I would never see them again. I just wanted to talk to them one last time. What would it hurt, really?

Tate seemed to be reading my thoughts. "No, Ainsley. You can't talk to them. You can't appear before them. Do you understand?"

I looked him fully in the eyes. Somewhere inside of my head, I was fighting to work through what he'd said. He was right, of course, but that fact didn't make me feel better. A stray tear managed to fall. "There has to be a way," I protested.

"Promise me that you won't appear. I need you to swear that you'll stay hidden."

I couldn't say the words. I knew that this would be the last chance I ever got to tell my family that I loved them. I couldn't just let the opportunity pass me by. I looked back at them as they began to follow Marcy into the living room. I tried to step past Tate so that I could follow them, but he stood his ground firmly.

"You've met my mother," he persisted. "You know how much this will hurt them. Constance can never move on from this house. If you really care about them, you have to let them leave without ever seeing you. You have to."

"But they would be happier knowing that I'm okay. They would be glad to know that you're taking care of me."

Tate shook his head, looking frustrated by my stubborn attitude. "No, Ainsley, that's not what will happen. They're going to die here. Trust me when I say that I wouldn't wish eternity in this house upon anyone else."

"Wouldn't you?" I pulled out of his grip. In my dismay at seeing my parents, I had lost the ability to think clearly. "Why wouldn't you want to spend forever with someone that you love?"

"I didn't love anyone until I was already dead."

"You can't expect me to believe that. I know that you love Beauregard."

His eyes fell. "I wish that he had been able to die somewhere else. My sister, Addie, died just beyond the property line. She was far better off that way. And your family would be better off, too. They don't belong here. They aren't like you and me."

"You don't know anything about them," I spat. I was lashing out at him, and I didn't really know why. He was trying to help; to get me to think reasonably. And I was pushing him away.

"But I know you!" Tate argued. "Your head is filled with memories right now, and you can't afford to think like that. You have to consider the future. If you don't listen to me now, you'll regret it."

"And now I'll show you the upstairs, if you'll just follow me," Marcy interrupted as she left the study and headed for the staircase.

"Before we do that," my father stopped her. "We just have a few questions. I've come to understand that a body was discovered on the property a few days ago." He worked to keep his voice level and conversational, but his face betrayed him. His eyes were moist and the corners of his mouth turned down slightly, exacerbating the wrinkles that were gathered around his lips.

Marcy attempted to deal with the subject delicately. "Yes, it was a sad situation. It was just a young girl."

"Have they found her killer yet?"

"No, not yet. They don't really have any leads, as far as I know. But let's move on from that sad subject and carry on with the tour, shall we?" Marcy began to climb the stairs, ignoring the sad looks that my family exchanged.

"I don't like this house," my brother Jason spoke softly, so that Marcy wouldn't overhear. "It just feels wrong."

My mother nodded in agreement. "It isn't a home. Not for us, at least. It's just a house."

Marcy heard my mother's words, and she gave them a disheartened look. "Is there any point in continuing?"

My father cleared his throat. "I suppose not. We thought we would find something here, but we didn't. There is no part of her left in this place."

My family headed for the door, crestfallen. I had begun to openly weep. I wanted nothing more than to bury myself in Tate's arms, but I had to see them as they walked away. I had to soak in every last moment of their presence while I still could. Tate followed me out onto the porch, where I leaned against the railing. Tears fell in rapid succession as I watched my family get into the green SUV parked in the driveway. My whole body ached as the vehicle began to back out into the street. I wiped my eyes quickly, and as Marcy closed the front door behind me, I made a rash decision. I locked eyes with my brother as he stared through the back window, and I wished for him to see me. His eyes widened in surprise, but I knew that he wouldn't tell anyone. No one would believe that he saw his dead sister in some old house. They would think that he had gone insane with grief. I only hoped that I didn't look too pathetic. I didn't want his last image of me to be that of a broken spirit.

"It's better this way," Tate whispered softly as the vehicle turned a corner and was lost from sight. "I know that it doesn't feel that way right now, but you did the best thing for them. You let them go. They'll move on."

I turned my back to the street and buried my face in his long-sleeved tee shirt. "Never leave me, Tate."

He wrapped his arms around me and held me close. "Never," he vowed.