The House on the Hill

It seems even colder than it usually is this time of year. The sky is dark and gray. There’s a cold drizzle of rain and the wind is howling. I am eager to get home from work and have a nice warm cup of hot chocolate. I want to curl up on my couch under a warm blanket and read a good book.

When I walk into my rooms though, someone else must have different plans for me. I drop the stack of papers and photographs in my hands I was going to use for my article in the newspaper. My lungs constrict and my eyes widen. It seems unreal. It feels like a bad dream.

I turn and bolt down the hall. I pound on Hart’s door with both fists. He opens it and I fall onto him. He catches me before I can hit the floor. “Seth? What’s going on?”

“My room,” I choke out.

“Come in,” he pulls me over to his navy blue couch and sits me down. I manage to pull my inhaler from my pocket with shaky hands to take a few puffs of the medicine. “Just breathe slowly,” he instructs, rubbing my back gently.

“My place is totally trashed.”

“What?”

“See for yourself,” I say.

“Stay here,” he instructs then heads down the hall to my rooms.

I follow him there after a few minutes. “Who could have done this? I thought Jane had they keys back.”

“She does. I don’t know who would want to do this to you,” he shakes his head. “Is anything missing?”

I look around quickly, checking my stuff over. Some things have been broken and some photos are ripped. I’m on my way out of my bedroom when I trip over the rug.

“Are you okay?” Hart offers me his hand, pulling me to my feet. “You have to be careful.”

“Yeah,” I nod. I try to fix the rug and that’s when I notice the stain on the hard wood floor beneath it. It’s a large red stain as if a puddle of blood had been there once. “Oh my God…”

“Let’s get you back to my place. It’s obviously not safe here. I’m calling the cops too,” Hart places an arm around my waist as if he’s worried I might fall again.

We sit on his couch as the police investigate. Since nothing is missing they are thinking it’s probably just another prank. No one is sure how they got into my room unless they had a copy of the keys made.

“I don’t know anyone who would go through all that trouble to do this to me,” I tell Hart. “It doesn’t make sense. I never bothered anyone. Why is this happening to me?”

“I’m not sure,” he frowns.

“What am I going to do? I don’t have anywhere to go. I don’t have enough money for a hotel. The newspaper doesn’t pay very well and my family is in Vermont. I obviously can’t stay there with someone breaking in all the time.”

“Why don’t you stay here for a couple nights?” Hart offers. “Just while they sort this all out, you know. Maybe I can talk Jane into changing the locks or something.”

“Are you sure?” I am in disbelief at his offer. He barely knows me yet he’s been so nice to me.

“Yeah,” he nods. “You have nowhere else to go. I couldn’t forgive myself if something bad happened to you just because I didn’t want to share my couch. If you’re here at least I know you’re safe.”

“Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

“First thing tomorrow I’m going to get some answers from Jane. For now just try to get some rest Seth.”
---

The next day we go down to the lobby and corner Jane. I may not be very threatening but Hart is. Jane finally gives in and answers us. “There was a suicide in the house,” she admits.

“What room?” Hart asks her.

“Seth’s room,” she frowns.

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” I demand. “This is horrible!”

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” Jane informs us. “Now if you’re done giving me an interrogation I have work to do.”

She leaves so Hart and I sit on the couch by the fireplace together. “Do you really think it could be a ghost?” he asks me.

“I don’t know what to believe right now,” I shrug. “Do you think it could be a ghost?”

“I’ve never actually believed in that type of thing before but I suppose anything’s possible.”

“If it is a ghost why would he be haunting me? Why is his spirit at unrest if he’s the one who killed himself? It’s usually murdered people that haunt, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything about this stuff,” he admits. “Let’s say it’s not a ghost, who would want to scare you?”

“I never thought anyone here would do something like that to me.”

“Well, let’s look at everyone who lives here. Alfred is a homophobe. He could be doing it,” Hart suggests.

“I suppose that’s true,” I agree.

“It’s probably not Marissa. What about Jane? Would she have reason to do this?”

“I don’t think so,” I shake my head.

“That leaves Violet and she’s a very weird girl. She could be trying to scare you. Maybe she thinks it’s funny or something.”

“Maybe…it can’t be Marc either. Mr. Brooks never leaves his rooms.”

“We don’t know anything about Marc though so it could be him. We can’t totally cross him off the list. For all we know, he could be an axe murderer.”

I roll my eyes. “Maybe. This is all so crazy.”

“I know,” he nods.

“What are you queers talking about?” Alfred walks through the lobby with his mail in his hands.

“Who are you calling a queer?” Hart stands up.

“If you’re not a fag then why are you hanging out with one?” Alfred challenges.

“Someone has to help him,” Hart answers. “There’s something strange going on here.”

“Maybe you should move out,” Alfred tells me. “If there’s really something going on, which I doubt there is, maybe you should just leave.”

I shrug. “I don’t really have anywhere else to go.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” he walks away.

“He’s definitely a suspect,” Hart tells me.

“He is a jerk but he’s never bothered me much before. He just says crap hoping I’ll get upset or something,” I tell Hart.

“I think it’s time we do some investigating for ourselves,” he suggests. “The cops clearly aren’t going to help us.”