The house sat vacant for months before anyone noticed. John was from out of town and hadn't really made any friends, since he was spending so much time renovating the house. His passing acquaintances just didn't pay close enough attention to him to know he was missing. The only clear memories that anyone had of him was that he was usually talking to himself or to trees or bushes or the like. He usually seemed pretty miffed that they weren't talking back. So no one was really interested in seeking him out.
It took the bank making inquiries around town before anyone realized he'd been gone for a while. Fearing they'd be stuck with the house again, they assigned a loan officer to do nothing more than try and track him down. He scoured the house top to bottom twice, but found nothing. He inquired all over town and found nothing. He went to his last three places of residence and found nothing. The man had simply vanished off the face of the earth.
So the bank switched tactics. They notified the police and filed a possible missing person report, then set to work finding his relatives. This was a task easier said than done. John was a man dedicated to his work, and hence had no wife or children. His parents were long deceased, killed in a fire. His only sibling, a brother, had died in infancy. But they persisted.
Three months later, it paid off when they found record of an aunt he had living in Alabama. A telegram was immediately dispatched to her explaining the situation and requesting that she should arrive to put his affairs in order, or send the next most closest relative in her place. Now the bank just had to wait.
As luck would have it, they didn't need to wait long. Two weeks later, Beth Anderson showed up at a teller's window, explaining that she had received a telegram and been directed there by the police station, as the bank had seized his assets. She wanted to collect his things and needed to know who to talk to. Scott Robins, the assigned loan officer was immediately summoned to sit with her and help put things in order. He had also been given explicit instructions to try at all pains to have her agree to assume the mortgage and deed to the house, so it wouldn't revert back to them.
He gathered up his stack of paperwork and entered the office where he was greeted by a short, plump woman in a black overcoat and a hat with a flowered print on it. She certainly looked the part of the stereotypical dottering old aunt. He paused and smiled at her appearance than got right to work.
"Miss Anderson?" He held out his hand to shake hers. "I'm Scott Robins. I'm terribly sorry to be the bearer of bad news like this, about your nephew's disappearance and all."
She nodded solemnly.
"It's not your fault, dear. I always told Johnny that he needed to be more outgoing - make more friends. Maybe if he'd been more pleasant someone would know what happened to him." She shook her head as she spoke and her voice drifted off.
Scott rounded the desk and set the papers down between them. "Were you two close?"
"No, not really." She seemed to perk up at the request for conversation. "His parents used to come visit regularly when they were alive, but after the accident we didn't see each other much. We'd exchange cards around Christmas, and he came down to see me and my children about five years ago, but that's been about it." Her face drooped and she peered up at him over thin glasses. "But I know you didn't call me up here to a bank of all places to discuss my relationship with my nephew. Priests do that. Bankers do business. What's your business?"
A less experienced loan officer might have been caught off guard by the direct approach, but not Scott Robins. Without missing a beat, he launched into the ramifications for the house, how the bank would seize all property therein, as well as anything of his at his apartment, sell it all to pay as much of the mortgage as possible, seize the house, and sell that. He stopped short of trying to convince her that her nephews possessions were her last link to him, but did emphasize the potential value of the house, due to its size and location. If she wanted to jump straight to business, he would as well.
"What kind of condition is this place in?"
"Extremely good. It's currently worth a fair bit more than the mortgage balance. Your nephew had purchased it to try and repair and sell it, so any accumulated damage was repaired, and many nice features were installed."
Beth looked down at the stack of papers on his desk and absent-mindedly scratched at her ear. "You know, son. I live an awful long way away from here. I wouldn't want to own a property that I can't keep an eye on, so I'd probably have to move." Scott's hopes sank, but he did his best not to show it. "Now, I could probably keep up the payments on a house like that, but asking me to do that and to pay for all of my things to be moved, well that's just too much."
She paused as she looked him square in the eye. "Perhaps do you know some good SamaritanSamaritan that could help a woman out with her moving expenses. Moving the things from my poor nephew's apartment here, too, so I can store them in case he comes back."
Scott let his eyes drift shut as he exhaled softly. "Mrs. Anderson, in acknowledgement of the favor you would be doing for the bank by assuming the mortgage, we would be happy to help out in anyway possible with moving expenses to help settle you into Windsor City." He opened his eyes and ended on a smile. She smiled back at him.
"Well, you'll have to give me some time to read all of these papers you have, but as long as they check out, then you'll have yourself a deal."
Three weeks after that, Beth Anderson was supervising workmen unloading her belongings into her new house. It was quite a place, certainly an improvement over her old home. She was quite curious what would have caused John to run off like that, but assumed that he had some problems with creditors and panicked and ran. She knew that if she didn't manage her money properly, she could end up right behind him. It was a fairly large and expensive house, but fortunately she had a plan to use all of that extra space to her advantage and earn a little additional income as well.
After she was situated and her things unpacked, she dipped into her savings to order several cheap beds and sets of desks and chairs from the Sears catalog. Then she placed small ads in various local newspapers.
"Mrs. Anderson's boarding house for travelers. Enjoy a safe place to sleep and warm hospitality. No alcoholics, unwed girls, or excessive rowdiness tolerated."
She had her first borders after just two days - a pair of carpenters who had come to town to work on additions to the town hall. They seemed nice enough and got past her screening questions with relative ease, and they had their first week's rent up front in cash, so she showed them to her room. She had figured that she only needed six regular boarders to fully pay the mortgage, eight would cover all the utilities as well, and more than that would be money in the bank.
Within a few more days, she had reached her goal of six, then it was eight, then it was twelve. Her rates were reasonable, and it was a fine elaborate house. It was certainly preferable to staying at the paltry hotel in town. Besides, the house had a mystique and history about it that she had slowly been learning from the townsfolk, and that just added to people's curiosity and desire to see it.
The fact that she would serve a hearty hot supper every evening for a nominal rent increase didn't hurt matters either. About half of her borders took advantage of it.
She was civil to her tenants, but didn't want to develop any close attachments. After all, she didn't know too much about them, and familiarity breeds contempt. She didn't want any of her boarders ever to think that they were friends or she was doing them a favor. Once they became close, it was only a short jump to them thinking they can be late on the rent or drink or bring women into the house. So she kept her distance.
This detachment did her good after only a month, when one of the newer tenants, a traveling salesman named Gus, didn't pay his rent on time. That evening, she went up to his room and knocked on it, but received no reply. Assuming he was out peddling his good, she left a note on the door that rent was due and that he was expected to pay immediately. She then went downstairs and watched out the window until 10 o'clock, waiting for him to come home. He never did.
Bright and early at 6am she was up and knocking on his door. Again, no reply. She hollered through the door that his rent was due and that she was coming in unless he replied. Still, there was no answer.
Pulling on her glasses and peering over the tops to look as sinister as possible, she opened his door and found the room unoccupied. His suitcase with his goods was open on his bed, and a reasonably nice watch sat on the desk. A few threadbare suits hung in the closet, and otherwise the room was empty. Her gaze darted to all corners, taking stock of the situation.
The best course of action she could come to was to confiscate his belongings and leave a note telling him that he could reclaim them upon payment of his bill. She left a note on the desk and tossed his things into the suitcase, carrying it down to her room. That evening at supper, she asked the other tenants when the last anyone saw him, and no one could remember seeing him for the last few days.
A few days passed. Then a week. Then a month. Gus never returned. Exasperated at him skipping out on her bill, Beth resolved to sell of his belongings to at least recoup some of the money she had lost on food and rent. Plus, it was a fine way to make an example to the other boarders of what would happen if they should skip out on their obligations.
Connecting the two ideas, she decided to sell his things to the other boarders first. A different salesman purchased his watch for five dollars, and the clothes went to the two carpenters, who were about his size. The rest of the items in the case were divvied up and the tenants purchased everything. Beth ended up slightly ahead of where rent would have left her. Still, she vowed to give him a good talking to if he ever had the gaul to return.
Things were uneventful for the next three months, with boarders checking in, others checking out, and regulars staying put. And then, without warning, she had another disappearance. This fellow was named Jack and had been there since just about the beginning. He worked in town as a local handyman, doing odd jobs. He'd tried to negotiate a reduced rent in exchange for performing upkeep on the place, but Beth had insisted he pay full price like anyone else, but did agree to consider him for work if she needed any. She'd hired him to do a few minor repairs and clean leaves from the gutters and was pleased with the quality of his work.
While they weren't exactly close, they certainly were civil. He would tip his hat to her and say, "Good evening, ma'am" as he came in. He was never late with the rent, even when work was light for him. She had no complaints at all. Further, he didn't have anywhere to go that she knew of, having lived his whole life in town with no other family.
Same as the last time it happened, she left him a note, watched for him to come home, and entered his room the next morning. Same as the last time, his things were strewn about the room as he he expected to be back any minute, but he never did return. A few of the local families inquired about him, but that was all.
Unfortunately, being a poor man, he didn't have nearly as much of value, except for about three weeks rent money in cash. Once again, Beth sold off the belongings and pocketed the money, serving up a lecture about responsibility as well. She also instituted a new policy where rent must be collected a week in advance.
This would turn out to be how the boarding house operated for years. Every so often, people would start turning up missing. Sometimes it was just one, sometimes it was up to three or four at once. Beth would always lecture the remaining tenants, keep any cash she found, and sell off the rest. No one ever did return to claim their things. Since they were almost all transients, the authorities never gave her any trouble - it was reasonable to assume that anyone who was there had simply moved on. Likewise, since her boarders were temporary, few people stayed long enough for there to be anyone to realize that over the years more than thirty-five people had vanished without a trace. Only Beth was aware.
Around Christmas her thoughts would frequently turn to her missing nephew and the cards she no longer got from him. She wondered if his disappearance was related to the people she rented to disappearing. Maybe something about the house drove them mad and they had to get away. Something in the air. Whatever it was, it apparently left enough of an impression to keep them away forever.
As wicked as it sounded, she didn't mind much. The extra money she found in their abandoned rooms as well as what she made from selling off their belongings was very welcome to have. Plus, she kept the occasional item, if it caught her fancy. Most of it was from the traveling salesmen - vases, a pen and pencil set, a lithograph of President Lincoln. Just a few niceties to pretty up the house.
One evening, she was making her rounds along the second floor, ensuring that lights were out and everyone was ready for bed. She wasn't about to pay the additional money to keep her boarders gas-lamps burning, and if they wanted to stay up late, they could pay for and burn their own candles.
A transient named Bill was always problematic. He styled himself as a writer and claimed he was traveling the country to better his writing. So he loved to stay up late and use up her gas writing his stories. This evening was no exception, and she could see the faint glimmer of gaslight coming from the crack under his door.
She knocked. "Mr. Calloway? We've been over this. If you're going to stay up, use your own candles. House rules." She waited and watched the light under the door. No change. "Bill? You'll have to extinguish that light." Still, nothing. She put on her glasses and pulled them to the end of her nose. The light was still on.
If he wanted to be difficult, then she could be difficult as well. She opened the door and barged in. "I told you that you had to - " She stopped and looked around. The room was empty. Great, there goes another one, she thought to herself. A quick survey of the room didn't yield anything interesting, just some pencils and pads of paper. She walked over to the desk and shuffled some things around. All looks worthless. Oh well, I guess poor men disappear, too. Chuckling, she turned back to the door and froze in her tracks.
Behind the door, so she couldn't see it as she entered, Bill's distorted body was suspended in the wall, black goo surrounded him and seeped up onto his body as he disappeared slowly into it. His eyes tries to meet hers and his jaw twitched, but nothing more.
Beth lifted up her glasses to look through them fully and get a good view of what was going on, then she took them off. "Well," she said, "I always did wonder what happened to you fellows." With that, she calmly turned off the gas lamp, left the room, and shut the door.
| 10/24/2006 | The Seventh Story of the House |
| 10/21/2006 | The Sixth Story of the House |
| 10/13/2006 | The Fifth Story of the House |
| 10/04/2006 | The Fourth Story of the House |
| 10/03/2006 | The Third Story of the House |
| 10/02/2006 | The Second Story of the House |
| 10/01/2006 | The First Story of the House |
| 10/01/2004 | It's Your Turn |
| 10/02/2003 | The Experiment |
| 10/02/2003 | The Stain |
| 10/02/2003 | The Recorder |
| 10/02/2003 | The Secret Room |
| 10/02/2003 | Why you should always carry tools |
| 10/02/2003 | The Solicitor |
| 10/02/2003 | The Picnic |
| 10/02/2003 | Moving Day |
| 10/02/2003 | The Very Short Life of a Fat Man |
| 10/02/2003 | Life on a Farm |
| 10/02/2003 | The Mooresbury Men |
| 10/02/2003 | A Better Killer |
| 10/02/2003 | Scary Noises |
| 02/01/2003 | The Wind Blows In My Heart... |
| 01/15/2003 | I Am The Goddess |
| 01/15/2003 | Freak |
| 01/12/2003 | They Won't Be Coming Back |
| 01/12/2003 | Bugs |
