Her heals clicked against the stone path. She stopped right before arriving at the steps to number fifty-five.
Fifty-five, there was something beautifully sinister about the place. Newly renovated with fresh paint, hardwood floors, granite countertops and a stain-glass window that illuminated magnificent colors from the day-sky.
Strangely unoccupied in this market. There was a reason, she knew it – the town knew it. But her client didn’t have any idea about the gruesome incident that took place in fifty-five. A set of triplets once lived there, fostered by torturous, money hungry people who kept them locked in chicken cages, rickety and urine covered. She wasn’t required to disclose psychological stigma since the dwelling wasn’t physically damaged. She had done her research, tracked the kids through adulthood, two of which were excelling in the medical field. The other, supposedly, living over seas after being discharged from the military.
She opened the door, sat her iced-coffee on the counter and waited for Henry Holsapple to arrive, the next owner of fifty-five, hopefully. She pulled the listing from her briefcase, scanned over some wording which quickly became blurred by a red liquid dripping from the ceiling. She looked immediately up, and screamed. Henry Holsapple’s lifeless body spun violently around in circles, stuck to the ceiling fan. She grabbed her things and darted towards the door.
“Selling my home are you?” a man’s voice came from behind her. “Fifty-five is mine… and mine,” his tone became higher. “And mine….” he now squealed.
“There is a reason fifty-five remains empty, you know?” He swung a knife in her direction. “Fifty-five will always belong to the three – even if that’s just me!”
Leesa Writes 