Ritualistic Human Sacrifice Page 3

  I squinted at one of the symbols and tried to identify the picture. There was a finger print at the end of the brush stroke. I moved in closer and caught an awful scent that reminded me of menstrual blood and feces. I gagged, took a couple steps back, and covered my nose with my hand. The front door opened.

  A middle-aged man stood in the doorway. He was the same height as me but his proportions were mammoth. He had a large head with dark, side swept hair, giving me the impression he was hiding a bald spot. He wore a windbreaker over a white button down shirt. The first few buttons of his shirt were unfastened. Gray chest hair peeked through the opening and I noted a gold chain around his neck. He took noisy breaths through his mouth.

  He wore latex gloves and removed one with a snap and extended a meaty and hairy hand toward me. “Nick Graves?”

  I dropped my hand from my nose and stared at his extended hand. I didn’t know why he was wearing the gloves but I imagined it was because he recently finished handling something foul. I hesitated but thought it would be bad manners not to shake his hand. I extended my hand and cringed internally when he clasped it with his own sweaty one.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Jim Hagathorne,” he said. “I thought I heard someone pull in.”

  He released my hand. I dropped my arm but held it out from my body a few inches. I didn’t want to touch anything—especially anything on my body—until I had a chance to use the hand sanitizer in my car.

  “I was looking around outside,” I said.

  Jim waved his ungloved hand in a beckoning motion and stepped out of the doorway. “Come in. Have a look around.”

  He pulled off the other glove and balled them together. He shoved the dirty gloves into the pocket of his windbreaker, followed by his hands. Internally I immediately nicknamed him ‘The Walking Cesspool’.

  I stepped past Jim and into an insanely large living room. The room had high ceilings with crown molding. Someone in the course of the house’s history thought it was a good idea to paint the wood molding an awful maroon color. The walls were a faded sunshine yellow and the floors were covered with worn and stained hunter green carpet. I could smell cat piss and knew what the stains on the carpet were. An open staircase was situated on the far left of the room. A doorway beside the stairs led to a poorly decorated den. The stair banister was a nice dark wood but the stairs themselves were covered with tacky Berber carpet. I sighed internally at people’s poor taste.

  The only thing salvageable in the living area was a large fireplace made of gray stone. At least someone hadn’t painted the stones. Nothing irritated me more than painted stone or brick.

  “It’s a lot of house for the money,” Jim said.

  I ignored him and walked toward the kitchen. The floor squeaked beneath my feet and I knew the previous owner committed one of the worst crimes against any great structure—they’d carpeted over the hardwood floors. I stepped through the large archway to the kitchen and found it was also hideously decorated. I’d hoped from the pictures I’d viewed online the countertops and cabinets were real wood. They were not. I sneered at the floral linoleum and checked the water flow in the second small sink located on the island. Someone had spaced the island awkwardly from the rest of the L-shaped kitchen. There seemed to be too much room and I wondered if the previous owners were obese.

  Jim followed and watched me closely. I checked the water in the main sink and inspected under both sinks to make sure there were no leaks.

  Jim pulled a folded piece of paper from his back pocket and opened it. He dug a pair of reading glasses out of his windbreaker pocket. When he removed the glasses one of the dirty latex gloves fell on the floor. The Walking Cesspool picked up the filthy glove and shoved it back into the pocket. He perched the glasses on the end of his nose and began to read from a list of features.

  “Four-thousand five-hundred and two feet of living space. Four finished bedrooms on the second floor.” He thumbed over his shoulder toward the living room. “A study off the living room.” He pointed toward the two doors on the left side of the kitchen. “A laundry slash utility room, three full baths, a finished loft area on the third floor, and fifteen unfinished rooms in the addition.”

  I walked over to the two doors he motioned to and glanced in. One was a grimy bathroom in desperate need of a complete update. I checked the water, flushed the toilet, and looked under the sink.

  The other room housed a furnace, water heater, and the hookups for a washer and dryer.

  I stood in the doorway to the utility room and pointed at the water heater and furnace. “Do these work?”

  Jim stared at the paper in his hand. “Says they both passed inspection and both are electric.”

  I walked to the back door and moved a dusty curtain to look out the window. There was a small screened porch attached to the back of the house. Beyond the porch lay a vast back yard and a wall of trees.

  Jim thrust his large head over my shoulder to peer out the window. “Great view.”

  His breath smelled like Chipotle burritos. I stepped away so he could admire the view and to take a breath not tainted with his essence.

  He smiled like an imbecile as he looked out the window. He turned to me. “Want to check out the rest of the house?”

  “Sure.” I motioned for him to lead.

  I followed him to the stairs. He commented on how structurally sound the house was. He asked if I noticed any sounds from outside. I hadn’t noticed until he mentioned it but I couldn’t hear anything from outside. And even if I wanted to hear the insects his noisy breathing made it hard to discern anything beyond the walls of the house. But there was an unusual vacuum-like quality to the structure. The air was thick and there was an almost unperceivable pressure on my eardrum. The sensation gave me the impression I was walking through gelatin filled space. I told him it was very quiet.

  The stairs led to a wide hallway with three doors on each side. The second floor was entirely covered with an old floral pattern carpet with red and green hues. It reminded me of Christmas. Jim stepped repeatedly in one spot to produce a squeak from the floorboards. He made a remark about the floors being wood underneath the awful carpet. Each bedroom was painted a various shade of hideous color. And none of them matched the gross carpet. One room was pastel pink, another was metallic gold, and the last two were a dark and light shade of avocado green.

  As advertised, there was a bathroom on the second floor. I entered it to check for any soft spots in the carpeted floor. The worst thing you could install in a bathroom was carpet. It retained water and caused the floor underneath to mold and rot. But the floor was solid. And I didn’t detect any smell of mildew. The previous owner might not have used the shower on this level often.

  The bathroom walls were tiled with pastel pink and blue tiles. The tub, toilet, and sink were coral colored ceramic. I didn’t even bother checking the water. Everything was ugly and would have to go. If the contractors found a problem when they ripped it out it would be fixed then.

  Jim stood in the doorway. “They had an eclectic taste in colors.”

  “The walls definitely need painted.”

  “Want to head up to the third floor?”

  “Sure. From the pictures online, it looked like the only area I won’t have to completely gut.”

  I followed him to last door on the right. It opened to an enclosed staircase. I ascended first. The stairs were made of a dark wood and the walls were white. It was the only part of the house I found aesthetically pleasing. The stairs led to a room as large as the second floor. The floors and ceiling were made of the same wood as the stairs. The walls were painted a soft matte white. A single modern chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling. The whole wall facing the back of the house was made of a series of floor to ceiling windows with a break in the middle for a set of French doors. I approached the doors and found a balcony overlooking the woods beyond the back yard.

  “Wow,” I said. “This is fantastic.”

  “I
’m not sure what they used this room for,” Jim said, “but it has a ballroom feel to it, don’t ya think?”

  I glanced around the room again and shrugged. I strolled across the floor and inspected it. Whoever lived here, and whatever they used this space for, they had taken good care of the floor. There were no gouges or scuffs in the finish.

  A door was located beside the stairs. I opened it and found a stylish bathroom. Everything appeared in good working order.

  “Okay,” I said. “Show me the unfinished part.”

  “It’s got a secret door,” he said. He waved enthusiastically for me to follow him.

  We headed down to the first floor in silence. At the bottom of the stairs on the ground level he rounded the stairs and stopped at a door I hadn’t notice before. The door was painted matte black and blended into the shadows cast by the stairs.

  Jim laid his hand on the knob and turned to me. All the climbing up and down stairs had winded him and his mouth breathing was annoying. I took a step back from him so I wouldn’t be subjected to his awful rotten breath.

  He said, “I think the previous owner either had a pet they let run around in here or a wild animal somehow found a way into this part of the house. I tried to clean it up but the smell hasn’t had time to air out.”

  I nodded. The house already smelled like cat piss. I couldn’t imagine it could be much worse. He opened the door and the godawful stench emanating from within was overwhelming. A reek of wet dog and feces hung heavily in the air and assaulted my sinuses. The odor felt like a physical thing. It was oily and I cringed as I imagined it soaking into my clothes and my hair and my pores.

  The odor wasn’t the only thing unusual about the addition. I found myself standing in a hallway lined with doors. But the hallway wasn’t straight. It zigzagged back and forth at forty-five degree angles. The walls were drywall but it wasn’t taped or mudded. The floors were unfinished subflooring.

  “Weird,” I said. “There weren’t any pictures of this on the site. I thought maybe it was in bad shape. It looks like they were close to finishing.”

  “The angles of the hall made it a pain to get photos. It’s sort of hard to convey what’s going on here. And the software only allows so many photos for each listing.”

  He closed the door we’d entered and pointed at it. A mirror was affixed to the back of the door. I shrugged. I didn’t think it was a big deal. Mirrors weren’t a selling point for me. Especially cheap ones you could pick up at any one stop shopping center.

  “Superstition,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  He smirked and waved his hand dismissively. “Some of us old timers are superstitious.”

  “A mirror is superstitious?”

  “You’re supposed to hang a mirror on the wall opposing your front door. It’s meant to drive away evil spirits. Spirits are terrified of their own reflection and it keeps them from entering your home.”

  I inspected my reflection. I couldn’t imagine how hideous I’d have to be to avoid my own reflection.

  “It’s a good thing I’m not superstitious,” I said. “Besides . . . they have it in the wrong spot. ”

  I proceeded down the funhouse hall. The rooms were in the same state as the hallway: drywall, no tape or mud, subflooring, bare bulbs in the light fixtures. The jumbled construction of the outside had distracted me from noticing the addition had no windows.

  Jim tagged along as I poked my head in each room and tried the light switch. In the last room on the first level I found a large dark stain on the floor. There was a tied trash bag beside it. I didn’t think the stench could get any worse but it was apparent this room was ground zero. The bag contained a large solid mass.

  Jim fidgeted and worry lines etched his face. I walked around the stain and stopped beside the bag. I didn’t want to touch it. I knew whatever was in it was more than likely brimming with germs. But between the air, Jim’s sweaty handshake and foul breath, and the few things I’d touched since being in the house, I would have to take a shower as soon as I got home. Besides, I washed my shoes after every wear. I gently toed the bag.

  Jim waved his hands in a cautious manner. “Oh, don’t do that.”

  “What’s in it?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  I eyed the bag and stain dubiously. I thought, Even if this was scrubbed clean would the stench still be here?

  “Don’t worry,” Jim said. “If you decide you want to make an offer we can add a stipulation that the house be thoroughly cleaned before you move in.”

  I stared at him for a few uncomfortable seconds and hoped he would elaborate on the contents of the bag. He didn’t. I saved my question for the end of the tour.

  I left the room and found the stairs at the end of the hall. The second and third floors were the same design as the first: zigzagging hall and unfinished walls and floor. The smell was less cloying on the other floors. And there was no indication what the rooms were going to be used for. There were no plumbing fixtures in this part of the house. Jim trailed me and didn’t say anything until we reached the end of the hall on the third floor.

  “I’m not sure what they intended,” he said. “My best guess is a wacky bed and breakfast.”

  “Maybe,” I said. I peeked in the last room and turned to him. “Seems they would’ve added at least one bathroom per floor.”

  “At least there’s plenty of room if it’s something you had in mind. You could make some money on the side.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t imagine a demand for a place to stay in Edenville. No . . . I just want a house for my family. I wouldn’t be a good landlord.”

  He jokingly asked, “Do you have a big family?”

  “No. But I really want this house.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Starting a family?”

  “One in the oven.”

  He gave me a toothy smile and shifted his massive weight from one foot to the other. “If you don’t mind me asking . . . why this house? I have tons of others in the middle of nowhere if that’s what you’re looking for. They’re in much better shape than this one.” He waved his hand to insinuate the house. “You wouldn’t have to drop a penny into them. Sure . . . they might cost more, but believe me, the money you would save not dealing with repairs, not to the mention the headache, you’d be a lot happier.”

  “To be blunt, I don’t care for any of the other houses I’ve looked at. They’re all three bedroom ranches with beige Berber carpet and beige walls and faux stone counter tops. They’re nothing I haven’t seen a million times in a million homes. They lack character.”

  Jim looked down the odd hallway and back to me. “This place definitely has character.”

  “I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with any of the other houses you’d show me and they’d make a great home for someone . . . but not for me.”

  “It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind. You sure you don’t want to have the missus take a tour first?”

  I understood why he was trying to steer me away from the house. His commission would be more with an expensive home. He wanted a bigger payday. He didn’t want to be the object of gripes and groans when people asked which realtor I’d used. Overall he was looking out for his wallet and reputation.

  But I wanted this house for several reasons. The house was unique and everything about it, before and after I remodeled it to my specifications—its location, the absence of a school—would infuriate Eve. She would have to give up her job as a teacher. I would work from home. She would homeschool our child. We would live at least two hours from any friends or family which meant I didn’t have to pretend to be happy about the kid. But mostly, I was making a life decision that impacted both of us in a major way without her consent.

  “No need.” I waved my hand dismissively. “I’m buying the house. It’s a surprise for my wife.”

  “I don’t know how much of a surprise it will be. If you finance it stag she’ll still have to sign a waiver at cl
osing stating she’s aware you’re making a major purchase. It’s one of those crazy laws so a spouse can’t hide any assets from the other spouse in the event of a divorce.” His face reddened and he backpedaled. “Not that you’re going to get divorced—”

  “Don’t worry. The closing is when I plan on surprising her. We’re expecting. She’ll be thrilled to move out of our cramped apartment.”

  I knew Eve. She always complained about how crowded the apartment was. What she neglected to see was the place was claustrophobic because she owned too much stuff. If I sprung a new house on her she would be so excited she would sign the papers without question. If she did hesitate I would remind her I was allowed to make a major life decision for the both of us without consulting her. But what she wouldn’t know when she signed the paper was that she was agreeing to completely uproot her life and flip it on its head. I felt it was only fair.

  Jim said, “Does this mean you want to make an offer? Remember, its bank owned so the house is as-is. I could recommend an inspector if you’d like.”

  “No need. I know a lot of contractors who owe me favors.”

  He looked at his watch. “It’ll take me forty-five minutes to get back to my office. I could fax the offer to them before they close. But you probably won’t hear anything back for a day or two. You’d think the banks would want to get rid of these empty houses and get their money but they’re really slow about responding. What about financing? You’ll have to put down some earnest money if you make an offer and you might not be able to finance with certain types of loans since the interior isn’t finished.”

  I said, “I want to make an offer. And financing won’t be an issue. I already have it taken care of.”

  Paying for the house wouldn’t be a problem. I was frugal with my money. Once Eve and I were married I insisted we keep our finances separate. I had no idea how much money she had in her savings—or if she even had any at all—and she didn’t know I had enough money in my savings to buy a house and completely remodel it however I wanted. I preferred it that way.