Young Writers Society

There’s a graveyard in the front yard.

That’s the first thing Rissa notices as she steps out of her car and lets the door slam shut. She leans against the beige Toyota and takes a draw on her cigarette. There’s a large oak tree with a least a dozen headstones underneath and they all bear the same last name – Rothenberg. Must be some sort of family graveyard.

The house is magnificent. It’s something out of a story book – like the castles she dreamt of as a child. It’s three stories tall and built from stone with several large aching windows in the front. The yard is well kept and the bushes are manicured. If the inside of the house looks anything like the outside, Rissa will have no problem selling the house. Of course, she would need to get rid of those ugly headstones.

Nobody will buy a house with a graveyard in the front lawn.

She flicks her cigarette butt, still smoldering, into the yard. The gravel crunches under her feet and as she reaches to ring the doorbell, something taps the back of her head.

Her head swivels to the side, but nobody is there. She grunts and then notices the cigarette butt at her feet. Was that there before? She tosses it into the yard, and a moment later the cigarette butt is flying towards her face.

She yelps and ducks, and the cigarette falls a few feet away from her. Bewildered, she straightens her jacket and gives the cigarette butt a weary glance. The wind must have caught it or something.

“Who’s out there?”

The large oak door swings open with a loud groan. Rissa looks into the gray eyes of an elderly woman. A pair of glasses sits at the end of her nose, making her look cross. The woman is short and petite, not any taller than five feet, and Rissa feels as if she towers over the old woman. The woman eyes Rissa’s business suit, lips pursed in disapproval.

“You must be Ms. Rothenberg. I’m Rissa Johnson, the realtor. How are you today?”

Ms. Rothenberg’s eyes narrow. “Realtor? I don’t need a realtor!” Her eyes widen and she looks to her left, and then nods. “Oh yes, the realtor! I remember now. Come on in. You can call me Shirley.”

The inside is better than Rissa imagined. The large foyer is decorated with a large velvet maroon rug. The walls are paneled with oak wood and detailed flower designs are carved in the crown molding. The afternoon light filters through the window, reflecting small rainbows off the large crystal chandelier. The chandelier alone could probably pay for three months of Rissa’ bills.

Rissa stares in amazement and hope surges in her chest. If she can sell this house, she would have more than enough money to pay her court and legal fees and start a new life with Emma. The thought of Emma makes her heat sag. It has been well over a year since Rissa last saw her daughter, since the legal system took her away. Rissa had never wanted something so badly, to see her daughter again. The first step had been fighting her alcohol addiction, and she could gladly say she’s been sober well over three months. There was just one thing left to do and she would have her daughter back: she needed to get back on her feet and become financially stable.

“I suppose I’ll give you a tour,” Shirley says, drawing Rissa from her thoughts.

Rissa plasters on her best smile. “Oh yes, a tour will be great!”

“You’ll have to pardon my dust. With just me living here, it’s just impossible to clean the whole place.”

Each room is just as spectacular as the one before. Too bad Emma’s not here now to see it, she would love it. Rissa presses her lips together in determination. She would sell this house and regain custody of Emma, and when that happens, Rissa will bring her here. They’ll pretend she’s a princess, locked in her tower, and a handsome prince will come save her.

“Oh my!” Shirley exclaims as they enter what must be the library. Books line the wall from ceiling to floor. There is not one wall void of books, and they even overflow from the walls, laying scattered in piles across the floor. Shirley is standing before the fireplace, where a large painting fell and is now lying face down on the floor.

Shirley lifts it up, revealing a large watercolor painting of a cross-looking woman. Her nose and cheekbones are sharp. Her dark eyes are cross and disapproving and Rissa feels that if this woman were standing before her, she would disapprove of Rissa.

“Aunt Madeline, I know you hate this picture, but it’s all I have of you. So you’re just going to have to deal with it.” Shirley glances around the room as she speaks. Rissa gapes at her, surely this woman is talking to herself? Perhaps she’s gone mad, in the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s or something like that.

“Can you help me lift this back up?” Shirley asks. The painting is surprisingly heavy, but they manage to heave it above the fireplace mantle. “Alright. I guess the only thing left is the basement.”

For some reason, the thought of the basement terrifies Rissa. But the basement is an important part of a house, it provides the foundational work. As they descend the stairs, each step groaning under their weight, Rissa tells herself that there’s nothing but dust down there and this woman must be going mad with loneliness.

Rissa stays by the bottom stop, her heart jumping in her chest. It becomes painful to breath and she takes slows breaths to calm her nerves. There is a scraping sound, making Rissa jump and cling to the hand rail, but it’s just Shirley, kicking over an old tin can.

She looks back at Rissa and gestures toward a black door. “The utilities are back here if you want to take a look.”

Yes, the utilities. She does need to see those to be able to properly sell the house. She loosens her grip on the rail and stumbles forward. She shivers uncontrollably. Did it get colder down here? She rubs her hands along her arms, trying to warm up and cover up her shaking.

She pulls open the black door and is immediately shoved inside. The door slams shut behind her, encasing her in darkness. She grips the doorknob, but it won’t budge. She slams her fist against the door. “Let me out!”

“I’m sorry. I can’t do that,” Shirley’s voice floats through the door. “You see, I lost my husband months ago. I was devastated, completely heartbroken. I couldn’t stand the thought of not being with him.” Rissa’s breaths are ragged and her muscles are sore from the tension. A rotting stench hits her and she presses against the hard wood door, whimpering.

“It was my Aunt Madeline’s idea.”

A dim light flickered on. She peers into the light and met another pair of eyes. But these eyes were different – they’re empty, void of life. It steps closer to the light, and Rissa realized it’s a man. But he doesn’t look like a man – his skin is pale, his head cocked at an abnormal angle, but the worst is that his cheek was missing, revealing teeth and bone and rotting flesh.

Rissa screams and claws at the door, pushing against it with all her strength. “Let me out! Let me out!” She desperately digs her nails against the door, drawing blood. She tries kicking the door, but it’s not use. Behind her, she can hear the uneven steps of the monster moving closer.

“I introduce to you my husband, Robert Rothenberg. I do wish you had more time to get to know him, but he’s hungry, you see, and gets very angry when he’s hungry.”

Rissa falls to the floor in the feeble position and buries her face into her hands. She thinks of Emma and the last time she saw her. Her long dark hair was a tangled mess but her eyes were light with joy when Rissa said they could get ice cream. It was one of her favorite memories, and now she would never get to see her daughter again, to tell her how sorry she was and that she wishes she could have been a better mother.

The last thing she remembers is something sharp digging into her skin, followed by the smell of death and rotting flesh.