The girl in a yellow cardigan.
He saw the car approaching his home, his prison for all eternity. Standing on the shadows, looking through window of his old room, he could make up the soon would be inhabitants were a family. He smiled to himself, to the dead, and to the horrors that awaits them the moment they set foot on the pavement of the seemingly inviting house and foolishly deciding it to be their home sweet home.
He disappeared among the shadows when the car parked outside.
The realtor, Marcy, waved at the new family. The Harmons. She let them in and her automatic realtor speech came in. Her charm was always blinding, her mother would say, blindingly preposterous, of course her mother would add. But Marcy wasn't a saint; maybe a couple of furbishing of pretty lies won't hurt them. Especially when Vivien decided to ask about the house's former occupants and why is it so large and surprisingly cheap. Marcy knew she would have to tell the truth. Some of it, perhaps, to take the gore history away and sprinkle a little –no, a whole dust of 'they're always fighting' reason.
But it was no reason to kill your partner with a gun and then proceeding to kill yourself.
"We'll take it." The daughter said. An uneasy smile appeared on Marcy's face, she has to do her job, and made a comment or two that the house was beautiful and they wouldn't find anywhere as sophisticatedly, victorian-esque as this one. Despite of the frightening history behind, Marcy justified herself by laughing at ghosts and murders, the house is not haunted, people just have bad lucks, she mused, but that isn't her problem, not at all. She can't really frighten them.
And houses can't sell themselves, you know.
The girl stood there on the floor of the dirty basement. Eyes searching and the want to explore screamed inside of her. He gazed at her like a predator to a prey; waiting, eyes intently on her, and ready to pounce when gotten the chance. She heard the little dog still yelping above, shoes clanking and hair softly swaying as she walk upstairs, away from the basement. Disconnecting from his prying eyes. He grinned, still standing on the basement floor, behind cupboards and darkness, eyes glinting with resolved contemplation.
Closing his eyes, he could visualize inside his tormented mind her bright, willful eyes and her yellow cardigan billowing with the dead wind.