Exactly one year ago an agent showed my family and I a house that was rumored to be haunted by its previous tenant. When my father inquired about this, the agent said that all those rumors were just morbid imaginings of the locals. "Don't worry about this house," he said, his smooth face betraying nothing. "It's perfectly safe."
With those words still ringing in our heads, we moved into the house. It was cheap, modest and seemingly perfect for such a family like us. My parents were perfectly delighted about it. They remodeled it with a vengeance, crowing about its various finer points.
Some time later, we had us a bright eyesore of a house that shockingly stood out in the neighborhood. I imagined the neighbors laughing at us secretly, saying that we must've been fools to redecorate our house without employing professional help. I must say that I agreed with them as my parents had painted our house a vibrant pink and red. The two colors clashed horribly.
It wasn't until I began going to school that I heard the gossip about my house. Surprised, I started pestering my friends to find out more about it.
"Nobody's told you anything?" my friend said, surprised. Her round face drained of all its color. Everybody else turned towards me, shocked beyond belief.
"No," I said, uncomfortable by all the stares. It was only my second day at school and receiving this much attention disturbed me.
A rather pretty girl with pale skin and long black hair said, "Well, I'm so surprised that you haven't heard anything. It's, like, big news-especially since you live there." I shrugged, not knowing how to reply.
She continued, "Well, since nobody's volunteering to explain, I guess I'm going to have to do it." She raised an eyebrow at everybody. "Ok, so a few years back, some family moved into the very house you're living in right now. They were pretty normal, average, nothing spectacular about them. Then, one day, they just died. A neighbor, wanting to welcome them to the neighborhood, found the door open. She was kinda concerned 'cause nobody in their right mind left their door open. So she just barged right in there and found 'em all sitting down. Backs towards her and blood everywhere." The girl paused, looking around at everybody. They were all tense and hanging on to her every word. "Of course she called the police. They arrived a few minutes afterward and went in the house to investigate. One of the officers came stumbling back outside, saying he'd never seen anything like it. Later on, the cops found out that the father had shot his whole family. Then laid the gun to his head. Nobody knew why. Even now, we still don't. Maybe he did it 'cause of financial problems. Who cares?" She shrugged.
"So…" I didn't have to finish my sentence. This time another one of my 'friends' answered me. A cute boy with dreadlocks said, "Duh, Jess, ghosts." I raised my eyebrows. "Seriously, ghosts?" I said sarcastically.
Nobody said anything. They just looked at me like I was crazy.
Mortified I tried explaining myself. "Well, you see, I've read a lot of ghost stories. And ghosts usually tend to try driving people crazy as soon as they move in. And I've been staying at my house for a week now and nothing's every happened." Yet, I thought. But I kept that thought to myself. It didn't matter, though. You could tell that everybody was thinking it.
"Not yet," said my round-faced friend, voicing what everybody was thinking.
After that the conversation kind of died and I felt no wish to pursue the subject.