My computer dinged, and I saw a message from the front desk receptionist informing me that my client had arrived. I checked my watch. Five minutes early. I sent her back an email to send them in, and grabbed the thin file I had for the family. I'll admit when they first called I was rather surprised. Dr. Cullen, the best doctor in Forks, no doubt in the state, said he and his wife were moving and wanted to sell their home. I remembered when they had first moved here, just five years ago. It was rather odd; the talk of the realtors at the time. They moved into the enormous mansion several miles outside of town, right in the middle of nowhere. The house had been subject to rumors of the realtors for years.
Though it hadn't been lived in in several decades, it was owned and maintained. Five years ago, when the Cullens arrived, they didn't have to do any paperwork: they already owned the place. It didn't make sense. Carlisle was a young man, certainly no older than thirty-five; how had he owned the house for forty years? It must have been a father or grandfather. He must have a hefty trust fund.
The whole family was odd. Seven children, six teenagers. They were unusually close, and often could be seen walking around the mall together in a pack, like wolves. My daughter told me stories about them in school: their stellar grades, stoic attitudes, and frequent absences. No one wanted to pry too much, as Dr. Cullen and his wife, both young themselves, adopted them as teenagers, each from sad circumstances. It was such a heartfelt story that no one dared to question them. Then, just a few months ago, a new daughter cropped up, this time a younger girl, probably in elementary school. She had only been seen in town a few times, but no one had seen her for two months now. People were beginning to worry.
My worries were exacerbated when Dr. Cullen asked me to list his house. I had only seen the mansion once in my life in person: when I drove down their with a few other realtors about ten years ago, nervously approaching the behemoth structure in our cars, daring to see this abandoned castle hidden in the woods.
It had been even grander than I had imagined. Though it hadn't housed people in years, its glass windows still shone, nature had not taken over the gravel driveway, and the house still looked warm and inviting. We quickly drove away before we could investigate further.
I looked at the lone paper I had in the file marked Cullen. Just a few notes I had made from the call I received from Carlisle: Cullens moving. House for sale. Asking a few million. Will come in Wednesday at 2pm.
I lifted my head after I heard a knock on my door.
"Come in," I said loudly, my voice sounding nervous. The door opened quietly, and in walked the beautiful Mrs. Cullen, followed by her sturdy husband, Dr. Cullen, who closed the door behind him.
"Dr. and Mrs. Cullen, a pleasure to see you," I said, shaking each of their hands before we sat down.
"Tom, it's been a while. Glad to see business seems to be going well," Carlisle smiled, his wife grinning warmly beside him.
"Yes, it's picking up. Forks is going through a pretty rapid population increase," I said. "So, selling the house, eh?"
"Yes," Carlisle nodded. "We're planning on moving, and will not return for... well, we won't return in a lifetime. So we decided to list it to give someone else the pleasure of the home we've shared so many memories in."
Esme smiled fondly.
I had to wonder about the 'not returning in a lifetime' thing. Why didn't he just say they were moving? Didn't most people assume that if you listed your house, you weren't coming back?
"Of course," I said. "If you brought the materials I asked for over the phone, I can copy those, and then I'd like to go over a few details of the house."
Carlisle handed over property papers, and I could barely contain my gasp at how much the house was worth. There was no way they planned on asking for only 'a few million dollars'. I wasn't sure even Bill Gates could afford this house, but asking for just a couple million was practically giving the house away, almost criminal.
They went over the basics of the house, and I jotted down my notes. It sounded even more incredible than I had previously thought. Finally, I had all the information I needed. This was definitely the biggest house I had ever had to list. If I sold it, I would get a hefty paycheck.
"And how much, at this point, do you plan on asking for it?"
Esme looked over at her husband. After a moment, he turned to me.
"We were planning on asking about $3 million."
I gaped at him.
"Dr. Cullen, with all due respect, this paper gives your property a value of more than ten times that. Even more, with all the artifacts you plan to leave behind."
He smiled at me kindly, but his words were firm.
"My wife and I have decided. It has been such a wonderful house for us, so many wonderful memories that are worth much more than a house could ever be. If we named a price for that, it would be infinite."
I nodded my head absentmindedly. The customer always knows best. Even if they're throwing a Gucci bag into Goodwill, slapping a Holiday Inn pricetag on a luxurious extended stay hotel.
"I'll need to arrange a visit so I can check the property out for myself and take some pictures. Would tomorrow work for you?"
"Yes, tomorrow at 4pm would work well for us. Tomorrow is my last day at the hospital."
Wow, I thought. That was quick. He's already quit his job, even though they just listed the house?
We agreed on my visit and said our goodbyes. I sat back and looked at the notes I had written, shaking my head at everything.
The next day:
I arrived at the house a few minutes early, but the entire family was standing outside in a group, like they were waiting for me. It was odd, but then the whole family was odd. They had a very cult-like appearance. All wearing dark colors, skin as white as ghosts, not moving, staring at me with a hint of a glare on the children's faces. I got out of my car and shook Carlisle and Esme's hands. I expected to get down to business, but they insisted on introducing me to each of their seven children.
I shook hands first with the stoic looking brown haired boy, whose wedding last summer was the talk of the town. I wondered what he had been doing for the past eight months. He was a genius, almost the valedictorian of his class, but he hadn't gone to college. From what I'd heard, he lived at home, occasionally appearing in town to go to the hardware store. Next to him stood Bella, Charlie Swan's daughter. I hadn't seen her since around the time of her wedding eight months ago. While I didn't know her too well, she certainly looked better than before. It was odd. While before she was clumsy and unsure, now she truly looked like a Cullen. She had the same pale, stable countenance that they all had. Strange that she had simply moved in with her new husband and his family, rather than finding a house together. The whole family was strange.
Next was a giggly short girl named Alice. She was the one I saw in town all the time, constantly shopping. Since graduating last summer, she was in town more frequently. I couldn't imagine her parents allowing a nineteen-year-old girl to spend all day shopping instead of going to college or holding a job, but by the looks of their house, money was no problem. Beside her stood a giant by comparison, a sullen boy named Jasper. He looked displeased, and grimaced as he shook my hand. Then was Emmett, a massive boy who shook my hand violently, shaking it up and down for several seconds before his parents hissed at him to behave. I looked down at my now red hand. Fortunately, the next daughter refused to shake my hand. She looked at me with a scowl. She looked like a supermodel, with her perfect blonde hair and flawless skin. I moved on to the last child: the young girl. I looked down at her in shock. While she hadn't been seen for a few months, she appeared to have changed drastically. She looked like she was at least twelve years old, while I could have sworn she was only seven or eight before. The bronze son shifted uncomfortably and coughed.
Carlisle clasped his hands together.
"Well, children, why don't you all venture into the woods for a little outing while your mother and I show Mr. Line our house?" The children nodded and slowly moved down the stairs, except for the massive one, who shouted,
"Yes! Let's go! Into the woods to start the day, da da da da, da da da HEY!" He swung his arms back and forth and marched into the woods, singing a song I thought I had heard before. The supermodel crossed her arms and shook her head, muttering,
"Sometimes I really worry about him."
All the children followed him into the woods. It was an odd scene. Usually the children of the house I was visiting would tag along, or go to town. But an "outing" in the woods? It sounded odd the way Carlisle had emphasized it.
"Please, come in," Esme told me graciously, and we stepped into the house. The living room was beautiful, with comfortable couches and an enormous gaming system. So that was what the children did all day. I began snapping pictures.
"This is our kitchen," Carlisle informed me, showing me various kitchen appliances which looked brand new. Esme proudly told me that they had ordered all the state of the art appliances custom-made from Japan. Carlisle informed me that the impressive counter was made with marble imported from Italy, and the wood paneling was from Bosnian wood. He opened a door which led to the garage, which on first glance looked normal, until he flicked on a light. Slowly, light flickered on down the garage, and kept going and going. Two cars were visible, then four, then six, then eight, then ten. I walked past the cars in amazement. These were the most luxurious cars I had ever seen, apart from in car magazines and on TV. A Ferrari, a Porsche, a convertible, an Aston Martin, all looking brand new, all the most expensive models, and all the best of their kind.
"Our children do love their cars," Carlisle said, smiling, sensing my amazement. I took several pictures of the garage and cars, feeling like a tourist in a foreign city. I couldn't believe Dr. Cullen would let teenagers drive these pieces of art. After a few minutes, we went back inside, and Carlisle and Esme led me into the dining room. A long wooden table shone in the sunlight, topped with several vases of fresh picked flowers. Carlisle pointed out tapestries and rugs which had come from different countries.
He gestured to a large painting which took up nearly an entire wall. It was at least twelve feet long.
"This was a... gift, from some friends in Italy," he said quietly. The painting was beautiful, an original for sure. I aimed my camera and snapped a picture. Six men stood wearing eighteenth century ruffled clothing. They all were pale, confident, and stood imposingly, except for one to the side. I looked carefully, and thought he looked familiar. His blond hair and kind eyes looked just like...
"I'll take you upstairs, where we spend our nights," Carlisle said, leading me away from the dining room. Obviously they sleep in their bedrooms. What an odd way to phrase it. What did he mean?
On the wall along the stairs there was an odd glass-enclosed display which looked like it was made of graduation caps. I would have looked closer, but Carlisle and Esme kept shooing me up the stairs. I took as many pictures as I could, partly for me, partly for the listing.
"Here is our bedroom," Esme said with pride, opening two double doors to reveal a massive bedroom. It was incredible. Two stone pillars stood in the room near the giant bed, covered in a thick red comforter, and topped with a dozen little decorative pillows. Esme opened the curtains, shining light on several bookcases and shelves, which held dozens of little trinkets which looked like they came from all over the world. My finger didn't leave the button of my camera as I kept taking pictures, more so for my own use rather than for selling the house. The pair led me to their closet, and I was amazed. It was the largest closet I had ever seen, and the most organized. Hundreds of shoes lined shelves that went along the wall for several feet. Clothing was color coordinated, and without a sleeve out of place. There were dozens of tuxedos on one end of the closet, and multiple full length ballgowns on the other. On a closer glance, I noticed that many of the dresses looked old fashioned. I spied one fifties looking dress, and another which looked very seventies. It was like the dresses went through several decades. Maybe Esme was a fashionista. Then again, my knowledge of fashion only came from half-listening to my wife's fashion expositions after reading Vogue.
"I guess we can show you to the children's rooms," Esme said politely after I clicked my camera at least fifty times. I begrudgingly followed the pair out of this palace-like master bedroom and headed down the hall to the first bedroom on the left.
"This is Edward and... well, Edward stays here," Esme said. I wondered what she was going to say. I stepped into the room and was amazed by how much stuff he had. One wall was completely covered in shelves which housed what looked to be thousands of CDs. I stepped closer to read the titles. Several of Mozart, Beethoven, Bach, but also some sixties music, singers I didn't recognize, and a few names I did know from my daughter. A grand piano stood on the other side of the room. I didn't know anyone who had a piano in their bedroom.
I took some more pictures and made my way around the room. There were two sidetables one either side of the bed, but they looked like they were for two different people. One had a very worn copy of Romeo and Juliet as well as hair bands and some pink floral perfume, which seemed very out of place in a teenage boy's room, while the other had a few sheets of music and a comb.
"Shall we go to the next room?" Carlisle asked, and I nodded. They led me across the hall to what was clearly a young girl's room. A few dolls lay tossed aside in the corner, and a stack of books sat by the bed. I was shocked at some of the books that were there. The girl I had seen outside was around twelve or so years old, but she was reading Moby Dick, Brothers Karamazov, a book about werewolf legends, and a thick looking medical tome about genetics. My daughter was definitely not reading these types of books at that age.
"Whose room is this?" I asked.
"Renesmee's, the newest member to our family," Esme said proudly. "It's been such fun having a child living with us."
A child living with them? She said that as if she had never experienced it. I thought about what others had told me about the Cullens. Two twenty-somethings had adopted five teenagers. I guess Mrs. Cullen was happy to have a younger, less moody kid at their place.
"Looks like quite the reader." I pointed to the stack of books.
"Yes," Carlisle said quickly, putting his hands behind his back and turning towards Esme. "Our Renesmee has impressed us all with her literary capabilities."
I took some more pictures and we headed into the next room. This room looked like a paradox almost. While it was neat and well put together, it seemed like two people with very different interests shared it, which obviously wasn't true because there was only one bed. On the dresser was a fuzzy pink lamp with several bottles of perfume next to a silver cannon and a few statues of soldiers. The desk in the corner was filled with sketches of models, similar to the sketches I had seen in my wife's fashion magazines, but also had a few thick military books stacked in the corner. A mannequin stood in one corner of the room wearing a fancy skirt and blouse, holding a purse which no doubt cost more than my entire salary last year, while an ancient looking map was hung on the wall behind it. Over the bed hung a large Confederate flag, and on either side were pictures of runway models. Whoever lived in this room had interesting tastes, no doubt.
I went over to the desk after taking a few pictures, and looked at a few pictures which hung on the wall. A picture of Alice and Jasper, standing awfully close for brother and sister. A black and white photo of a woman in a white gown, and a man in a black tuxedo, obviously a wedding picture from decades ago. But the bride and groom looked exactly like Jasper and Alice from the other picture, minus a veil and a different hairstyle. I glanced from picture to picture.
It could have been their grandparents or great grandparents, but they would have had awfully strong genes. Plus, why would both ancestors look like Alice and Jasper if they weren't related? I raised the camera and took a picture of the two pictures. Something fishy was going on here.
"And finally, we have my daughter Rosalie's bedroom," Carlisle said, squeezing his wife's shoulders. They both looked anxious. Carlisle opened a shut door at the end of the hallway and allowed me in first. This room, like the previous, looked as though it were shared by two polar opposites. In the corner was a white antique dresser, with jewelry and other girly objects. That made sense. But in the opposite corner was a mini basketball hoop and a strange orange lump which, on closer inspection, looked to be what one was a basketball. It looked crushed, like all the air had been taken out, and the lining was crumpled like a piece of paper. What on earth?
On one of the walls hung a newspaper article with a picture of the large boy I recognized as Emmett. He was grinning from ear to ear as two angry-looking policemen held both of his arms behind his back. The headline read "NOBEL PEACE PRIZE ANNOUNCEMENT THWARTED BY TEEN RUSHING STAGE, FREESTYLING INTO MIC".
"I apologize for my son's immaturity. It's just a phase," Carlisle said from behind me, smiling unconvincingly. I wasn't sure if I wanted to take any pictures in this room. I walked over to a bookcase and decided I could take a picture of that. As I held my camera up to it, I noticed in dismay that the battery had died.
Hearing my soft sigh of frustration, Esme came over and asked what was the matter. I showed her the dead camera.
"Oh, would you like me to get you a new battery? We have several downstairs." She took my camera and headed downstairs, pulling Carlisle with her, leaving me alone in this odd room. I focused on the bookshelf, and pulled out a thick, brown leather book, which looked like a scrapbook. Maybe it would tell me something about who lived in this room. I hoped I wouldn't run away screaming after seeing any pictures.
A red heart was on the front of the book, outlining the words, "Our Weddings" in a fancy cursive font. I narrowed my eyebrows. What did 'our weddings' mean? Most people only had one wedding. And I doubted that anyone, divorced twice or twenty times, would craft a scrapbook of their failed weddings. Maybe the title meant the weddings a couple had attended together? But who calls weddings they go to 'their' weddings? It made no sense. Plus, Carlisle said this was his son's room. This seemed rather girlish for a teenage boy. And there had to be someone else to make 'our'. I opened the book.
The first picture was about my grandparents' age, and was of a beautiful bride wearing an elegant wedding gown which trailed around her. She stood next to a large man, grinning, who had his arm draped around her. It couldn't be. But it was. These two people were without a doubt Emmett and Rosalie, whom I had met outside less than an hour ago. Maybe they were great grandparents, but it was such a similarity. I flipped the page. The same two people, in the same position, but this time the bride was wearing a different dress, tighter and shorter. It reminded me of pictures I had seen of my grandmother's time. I flipped the page. Another picture of these two, grinning at the camera, this time the woman wearing a flowy white skirt and a long veil. The next page there they were again, same couple, only this time the burly man was holding an unhappy looking bride in his arms. I flipped the page and the photo was in color this time, which only made the couple look even more like Emmett and Rosalie. I began flipping through the book faster. Page after page of the same bride and groom, going through history. What was going on? This was clearly the same couple, identical to Emmett and Rosalie, shown getting married throughout the years. But how? I wracked my mind for theories, but none made sense. They didn't age? But why would they keep getting married? They could be relatives, but they were too similar. And the book was called 'Our Weddings', which suggested it was the same couple. I began to panic, and looked around the room nervously. Was I in some sort of time warp? Would I disappear without a trace, and be stuck traveling through time, trying desperately to get back to my family forever? I looked out the window and began planning an escape.
"Here you are, Tom, good as new..." Esme's cheery voice was cut short as she looked at me holding the scrapbook. I was too shocked to move.
I stood without moving, staring at Esme and Carlisle who stood across the room. I thought about jumping out the window. I would never make it out the door. But maybe I could... I could easily shove Esme out of the way, and Carlisle never struck me as a fighter. But before I could move, Carlisle spoke.
"Tom, Esme and I were just speaking in the kitchen as she got you batteries. We're having second thoughts. We might return to this house. I don't think we'll sell after all."
I stood there for a few seconds. It must be some trick. This whole thing was a ploy, a setup to get me to come here. Maybe they ran some sick murder house. Maybe that's why they kept it up and running all these years, despite only living in it for the past five.
"We're sorry for all the hassle we've caused you. Here," he took my camera out of his wife's hands and gave it to me. I stood there like a statue.
"Forgive us, Tom, for all your time we've wasted," Esme said. She looked truly sorrowful.
"We'll reimburse you for your time and travel fees," Carlisle said. "Come on down to the kitchen."
Aha! This was their moment. I followed them cautiously out of the room and down the stairs, and looked around for any exits. Carlisle walked into the kitchen and pulled open a drawer, then wrote something in a checkbook. He ripped out a check and handed it to me.
"There you are, Tom. I trust this will cover everything?" I looked down at the check and my eyes bulged out of my head. There was no way he was paying me this. It was all a trick.
"We'd better call our children in. We don't want them getting too reckless out in the woods," Esme said, smiling. Who knew what those disgusting children were doing in the woods. Torturing innocents? I backed away slowly.
"Thank you so much for your time, Tom. I'm sorry we changed our minds," Carlisle said, opening the front door for me and waving.
That was it? I could leave. I looked around in the bushes, expecting one of their kids to jump out and tackle me to the ground. Luckily, I had played football in high school. I walked briskly to my car and practically fell into the front seat. I put the car in drive and high tailed it out of there, not bothering to look back at the waving Mr. and Mrs. Cullen. As I drove sixty miles per hour down the driveway, I thought I saw several flashes in the woods. Probably the Cullen children, trying to hunt me down. I pushed down on the accelerator and turned onto the main road, not even looking for traffic. I made it back to the office in record time, and stumbled inside.
"Tom, are you alright?" The receptionist asked me, looking down at me in shock. "How were the Cullens?"
I held up my hand and took several deep breaths.
"Never speak their name to me again," I said, and headed straight to my office, intending to burn any mention of the Cullens. I sank into my office chair, which had never felt so uncomfortable. I turned on my camera to try and relive what I had experienced, no matter how traumatic it was. I turned on and showed a full battery. Even if she was a serial killer, Mrs. Cullen sure was kind about replacing the batteries. I clicked the button to view the photos I had taken, but only found pictures I had taken during a family vacation. I clicked the next button frantically, and soon the pictures began repeating themselves.
Those little vipers. They had wiped my camera clean of any evidence. I opened my desk drawer to where I kept their file. Gone. How had they managed to get into my office? I looked around the room nervously, feeling unsafe.
The Cullens had vanished from my life. Even the email my secretary had sent me regarding them was gone. Had I just imagined the whole affair? Within a week, the Cullens had left town, and I never heard from them again. Or had I even heard of them to begin with?