The only response I have is, "Haven't you ever felt a pull toward something without knowing why? All you know is that it feels right, deep in your bones. That's exactly how I felt when I saw the listing." The feeling is hard to put into words, and I hope he understands and supports my decision. More than anything, I need him in my corner, ready to stand beside me even if my decision was impulsive.
I completely understand what you're describing. That sudden, uncontrollable feeling can be very powerful. It's a gut reaction we should trust, even if we're uncertain about what will happen. I feel it every time I'm with you," he says with a sigh. "But that's a discussion for another time, and you really should have seen it in person at least once.
"Why?" I ask. "It wouldn't have changed the outcome. I saw the pictures, and that was enough for me." His heavy sigh on the other end of the line tells me he has resigned himself to my decision, at least for now.
"So, when can we go look at this house in person?" he asks.
"How about today? What time do you get off?"
"I'm actually done for the day. We had meetings all morning, and nothing was scheduled for the afternoon. Can you pick me up in an hour at the shop?"
"Okey-dokey, Z." I quickly end the call, but his words stay with me. At first, I don't understand what he means, but now my mind is racing. Was he expressing romantic feelings for me, or was he just talking about our friendship? It was probably about our friendship. Still, the possibility that he might feel the same way sends a flutter through my chest and makes my hands tremble. I have hoped for more than friendship for so long, but hope is dangerous when it comes to Zeke. If I read too much into his words, I could hurt myself in a way I might not recover from.
When I reach the shop, Zeke is waiting outside in worn jeans, work boots, and a company shirt. As soon as he sees me arrive, he pushes off the wall he is leaning against and approaches me. I try to read his mood, but his expression reveals nothing. He opens the passenger door and climbs in, then finally flashes a big smile. Relief floods through me. I take his smile as a good sign.
"Hey, Rocky, let's go look at this house!" he says in greeting, and that is exactly what we do. The drive to the house is filled with conversation about the property and my remodeling ideas. Time passes quickly, and before we know it, we are pulling into the driveway.
The first thing I notice is that the circular driveway needs new gravel. As I stop my car in front of the door, I am overwhelmed by the realization that my dream of owning a home with a wraparound porch has come true. For a moment, I can't move. The two-story farmhouse has already won my heart, but seeing it in person makes something inside me loosen, as if I have been holding my breath for years without knowing it. I know I made the right decision; it feels like coming home. Although this might seem strange to most people, I feel unexpectedly calm, almost as if the house recognizes me too.
The photos didn't deceive; the house definitely needs significant work, including a fresh coat of paint on the peeling, neglected exterior. Despite its imperfections, the outside highlight is the bay window overlooking the side yard. I can imagine myself sitting there with a cup of coffee, watching the world go by. Now I need to see the inside to assess its condition. As I walk toward the front door, I notice Zeke is still standing by my Explorer with an uneasy expression.
"You okay, Zeke?"
"Yeah, I'm good," he replies. "I just feel a little uneasy, like I'm not wanted here." His gaze is fixed on a second-floor window. I follow it, and suddenly, the curtain moves as if someone has been holding it and lets go. My stomach drops. For one breathless second, the whole world narrows to that window. My mind goes berserk, and I run to stand by Zeke before I can convince myself not to.
"What the hell was that?" I practically yell. "Did you see the curtain move, Z?"
"Yep! I sure did, but I thought I was seeing things," he says as he looks down at me. "It definitely looked like someone was holding that curtain. Are you sure no vagrants or anyone lives here?"
"None that I know of. As far as I know, no one is supposed to be here, Z!" I can hear the panic in my voice. Mentally, I try to make sense of what we just saw and remember if Mick said anyone would be here. I can't recall anything.
"Maybe it was just a draft in the house that caused the curtain to move, and we're freaking ourselves out over nothing," he offers. Even as he tries to reassure me, I know something is off with him. I want to believe what he is saying, so I choose not to let my imagination run wild.
"Yeah, you're right," I say, more to myself than to him. I'm not sure if I'm trying to convince him or myself. Taking a slow breath, I grab Zeke's large, calloused hand in my smaller one and pull him with me toward the steps to the front door. His hand grounds me, warm and solid against my panic. "Come on, slowpoke. Let's go check out the new place." As I insert the key into the lock, the unmistakable feeling of someone watching us takes over. All the hair on my arms and the back of my neck tingles. Something definitely feels off, but thank goodness I didn't come alone.
Ignoring the feeling, I turn my attention back to unlocking the door. As I open it cautiously, I scan the driveway and neighboring houses before nudging the front door wider. To my surprise, I catch the gaze of my neighbor across the street. He is staring right at me with a look of disgust and disapproval on his face, as if I have committed some unforgivable offense simply by standing on the porch.
He is a small man with deep bronze skin, indicative of his time spent working outdoors. His face is distorted into a scowl, and his eyes glint with intense hostility. His body language makes it obvious he is angry, though I'm not sure why. All I know is that the hostile energy radiating from him is palpable, and the unease of the situation is not lost on me. I break eye contact and concentrate on the door.
Pushing the door open, I am immediately struck by the beauty and potential of the place. The original hardwood floors gleam in the sunlight streaming through the windows, and intricate woodwork adorns the walls and ceilings. It is breathtaking; I don't see this kind of craftsmanship nowadays. The house feels welcoming, like I am a long-lost relative who has come back after a long trip. For a moment, the strange fear from outside fades beneath something softer—belonging. Stepping farther into the entryway, I feel Zeke move in behind me and hear him take a sharp breath. The house must be affecting him as much as it is affecting me.
"Wow, this house has a lot of potential, Rocky." That is all he can say. It seems like the uneasiness he felt outside has vanished. The house doesn't look like much from the outside because of neglect, but the inside is an entirely different story. It feels like a time capsule; everything is preserved—a little dusty, but still in good condition. I can tell the family who lived here left in a hurry, which only makes me wonder again what actually happened to them. It looks like all of their belongings are still here, waiting for them to return. The thought leaves a hollow ache in my chest. These rooms are not empty; they are paused, holding their breath around whatever happened here. As we journey farther into the house, I notice there is an office to the right and a living room to the left. I turn to see where Zeke is and catch him staring at me with a small smile on his face.
"Rocky," Zeke asks, "were you aware all the furniture was still in the house and that it belonged to the previous owners?" Now that I think about it, no one mentioned the furniture was included. That is strange. You would think either the city or a relative would have come and cleared it out.
"I had no idea," I reply. "I assumed the house would be empty. I mean, the furniture was in the pictures, but I thought Mick's real estate company had staged the house." Looking around, I decide most of it fits well with the house and should stay, but any extra items can be stored or sold.
As we explore the living room, the distinct sound of heavy footsteps comes from the entryway. We immediately rush to the entrance and find the man from across the street standing there. He stares at us, clearly trying to intimidate us. Goosebumps break out on my arms just like they did when I met the sheriff. He gives off a creepy vibe; something about him doesn't sit right with me. The first thing that puts me on alert is the way he just walks into the house without knocking. The house felt like mine only seconds ago, but his presence makes it feel invaded. Zeke quickly steps in front of me, shielding me from the man. I can take care of myself, but I appreciate his protective side.
"Hey! Who are you, and what do you want?" Zeke asks. The man stares back at him with pure hatred in his eyes; it is apparent he isn't here for a friendly visit. After a few minutes of sizing Zeke up, the man finally breaks the silence.
"Why are you here?" the man asks, but he doesn't give us a chance to answer. "It would be best if you left this house now," he says forcefully. I am taken aback by the audacity of his words, and instantly, my fear turns to anger. How dare he walk into my house, and who is he to tell me to leave? I own this property, and he is the one trespassing. I take a deep breath, gather all my courage, and put my hand on Zeke's arm to nudge him aside so I can see this jerk. Squaring my shoulders, I speak to the man.
"Look, mister, you must be the neighbor from across the street," I say, stating the obvious and waiting for him to confirm it. When he doesn't, I continue, "You're the only one who doesn't belong here. How dare you come into my house uninvited? Where are your manners? Who do you think you are to tell me to leave? I'm not going anywhere, buddy. I own this house." Thankfully, my voice doesn't betray me, though I'm sure my whole body does because I can feel it shaking. I'm not sure if it is from adrenaline, anger, or fear. Maybe it is all three.
"My name is Ted," he spits out. "This house is vacant and has been for more than twenty years. It's an evil house that no one should live in. So again, I ask you"—his voice rises until he almost yells—"why are you here?"
Before I have a chance to respond, Zeke takes an ominous step toward Ted and says, "We are here because she owns this property now. You need to leave before we call the cops." Ted looks surprised and upset that we are not heeding his warning. Obviously, he didn't catch the fact that I own the property, or he chose to ignore me; I'm not quite sure which it is. He quickly wipes the emotion from his face as it starts to sink in, then heads back toward the door. When he reaches it, he turns back to us.
"There haven't been any occupants or visitors in years, and I prefer it that way." What shocks me is that he is completely serious. Does he think the house will be empty forever? He takes another step toward us, and his voice drops menacingly. "It's better if you leave now before you regret it. The secrets this house holds are best left alone. Consider this your one and only warning. Leave if you know what's good for you." Then he turns around and storms out the front door, slamming it behind him. The sound rattles through the house and through me. I quickly run over and lock the door, pressing my palm against the wood for a second longer than necessary. The house is mine now, but Ted's warning leaves a chill behind, as if the walls themselves have heard every word.