The haunted flat

As the elevator door opened with a soft bing, James stepped into what could become the hall to his new home. His fiancée Marie came in the wake, scrolling down her blackberry with a frown.

Grace, their real estate agent, wriggled past them in her bright pink pantsuit. “Follow me, darling.”

James nudged Marie in the arm. “Aren't you excited, hon?”

“I´ve stopped being excited about the ninth or tenth place we´ve seen.” Marie rolled her pretty eyes at him but put her blackberry away.

“Oh, come on, this one seems perfect! Close to your job, with a view of the city park, and right under our budget!”

“Don´t get your hopes up, sweetie, or I will be the one nursing your broken heart later, and I have far more important things to do.”

James couldn't help himself. He had a feeling this would be it, and couldn't wait to live under the same roof as the love of his life—even if the love of his life did not share his enthusiasm. No matter, he had enough for both of them.

Grace jostled at the door knob as the hinges protested the intrusion. “Here we go!” She held the door for them, her smile creeping to her ears. “The last owner was a writer, like you Mr Taylor, he created a great many things in here, though I should say they were not exactly my cup of tea. All that blood and guts about. But I believe you´ll fit in just fine.”

“Indeed!” James skipped into the dark living room, empty of furniture and heat. A shiver raced down his spine, but if from the cold or the thrill, he couldn't say.

“Where are the lights?” Marie asked.

Grace clicked the switch a couple of times, but the flat remained dark and indifferent. “The electrician assured me it was working properly, but I'll call them and have it fixed. Until then, open those curtains and make yourselves at home.”

Morning light flooded the room, golden rains painting the grey walls green, banishing the shadows away. An old-fashioned fireplace stood lonely against the centre wall, its mantelpiece supporting ghosts of beloved memorabilia—squares of clean wood cutting the dust.

“It's… cute.” Marie was not impressed.

“It's wonderful!" James said. “Look at this space and this view! There´s the park, the district centre over there! Do you think that's your building? Right over that graveyard?”

“No… I don't think so.”

A clash sounded somewhere in the bowel of the flat, and Marie turned on her heels. “Is there someone else in here?”

“No, darling, I am sure it´s nothing,” Grace said dismissively, but her grin wavered. “This is a fine home for a family. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a spacious kitchen and this magnificent living room. There is a playground and a swimming pool downstairs, great for kids, too.”

“No kids for us, jeez,” Marie said. “If I may ask, Grace, why is this place so cheap? Sure it could be sold for a fortune.”

“Oh, you know what the market is like.” Grace´s gaze dropped as she fumbled with a purple handkerchief, wiping her upper lip. “Better not question a bargain when you see one.”

Marie side-eyed her. “Right…”

“Shall we see the rest?” James said, sprinting to the corridor.

The flat stretched for miles, or so it seemed, as the trio strolled along dark corridors, checking the rooms along. The first two rooms were small, perfect for a study and perhaps a man cave if Marie let James have one. Grace chatted all the while, praising the qualities of the place, opening curtains and blinders as she went by.

A sharp smell of leach leaked from the guest bathroom, and Marie halted. “Grace, how long have we known each other?”

“About a year, darling.”

“And we trust each other, don´t we?”

“We do, yes.”

“So? Isn't there anything you need to tell us? Something you are required to disclose, according to the state law?”

Grace tittered, her cheeks matching her pantsuit. “Well, darling, you got me there. The thing is, the last owner, he, well, he took his life in here. But rest assured that the cleaning company did a pristine job, removing every last stain that came out of it.”

“Hon, come look!” James called ahead.

He stood before the master bedroom door, his eyes lit in wonder. Wide as the living room, and furnished, unlike the others. A massive bed covered in red velvet sat in the centre, below an antique mirror with gilded frames carved into flowers and fruit. A dark door cut the opposite wall, the door to a private closet and a bathroom––the master suite.

James raced across the floor and dove onto the bed, coughing and sneezing as dust clang to his nose. He didn't care. He was just too damn happy to care.

“Oh, the moving company must have forgotten these pieces,” Grace said, “I will make a call and have them removed.”

As she stepped out, James eyed Marie wistfully. “So? What d´you think?”

She sat by his side. “Well, I kinda like it, but… I don´t know, something is missing.”

“Maybe that creepy mirror can help you make up your mind.”

Kneeling on the bed, James and Marie stared at their reflection. Except that those were not their reflection—not yet. Hollow eye sockets stared back at them, grinning cheekless grins—skin rotten, eaten by maggots long ago. Marie´s hair, always lustrous and full, patched her skull like dry straw, her strawberry lips stitched in black thread. James booped her nose—his finger skeleton, her nasal bone cleft in blackness.

Marie smiled her first smile of the day. “You're silly.”

“Come, let's check the bathroom.”

As presumptuous as the flat itself, the bathroom was large and floored in granite, holding a double sink and mirrors, and a wide bathtub. James opens one tap, then another, then the one in the tub. The sharp smell of iron filled the space as dark blood ran down the drains, splashing dots of crimson at the marble surfaces.

“Isn't it precious?” James squeezed Marie´s hand.

“Great for solstice offerings, I have to admit.”

“See? I told you I had a good feeling about this place!”

“You did, sweetie, over and over again. But I want to see the kitchen first, to make sure we have enough space to host our dinner parties.”

“Oh, Mark will be so jealous!”

The kitchen pleased Marie, reaching her extravagant standards when the drawers and cabinet doors hammered against their frames. Great for their collection of knives, and James imagined the sharp pieces of steel flying about their heads. Paradise!

“Shall we find Grace?” Marie asked, plucking him out of his daydream.

James ran to his fiancée, hugging her and spinning her off her feet. Marie giggled but pretended to be annoyed, slapping his arm and calling him a fool. God forbid that women show any genuine emotion or James would not love her so damn much.

But Grace was not in the living room. Nor in the corridor or the stairs. Not in the bedrooms or the suite.

“Here, hon!” Marie called from the guest bathroom.

James sprinted to her and grinned. “So, can we have it?”

“Yes, we can.” Marie kissed the tip of his nose. “As soon as we find a new real estate agent.”

James kissed her, long and passionately.

Grace´s corpse lay on the bathroom cold floor—glassy eyes gazing into the void, mouth and throat agape, blood soaking her no-longer-pink pantsuit.