by Darcy Coates
Neil pressed a hand over the phone to muffle his voice. “Mara, I could lend you—”
“I’m not looking for handouts,” Mara barked. Neil blinked then gave a slow nod and removed his hand from the phone. She squeezed her eyes shut. Crap, did I hurt him?
“W-well.” Jenny was clearly feeling the pressure. “There are empty plots of land—or, uh—”
She broke off, and the rustling stopped. The silence stretched out for so long that Mara began to worry the call had been disconnected.
“There is one place,” Jenny said at last. Her voice held a strange, cautious tone. “It’s been on the market for ages. It’s a little bigger than you were looking for but under your budget.”
“What’s wrong with it?” Mara asked automatically. She kept her eyes focussed on the thermos lid so that she wouldn’t have to see Neil’s face. Why’d I have to snap at him? He was only trying to help.
“I’m going to be up-front with you, honey. It’ll need a bit of work. And… and it doesn’t have a very nice history.” Mara waited impatiently for Jenny to collect herself. The paper noise was back, but this time, Mara thought their agent might be fanning herself with a stack of loose sheets. “Are you familiar with Robert Kant?”
Neil inhaled sharply, but the name was new to Mara. “No. Should I be?”
“He—uh—he wasn’t a good man, honey.”
“He was a serial killer in the early 1900s,” Neil murmured to Mara before turning back to the phone. “Jenny, are you saying the house is connected to him?”
“I’m afraid so. He spent the last four years of his life living there before he… well… hung himself.”
“Shoot,” Neil said.
“No, hung,” Jenny corrected patiently.
Mara, intrigued, chewed at her thumb. People could be squeamish about living in a building that had once housed a killer, as if the very walls had somehow been tainted. Her parents, especially, had been big on the concepts of spiritual residues and bad energies. But to Mara, a house was nothing more than a collection of bricks and wood. Simply being in proximity to an unpleasant human shouldn’t materially reduce the building’s worth. And if no one else wanted it…
“Where is it?” she asked.
Jenny sounded surprised. “Well, if it doesn’t bother you… it’s called Blackwood House, and it’s a half-hour drive from town. We could meet there now, if you like…? Let me give you the directions.”
Mara snuck a glance at Neil as he typed the address into his navigation. His face was placid, but a faint tightness around his lips told her he wasn’t entirely happy. She returned her gaze to the thermos.
“Okay,” Breathless Jenny said. “I’ll be there as quick as I can, honey. Have a safe drive, now.”
The call ended, and Neil pulled the car back onto the road. Mara struggled to find the best way to phrase her thoughts, but Neil broke the silence first.
“I’m sorry we didn’t get the house you wanted. I know you’re disappointed, but even if this new place isn’t a good fit, we’ll figure something out.”
Mara finally raised her eyes. Neil’s face held none of the distance or hostility she’d been dreading. Instead, he looked anxious. He kept shooting her glances as he did a three-point turn. She felt her throat tighten and muttered, before she lost her courage, “I’m sorry I snapped. You were being really generous, but—”
“I know.” His warm smile was back. He took her hand and laced his fingers through hers. “Independence is important to you. I get that. In fact, I kinda like it.”
Mara leaned over the seats’ divider to rest her head against his shoulder. She could feel his muscles shift when he turned the steering wheel, and he smelt like herbs and sawdust. She never would have expected that combination to smell as good as it did on him. “Love you.”
“Love you too.” Neil took the opportunity to kiss the top of Mara’s head. Then he added, in a breathless tone, “Honey.”
Mara broke into uncontrollable laughter. “Oh my gosh. I swear, if she calls me honey one more time—”
CHAPTER THREE: Blackwood House
“Language,” Neil said gently.
“Oh. Excuse me. Holy crap. Is that better?”
Neil chuckled. They’d parked in what was supposedly Blackwood House’s driveway, but Mara was struggling to believe it was real. Her savings would have been enough for a decent-sized apartment or a one-bedroom house with a tiny yard if she was lucky. But Blackwood was huge. She counted ten windows on its two floors, plus it seemed to have an attic. It was almost large enough to be a modest hotel. Jenny must have made a mistake. There’s no way this is within my budget, no matter how many serial killers you put in it.
Jenny hadn’t been exaggerating when she said it would need some work, though. The house looked as though it might not have seen human habitation in decades. The dark-grey wood was sagging in places, and the roof was missing patches of shingles.
The house sat at the end of a very long lane. They hadn’t passed any other buildings in the last ten minutes of the drive, which Mara found surprising. It wasn’t far enough from the town to be a serious impediment, but the environment made her feel entirely isolated.
The area was heavily wooded with thin, tall trees. Mara glimpsed a tight, curved treeline at the edge of the backyard. The trunks were all a deep slate grey, which she guessed might have been the inspiration for the house’s name.
“So,” Mara said. “How about we do some exploring?”
“You don’t think we should wait for Jenny?”
“Nah.” Mara gave Neil a grin. He grinned back and opened his door. Together, they followed the narrow pebble path towards the building’s front door. Half-dead weeds grew high on either side and pushed through the small white rocks below their feet. Tiny insects flicked away with every step. Mara was thankful she’d worn her long jeans instead of her shorts.
The building looked increasingly grim as they moved closer. A mix of desiccated, torn cobwebs and fresh webs hung about the awning. Half of the windows had cracked panes, and the other half were entirely broken. Lichen and moss grew across the house’s wooden front and clung to the closest trees.
Mara jogged up the stairs to the porch and peered through one of the windows. The room beyond was dim and murky thanks to the dirty glass, but she could see the outline of a large armchair. “I think this place is furnished.”
“It can’t be in good condition,” Neil said, looking through the window next to her. “But there might be some salvageable stuff.”
Mara followed the porch to the door. She expected it to be locked, but to her surprise, the handle turned with a painful screech. The door drifted inwards, and Mara had the impression that she’d broken a seal. The air that came through the opening smelt heavy and musty and cold.
The windows had built up too much grime to let much natural sunlight in, making the inside seem washed out. Mara stepped over the threshold and found herself in a large entry room. A staircase ran up the back wall, and archways stood to her left and right, opening into a dining room and sitting room respectively. There didn’t seem to be any light switches.
Mara moved into the sitting room. She’d been right; it was furnished though the viability of the pieces was dubious. Two moth-eaten, mildewy armchairs sat beside the empty fireplace. A rocking chair rested under the window. Mara nudged it with her foot, and it creaked painfully as it rolled back on its struts. A badly decayed cross-stitch piece hung on one wall, blue-and-pink flowers surrounding the words “Home is Where the Heart Is.” Mara wrinkled her nose. “Ew.”
She walked into the dining room and found Neil standing at the table. His lips were set in an unhappy firmness, and she moved forward to see what had disturbed him.
The dining table had five sets of plates laid out, and three serving trays sat in its centre. Some of the cutlery was propped on the plates’ edges as though the occupants had been interrupted in the middle of a meal. The setting was covered in dust, and there were dark stain
s—dried sauces or decayed vegetables, Mara thought—next to the shrivelled, leathered lumps that were barely identifiable as meat. One of the glasses had shattered, and its shards were scattered across the off-white tablecloth.
“Wow,” Mara whispered, leaning closer to inspect the dehydrated food. “It’s like their meal was disturbed and they never came back.”
Neil made a vaguely unhappy noise in the back of his throat, and when Mara reached forward to poke one of the dried lumps, he grabbed her hand. “Don’t touch it!”
“Why? I’m pretty sure they’re not going to finish it.”
“Mara,” Neil hissed, trying to choke back his anxious laughter.
“Okay, okay. Let’s check out the rest of the place. I can’t believe the house’s owners just… left stuff like this, though. No wonder they can’t sell the building.”
Neil hadn’t released his hold on Mara’s hand, and she didn’t try to pull free. She liked the way his fingers felt. They were rough and calloused from woodworking and delightfully strong. The juxtaposition between Neil’s intimidating physical attributes and his kitten-sweet personality always gave her a thrill.
She led him towards the stairs at the back of the entry room. The wood groaned under their feet, and Mara paused after the fourth step. “This isn’t going to collapse, is it?”
Neil bounced on the step experimentally. “It shouldn’t. There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with the structure; it’s just old wood.”
“Good.” Mara kept climbing, pausing again at the halfway point to clear a cobweb out of their path. The top of the stairs opened onto a long hallway with multiple doors opening in each direction. Mara tried the first and found a fully decorated bedroom. She scrunched her nose at the sight of a multitude of dead moths littering the floor. “How long since anyone’s lived here?”
“It would have to be a while.” Neil let go of her hand to open the wardrobe door. A half-dozen moths fluttered out, and he waved them away. “I’d say at least a decade.”
Mara went to the window. It overlooked the backyard—or what was left of it. The forest behind the house was gradually taking it over. Weeds grew so high that she thought they would reach her waist. Small trees poked through the lawn, and shrubs clustered around what might have once been a stone bench. The clearing was a decent size, though. Large enough to hold vegetable gardens and a patio.
“Any idea how far those woods go?” Mara asked.
“Probably a fair way.” Neil sounded distracted, and Mara turned. He stood facing the door. His fingers drifted over a cluster of marks on the wood, then he withdrew his hand as though he’d been burnt. He stepped away from the door, his nostrils flaring and a tight scowl on his forehead. “There’s blood in these scores.”
“Huh?” She nudged him out of the way and bent close to the door. There were long scratches in the wood. The white paint had clearly been cleaned, but tiny flecks of something dark remained in the notches.
She turned back to Neil, who was running his thumbs over his short fingernails. His lips were set in a tight line.
“What? You think someone was locked in this room and tried to claw their way out?”
He didn’t answer, so Mara took his hand to stop the anxious motion. “Come on. It’s a weird house, and it’s making you nervous. These marks were probably made by a dog, and the black flecks are dirt they couldn’t scrub out.”
“Probably.” Neil nudged the door open with his foot, and Mara had a sneaking suspicion he didn’t trust her theory. “Did you want to see more of the house?”
“Hell yes.” Mara followed the hallway and looked into each room she passed. Some were bare, and others were fully furnished. One had an antique, rusted crib below the window, with a dead-eyed doll propped in its corner.
This is really a magnificent building. Why’s it been empty for so long? A killer called it home for four years, but there’s got to be more wrong than just that, surely.
Mara turned and found Neil waiting for her in the doorway. “Hey, Neil, what do you know about the guy who lived here?”
“Robert Kant? Not much. In the early 1900s, there was a spate of disappearances—mostly children—in this area that was eventually attributed to Kant. He’s a bit of a local legend.”
“Jenny said he lived here for the last four years of his life. Do you think he killed anyone in this house?”
Neil’s smile looked forced. “Probably. Maybe. I think I heard that one of his intended victims escaped and gave away his location to the police. That could have been this house.”
“Huh.” Mara turned back to the cot.
“Darling, sweetheart, light of my life—why the questions?”
“I just want to know why no one’s bought the place. I can imagine it being empty for a few years. But this long? What’s wrong with it?” Mara bent to pick the doll up, but a screech of tyres interrupted her. She peered through the window and saw Breathless Jenny climbing out of her hot-pink car.
“C’mon,” Mara said. “We’d better go meet Jenny before she breaks her neck. I can’t believe she’s wearing high heels to visit a house like this.”
CHAPTER FOUR: Offers
They made it to the front door as Jenny neared the end of the pathway. As Mara had predicted, the plump, middle-aged woman was fighting a losing battle to keep her shoes stable on the white stones. For once, she had an excuse to be breathless when she greeted them. “Oh, there you are, honey. And you, uh, found a way into the house.”
“Door was unlocked.” Mara extended her hand to shake Jenny’s then moved aside so Neil could do the same. She couldn’t help but notice that Neil received a far warmer smile.
“Well, that’s… it’s meant to be locked… well. You got a head start on the inspection. That’s good.”
Jenny looked as though she would dearly like to sit down but was going to great pains to avoid touching the cobwebbed wood. She tugged on the front of her blouse to fan the fabric as she fixed a plastic smile to her face. “Bit muggy today, huh? All right. So, this is the Blackwood house. It was built in the late eighteen hundreds by a woodcutter. As you can see, it’s held up remarkably well for its age.”
A lone shingle, unable to cling to its precarious perch any longer, slid off the edge of the roof and crashed onto the driveway behind them. Jenny pretended not to notice.
“I know you’re eager to settle on a house quickly, honey. I’m told the plumbing still works—the last owners redid it—but there’s no electricity, I’m afraid. Though you have a magnificent fireplace to keep you warm at night, and of course, it has excellent insulation.”
Mara glanced upward at the multiple gaping holes in the roof. It took a great deal of self-control to bite her tongue.
“And I know being plugged in is important for you young folks. You’ll be happy to know that Blackwood House has excellent compatibility with the Internets.”
“Oh my gosh,” Mara murmured just loud enough that Neil could hear her. He smothered a smile as he squeezed her hand.
Breathless Jenny had fished her phone out of her pocket to demonstrate and frowned at the lack of service bars. “Ah—that is—it’s usually compatible. The Internets are probably having some power issues today.”
“Oh my gosh,” Mara repeated. Neil squeezed her hand harder.
Jenny put her phone away with a nervous chuckle. “It was working last time I was here. Though that was a while ago. But I’m sure you can find someone to install some extra Internets if you need them.”
Mara was speechless. Neil cleared his throat to keep Jenny from noticing the incredulous, enthralled look on Mara’s face. “You said the last owners redid the plumbing. How long ago was that?”
“Well, let’s see now… I suppose it would be a little over twenty years ago.”
Neil whistled. “It’s been empty a while.”
“Yes, well, honey…” Jenny’s eyes darted towards the house, and Mara caught a flicker of anxiety in them. “The… the deaths, you know? It’s not�
� that is…” She collected herself and continued in a bright voice. “But it’s perfect for a young couple like yourselves. There’s plenty of room for a nice big family.”
“So, Robert Kant did kill people here,” Mara said.
Jenny’s smile faltered. “E-excuse me?”
“You said there were deaths here. How many?”
“Oh, well.” Jenny fished a crumpled contract out of her pocket and used it to fan herself. “Awfully muggy today, isn’t it? And I, uh, believe there were six victims. Plus one who got away.”
“Were they all children?” Mara took a half step closer, and Jenny impulsively stepped backwards.
“W-well, I’m sure we could look up the d-details for you, if you’re really—”
Jenny trailed off, and Mara let the silence extend until it was uncomfortable.
“Not all,” Jenny said at last, fanning herself so quickly that the contract flapped uselessly. “The first was the house’s original owner. Then… Kant killed three boys and two girls. All under fifteen. The last… intended victim managed to escape and notify police.”
“Six victims in four years,” Mara mused, glancing back at the house. “And you said Robert Kant was hung?”
Neil took mercy on their sweating realtor. “He hung himself before the police reached him,” he murmured. “Sweetheart, this is a tiny bit morbid. We can look up the details later if you like.”
“No, that’s okay. Just to clarify, after he killed the house’s original owner, Kant moved into the house? And no one knew?”
Jenny looked nauseous, but she nodded.
“Wow. It was a really different time back then, huh?” Mara’s brain was buzzing. She crossed her arms as she regarded the building. Six murders, plus the killer’s own demise, would explain the house’s low price. She’d still have to hire an inspector to check for further issues, but it was no longer impossible to imagine why no one would buy the building.
That’s nothing to deter me, though. It’s just bricks and wood. Yes, people died here—and yes, children died here—but people have expired in almost every old house in the country. A building’s history doesn’t damage its future potential as a home.
