The House, Part two

An afternoon spent exploring, a brief talk with the real estate agent, a much longer session of getting everything settled with the bank, and the house was theirs. It was a perfectly ridiculous piece of property, and they both loved it. Now that they owned the place, their apartment seemed smotheringly small; so they packed their things and hired movers and abandoned it. Their contract wouldn't expire for another two months, but Chris was a day trader; they could afford that. 

"Where's the dust?" asked Rebecca, looking over the second-floor bedroom that they'd decided to make their own. There were dust covers on most of the furniture, but this room was clean. So was the kitchen, and the bathroom. 

"I don't know," answered Chris, lifting the covers on the bed and giving them a sniff. They smelled clean, not musty. "Maybe the agency sent over a very selective cleaning team and forgot to mention it?" It didn't seem likely. "Or maybe the ghosts are trying to make us welcome?"

"I mean..." Rebecca swallowed. "Ghosts who help with the housecleaning are the best kind of ghosts." 

Neither of them could really complain about things being unexpectedly clean. Still, it was weird; weird, and just a little bit disturbing.

* * *

It was early evening and they were unpacking the kitchen when Rebecca shrieked. Chris dropped a metal pan, caught it briefly on his foot before it slid away across the tile floor, and then turned to look at his wife. "What--?"

She was looking out the window. "There's somebody in the back yard." 

Chris could see it too, now: a silhouette against the setting sun, one hand lowering as smoke rose from the stone pillar that stood out near the edge of the ramshackle garden. 

He considered briefly, then pulled a kitchen knife from the block and tucked it into the back of his belt. A moment later he was out the door, striding across the cobbled stone porch, approaching... 

The figure beside the pillar was dressed in a long, heavy coat, loose pants, and heavy boots. Between the thick beard, the sunglasses, and the hood of the coat, his features were virtually indistinguishable. There was a shallow metal bowl on top of the pillar -- which wasn't properly a pillar; more of a narrow pyramid with the top cut off. There were flickers of fire in the bowl, and smoke rising up from it.

"Hey!" Chris called sharply. "What are you doing in my back yard?"

The man remained still. "Burning the bones," he said, as if this were the most ordinary thing in the world. His voice was a soft baritone, his tone perfectly casual.

Chris glanced at the bowl again, and realized that no, that didn't look like bits of wood in there. "I mean, why are you here at all? This is my house, man."

"Ah," said the figure. "You're the new owner." He turned slightly, started to extend a hand. "We come with the house, you see." Then he dissolved into smoke and blew away.

The shock of it caused Chris to step back. Then he stopped, looking around. It was a neat trick, but the guy had to have gone somewhere... 

Smoke was no longer rising from the bowl. Whatever had been burning there a moment earlier, wood or bone, was gone. Chris took another step back, and then another, trying to look every direction at once. A moment later he was back in the kitchen, telling himself that this was because he needed to make sure Rebecca was safe. 

Part Three