“I know it’s in my price range, Darrell, I’m just concerned that if it’s been sitting on the market that long, something has got to be wrong with it,” Jason said into his AirPods as he steered towards the freeway.

“And you’re right to be concerned, Jason. This place is what we call a ‘stigmatized property.’”

“A what?”

“Stigmatized property – basically, something bad happened there and we have to disclose it and that usually gets people running for the hills.”

Jason rolled his eyes as he merged his Tesla into traffic. “And you think this is making me want to see the place more?” He scoffed, then a moment later asked, “So… what happened that this place has been sitting on the market for… what did you say? Eight months?”

“Eighteen months. And it was, you know… just a little…mbmbmbm…” he whisper-mumbled the last few words.

“Darrell? Just a little what?”

“Just a little… familicide.”

“Come again?”

“The whole family was killed in the house.”

Jason was quiet a long time.

“Jason? Are you there?”

“Goodbye, Darrell,” Jason reached for the “End Call” button but heard Darrell’s pleading voice.

“Wait, wait, wait! Jason!”

“Yes?”

“Look, the whole killing thing happened a number of years ago. The property was tied up in red tape for a few years and then it came on the market, like I said, eighteen months ago. It’s been a really long listing. The story scares people off. But I’m telling you, at least give the place a look. I can hear you’re on your way home – where are you?”

Jason shook his head, surprised he was even entertaining Darrell on this. “I’m on the 735.”

“Okay, look, swing by and take a look – it’s not that much of a detour. I’ll text you the address and the lockbox code. All I’m asking is a look, okay?”

Jason thought about it for long moments and then sighed, “Fine. Text me the details,” and he disconnected the call. A bell sound from his phone signaled the message, and soon Jason was detouring for the outskirts of town.

He turned up the narrow winding drive and found the address marking the driveway entrance. Following the overgrown hedges he soon found himself in front of a two-story Spanish style house with a beautiful terra cotta tile roof. The place had to have been built a hundred years ago… He reached for his phone to check with Darrell, but immediately noticed he was far enough out of town to have absolutely no signal.

“This keeps getting better and better,” he shook his head and got out of the car.

While the place looked like it needed a new coat of paint and some serious landscaping, from the outside Jason thought it looked reasonably kept up – all the windows seemed intact, no graffiti… He’d heard the horror stories of squatters or people scavenging copper wire and gutting a place – hell, he’d toured a few of those already. So, the dingy-but-intact nature of the place intrigued him as he stepped up the flagstone steps. The windows were filthy but it was pitch black in the house, so he didn’t expect he’d be able to see much anyway. He reached the arched front door and fiddled with the lockbox on the door handle, entering the code Darrell had texted him. Extracting the key, he unlocked the door just as he heard a coyote yipping way too nearby for comfort. He hurriedly opened the door, stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

The first thing that hit him was the smell – no, not smell, aroma. It was a mix of fresh baked bread and roasting chicken, and it made his stomach growl in a purely instinctive way. He quickly realized that lights were on. He turned away from the closed front door and saw the interior lit with warm lights and wondered if some other real estate agent had forgotten to turn off the lights… but then he remembered the dark windows.

He heard a noise from upstairs – a woman’s voice, muffled but the sternness of her tone came through… a child’s muffled protest… and then silence…and stillness. He stood fixed to the spot, straining to hear another sound and was startled when he heard a door open upstairs and a woman emerged into the hallway, closing the door behind her. She cast her gaze down to the front door and smiled broadly, “Honey, you’re home!”

Jason stared up at the woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties, her curly blonde hair down to her shoulders, a kitchen apron tied around her waist.

Before Jason could react, she continued, “I just put the kids down. They made a terrible, terrible mess. They’re on a long timeout!” a deep furrow crossed her brow, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come and her face became angelic as she came down the stairs. “Dinner is just about ready. Come sit down, I made you a drink.”

Jason watched the woman descend the stairs and cross in front of him towards what he assumed was the dining room? She smelled of a floral perfume with something of a metallic tint to it…. He was struck at once by her scent – that she had a scent. When she first emerged, he wondered if she was a ghost, but he’d never heard of ghosts smelling so good. He had no idea who she was, but he followed her into the dining room where two place settings were laid out, a crystal rocks glass with brown liquor and an orange peel in it sat in front of an empty plate.

“Have a seat, honey.” She gestured to the chair with a broad smile. “Oh, it’s your usual old fashioned,” she answered an unasked question. Curious what was going on, Jason took the proffered seat.

“Perfect,” she said. Her smile twisted from the picture of domestic bliss to something vulpine in a second, her voice turning ice cold as she said, “I’m so glad you’re home.”

Jason’s eyes widened and he felt his blood turn to ice just as the lights went out.

And that’s when the screaming started.