“Isn’t this lovely,” said Linda.
“I’ve dreamed of having a house like this for years!”
“I’m glad you are happy,” said Brian, “Just remember that everything here once belonged to someone else. I don’t like the feeling that we are living in someplace we didn’t earn.”
Linda drifted through the house and planned how she could change each room. When she reached the bedroom upstairs she stopped.
“What is the matter, dear?” asked Brian. Linda pointed to the nightstand next to the bed.
“Something is missing.” She had noticed a circle where the dust was not as thick on the table. “Oh its nothing,” she shrugged. “This house is full of little surprises, isn’t it?”
A few days passed, Brian’s job grew more stressful and he hadn’t received the raise he was hoping for. In the daytime, while Brian was away at work, Linda busied herself furnishing the house. Brian returned from work exhausted each night and started going down to the wine cellar to indulge him self. Linda grew increasingly worried about his constant alcoholism.
“Are you sure you should be drinking so much? I don’t think it is very healthy.”
“When you go out and get a job I’ll let you make my decisions for me,” he replied.
While making dinner one night, Linda suddenly heard her husband scream. In a fright she rushed to the living room to find her husband starring at the bookcase in bewilderment. All of the books that were once neatly filed in the bookcase now lay in a heap upon the floor.
“What is the matter?” she asked. Brian whimpered, “The books… they just fell out.”
“Nonsense,” she said. “You have been drinking too much. You just pulled them out yourself.”
Three days passed and Brian remained frustrated with his job. Finally, after Brian sat down one night, Linda said, “Maybe you should quit.”
“Maybe you should get I job so I don’t have to bother,” Brain retorted.
“Maybe you should stop drinking so much. That stuff is getting right on top of you.”
“Maybe you should just shut up and get me some dinner,” said Brian as he imbibed a bottle of wine. “Well? What are you waiting for? Get going!”
“That is enough. Brian, I want you to stop drinking. Right now.”
“I’ll do what I want. You just make dinner.” Brian was still fuming at Linda when he let out a genuine shriek of terror, recoiling into his leather chair.
“What is the matter?” Linda demanded.
“Get away!” he screamed. “There is something in your hair!”
With an unsteady hand, Linda slowly reached to feel her hair. She anticipated something hideous. Yet, when she touched the back of her head, she felt only her own silky hair.
“There is nothing in my hair. You’re just drunk.” Brian sat for a moment and blinked.
“No, there was something crawling in your hair. I saw it!” he said.
“Give me the wine,” said Linda calmly.
Brian handed her the bottle in a state of complete awe. Linda took the bottle, put it back in the wine cellar, and continued to make dinner. She decided to chop up a sleeping pill and sneak it into Brian’s food to make him drowsy. After dinner, her husband went straight to bed, having consumed enough drugs for one night. Linda spent an hour reading by the fireplace, and then went upstairs to retire for the evening. As she passed an old painting of the house on the wall across from the stairs, she caught a glimpse of a dark figure within. When she looked again, the figure was gone. Linda was certain she had seen a man dressed in black, standing inside the house at the center of the painting. She stared, mystified, with the image of the dark man racing through her mind. The man had gazed directly at her for a mere instant. Linda laughed to herself, amazed that her tired mind could trick her in such a way, and she went to bed.
The following night, Brian went straight to the wine cellar after work and sat down in his armchair in the living room, without even bothering to greet his wife.
“Put the bottle away right now or I’m not making dinner,” she called to him. Brian ignored her and gulped the wine. “I mean it,” she threatened.
“You’re going to get in that kitchen and make me dinner right now, or I’ll drink even more,” he threatened back.
“No. I’m not. Please, Brian, give it a rest.” Brian rose to his feet. “Do what I tell you, God dammit!” he yelled.
“No! Stop this right now!”
Brian raised his broad hand to slap his wife. Just before he struck her skin, there was an alarmingly loud “thud” from upstairs. Brian turned to look upstairs, as his terrified wife phoned the police. There was no dial tone. Linda whirled around to face Brian who was gaping at the top of the staircase.
“Something is in the house!” she screamed.
Suddenly the room grew ominously dark, the curtains closed themselves, and the lights dimmed until the only the fireplace illuminated the house. One by one, books hurled themselves across and slammed against the wall. The walls creaked and groaned as if they had voices of their own. The chandelier swayed and shattered on the wooden floor. Another “thud” emanated from upstairs, this time far louder. In the dim light emanating from the fireplace Linda could see something dark growing within the painting above the stairs. The small dark figure grew and grew until it was bigger than Brian. It wore a black robe and its skin was deathly pale. Its bald head was as round as its protruding eyes, under which were extremely large crevasses filled with gloom. The figure’s teeth were small, but plentiful and jagged, as it grinned at Linda and Brian. The apparition reached for the picture frame and pulled itself out, grinning as it emerged. The wraith stepped from the painting with another deafening “thud”, although it seemed emaciated and slender. Slowly it descended the stairs toward Linda and Brian, who were frantically trying to pry open the front door. The wraith lurched down the stairs, still grinning frightfully. Slowly, its skeletal hand reached out and grabbed Brian’s lower lip.
Brian shrieked as the figure shoved its entire hand into Brian’s mouth. Like water possessed, the wraith’s body poured into Brian’s mouth and soon was entirely gone. Brian screamed in anguish. His face contorted and twisted until his ordinary features were replaced with that of the hideous wraith’s. He turned and skulked toward Linda, grinning fiercely. Linda screamed as hard as she could and the wraith reached out its dreadful arm once more. But instead of entering her, it pointed to the fireplace.
Linda blinked. The wraith had disappeared, the lights were on, the curtains were tucked back, the books were in the bookcase, and the chandelier was still hanging. But her husband was gone. All that remained was a half drunken bottle of wine. Only later did Linda look more closely at the fireplace. She removed the ashes and found a loose-fitting panel beneath the grate. She pried up the panel and found a candlestick, coated with dry blood. Police would later confirm that it was Henry’s blood.