𝑺𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒉 𝑴𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓

SIX MONTHS LATER

     “I don’t know how I feel about living in a dead woman’s house,” I tell my husband bluntly as he shows me pictures from his Apple laptop of the house he intends to buy.

     He gives me the look that tells me he doesn’t like my rebellious behavior, but I don’t care. I have to let him know how I feel about staying in a house in which a woman has committed suicide before. I’m glad the owner didn’t deliberately leave that out when Dan made inquiries. It’s always better to know what you’re signing up for.

     “It’s only temporary. The house is located in a serene area. It has a garden and a porch. There are even kids of Gilbert and Kevin’s age. There are schools nearby too. What else do you want?” His brows are puckering, and I see his jugular veins bulging out, but even so, he’s still handsome. Upon realization, I think he’s handsome when he gets angry.

     He has an oblong face that tappers down into a square jawline with a sharp pointed nose and very thin lips. There are creases on his forehead because he’s angry, and somehow I’m the cause of his anger. He’s got the looks of those FBI stars you see in Hollywood movies, always chasing down bad guys on the street.

     I tuck my dark hair behind my ears and focus on the front view of the house from the laptop. Our future house is exceptional. It has everything I want in a house: a wide porch, an ornamental garden, a garage and even a basement. Apart from that, it’s located in one of those idyllic areas in Fort Worth, the same city where I have my flower shop. It’s got everything to entice me, except that a woman has died in that house. Worse, she didn’t just die. She killed herself.

     The thought brings saliva into my mouth, and I want to puke. I quickly gulp it down, hiding my uneasiness from Dan before he starts making a big fuss out of it.

     He looks at me, waiting for me to talk. I don’t know what to say. I’m indecisive. I know getting a new house means so much to him. This is our first time buying a house. We’ve been living in apartments for a while now, and it was high time we got a house, now that our boys are growing. I’d want them to get used to a home. Constantly changing schools for them isn’t easy, especially when they’re making permanent friends. I know they’ll be happy in this new house because Kevin loves flowers. And above all, there are also kids to play with in the neighborhood.

     The problem isn’t with the house. It’s with me not comfortable with something that’s happened in there. Sometimes, it’s best to be ignorant. If I didn’t know about the suicide that occurred in that house, I’d have said, hugging Dan after he showed me the pictures, “What are we waiting for? Let’s move in already.”

     But that isn’t the case. I know someone has died in that house, and the thought won’t leave me.

     “I know, Dan,” I say, shifting my eyes from the laptop. “The house is perfect, but—”

     “But what?” he cuts me off, and I frown.

     “Don’t cut me off when I’m talking.” He knows it’s something I hate, so I wonder why he did that. Right now he’s being so mean to a woman who’s scared of a house with a morbid history.

     “I don’t understand why you’re not thrilled when you’ve been insisting we get a house.”

     “It’s because someone died in that house,” I blurt.

     He laughs, and I’m baffled. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of ghosts.”

     I don’t enjoy the humor in his statement. But he’s right. Well, I’m not scared, or maybe I am. Truth is, I don’t know what’s bothering me. I don’t know the dead woman. I didn’t kill her, so I shouldn’t be scared. Even if ghosts are real, they don’t have bodies. They can’t pick up objects and start wreaking havoc.

     This incessant fear of mine is the aftermath of watching horror movies at night. It’s silly that I’m afraid of ghosts when even Kevin and Gilbert aren’t. I’m going to be the laughing stock in the house for days if they find out. I nudge him in the abdomen, making sure it hurts a bit.

     “Ouch, that hurts you know!”

     “Don’t make fun of me.”

     “Then get over your hysteria.”

     We end up laughing together, and I can’t deny we’re having a good time. We cease the laughter and he says, “I’m still waiting for a reply. The owner is so kind. He’s letting me pay in monthly installments. We can’t let this golden opportunity slip through our fingers.”

     He stares wistfully at me. He’s made up his mind. He’s only waiting for my response. I’m in a dilemma, and I don’t like it. If killer ghosts are an illusion and my sons are going to be happy in their new home, then why should I hinder that?

     I have to set my fears aside and stop watching horror movies at night. I say slowly, “All right, Dan. Let’s check the house out.”

     He pulls me from the chair and wraps me into a tight hug, like a child hugging his mom after receiving his favorite gift. “Thank you so much, sweetie. Our dreams are becoming a reality.”

     He strokes my hair, and I brush his back, wondering if I’ve made a wise choice.