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Novel Treatments / The Highest Bidder
Chapter 1
It was only by mistake that we found the house in the first place. It was in an auction advertisement buried in the middle of The Staunton Gazette. We had stopped off for lunch at a roadside barbeque restaurant in the little town of Staunton, Georgia. The paper had been left on our table; I casually flipped it open, and there it was. The house from my nightmares.
I had been having dreams lately, starting before Jason and I left on our trip to visit his brother. In the dream, I was sitting on the porch of this old house, rocking in a white wicker chair, a book in my hand. I would hear a voice from the screened door and I would rise. There was someone at the door. I was reaching out and then… I would wake up. I couldn’t remember what I saw, but whatever it was would leave me drenched in a cold sweat with a feeling of terror that made me toss in the bed until morning.
“It is the medicine,” my doctor told me before I left. “It can cause hallucinations. You have to give it time. You need time to heal.”
Yeah, time, I thought. I was always fighting time. I had managed to convince Jason to drive by the house on our way back to the highway. I sat on the edge of my seat as we drove back through town; this time, I concentrated on the street names.
“That’s it,” I yelled, as Jason sped past. “Robin’s Way. Turn around.”
I just about clubbed Jason, straining against the seat belt. I didn’t know which side of the street to look at, but I knew that I would know the house immediately. It was about half-way down the block on the right, set back from the street surrounded by a barrier of empty land, a hedge of overgrown bushes fencing the house in on both sides. The other houses on the street looked about the same age, but alive with garden flags, plants, and cars in the driveways. There was no sign in front of the house, but it was obviously unoccupied. The grass had been recently mowed, but lacked the care of an owner. Jason pulled to a stop in front of the curb. “O.K.,” he said, “there it is.”
I stared at the house through the windows of the car. I just wanted to look at the house. What would it hurt? We were here and it was on the way back out of town, just twenty minutes from the highway. I just had to satisfy my curiosity. Jason wasn’t overly thrilled, however. Time was important to Jason Barnes, and anybody who stood in the way of making good time was met with resistance.
“I’m just going to hop out and look around,” I said quickly, jumping out of the car before Jason could lecture me on what a waste of time this was.
I stood in the driveway and flipped the paper open to the auction advertisement. “Walker Property Auction” the headline read. I scanned the picture with a hard eye. It was a black and white photo which made the house seem dark and sinister. A large oak tree with Spanish moss hung over the right side of the house, obliterating the sun and casting angry shadows in the picture.
Jason walked up behind me, his hands on his hips, surveying the house.
“Hey honey,” I said. “I bet we could get it for a real bargain.” I left the last thought hanging to see what kind of reaction I got.
“Bargain, huh,” he said, taking the paper from me and glancing between the picture and the house in front of us. He touched the picture with his thumb which had a dot of left-over barbeque sauce from lunch. It left a little grease spot on the picture, a move which instantly made me angry and disappointed. He handed the paper back to me. “It looks pretty old. It’s probably about to fall down.”
The house was old, constructed in that old fashioned way that new home builders try to copy. The shutters were stark black against the white flaking paint. However, other than the need for a good paint job, the house seemed solid to my untrained eye. Solid, but just incredibly empty. There was nothing friendly about the house, yet I was drawn to it.
A summer storm was moving in and the breeze picked up, blowing the moss on the oak tree around in a circular frenzy. I walked up on the porch, feeling carefully with my sneakers for rot. There were some soft spots, but the porch was stable. I stood in front of the door and glanced down the empty porch. Yes, I thought, this was the same porch that I had imagined; I was rising with the book in my hand and then there was the voice. I felt a chill go over me. I pulled open the screen door and tried the front door. Locked. The door wiggled, the old fashioned turn lock giving a little with the soft wood surrounding it as I tried to shake the door. I could have pulled the door open with some force, but thought better of it. I moved down the porch and peeked in the window, trying to see past the yellowed lace curtains.
The room was a living room – what did they call it, I thought? A sitting room? A parlor? However, the room was not empty like I had imagined; it was full of furniture. In fact, the entire house was furnished – paintings on the wall, an old fashioned velvet lounging sofa partially covered with a white sheet, a mirror so dusty that the dim light from the porch did not reflect off the surface.
I pulled back from the window. What kind of family would just go off and leave a houseful of furniture? Judging from the looks of the furniture, the house had not been touched for many years, possibly decades. It just didn’t make sense.
I put my eyes up against the glass, cupping my hands around my face. I focused in on the couch, the dainty table next to it. There was a blackened silver picture frame sitting on the table; the glass was cracked. I strained harder to catch a glimpse of who might be in the picture. There was a movement off to the side of my eyes. Did the sheet on the sofa flutter? No, I thought. I tried to focus again on the picture. Suddenly, the lace curtains moved and a male figure flashed at the window. I couldn’t see his face, his body. It was a blur. But he was right at the window, staring back at me.
“Holy shit,” I screamed, falling backwards onto the porch. I crab-walked backwards, my eyes glued to the window. He was gone. “Shit,” I said quietly, my heart pounding in my head. “It was Jason,” I said aloud. “Jason somehow got into the house through the back.” As I tried to stand up, Jason came bounding around the corner of the house.
“You O.K.?” he shouted, a little too loudly. I didn’t want the neighbors to call the police on us. “Did you fall through that rotten porch?”
He was standing over me now, laughing. Still scared, but now indignant, I got to my feet and punched his shoulder hard.
“You think that’s funny, scaring me?” I said under my breath.
“What in the hell are you talking about?”
“How’d you get in the house?” I asked him. He just stared at me, the incredulous look on his face my answer – it was not him.
“There’s a man in the house,” I said, grabbing his arm. “Look in the window.”
Jason peered in the window, and I looked around for a tool to grab just in case I had to knock someone in the head. “I don’t see anything,” Jason said, rubbing dirt and dust off his hands from the window. “But it sure is a mess in there. Damn.”
I scowled, wanting to argue with him, but he grabbed my hand and pulled me off the porch. Just as he did, the rain came down in a torrent, and we ran to the car. I slid in my seat, being careful to move the paper out of the way of my dripping pants. Jason pulled into the overgrown dirt drive, backing out. I just stared at the house. Maybe I had imagined that I had seen somebody, but scare had not dampened my enthusiasm and curiosity about the house. I turned around so that I could see the dismal house disappear through the back windshield streaked with the pelting rain.
It was only after we were back on the highway, about an hour down the road that I allowed myself to look back at the picture. I stared hard, trying to realign my experience in viewing the house with the black and white picture. Jason’s greasy thumbprint had put a mark over the second floor window. I raised the paper, staring hard at the darkened picture.
There was now a figure – a human silhouette- in the shadows of the window, lingering under the grease mark.
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wltshr reviewed Version 1 -
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I enjoyed this first chapter enormously and look forward to the next.
You create atmosphere very well. From time to time it seems a little strained but a gentle edit would help enormously.
“feeling carefully with my sneakers for rot” Doesn’t quite give the impression of gingerly testing whether the wood will take your weight. It’s nice to know what your heroine is wearing but…
“Judging from the looks of the furniture, the house had not been touched for many years, possibly decades. It just didn’t make sense.” Why not? Did it appear lived-in in your dream? If there is no particular reason for the line, I think it would read better without the last sentence.
Only by being ultra pernickety can I find anything at all which, in my opinion, didn’t add to the story.
Good work
Regards
Wltshr
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SwordMistress reviewed Version 1 -
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I think this is a good start. It’s starting out kind of cliché. It will be interesting to see what you do to make it not like the other horror stories or what kind of new twist you’ve added.
The beginning would be much more gripping if you showed it to us in action instead of telling how they found the house.
“I just about clubbed Jason,” This isn’t clear. He or she wanted to club him to get him to slow down or because he or she is staining in the seat belt?
“The grass had been recently mowed, but lacked the care of an owner.” How specifically does it lack the care of an owner? A lot of people who own houses to little more than mow their lawn.
“Hey honey,” I said. “I bet we could get it for a real bargain.” This is the first indication that the main character is in a relationship with Jason, but it’s still not clear. I am guessing this is a man and woman but for all you’ve indicated so far it could be a gay couple. We are three pages in and we no nothing about the main character except that he or she has nightmares and are recovering from something, but we have no idea what.
“and I looked around for a tool to grab just in case I had to knock someone in the head.” This doesn’t make sense. If there was a man in the house he has a reason to be there. They’re trespassing and then going to knock the person in the head. How do they know it isn’t a legitimate person and if it’s a ghost it’s not likely they could bash it in the head.
“but scare had” but the scare
You need to find a way give us more information on the main character. We don’t have a name or anything. The reader is really given very little to relate to. We need to care about what happens to the protagonist, and right now we don’t know enough to care. Telling the reader what the protagonist is recovering from might from might help.
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