He strolled down the sidewalk in her direction as Marcie Sandidge hauled another box out of her car. She didn't think much of him as she turned toward her new home. In the daylight, the place looked worse than she remembered it: cracked and dirty windows, flaking paint, a pentagram scrawled across the door. She regretted, not for the first time, buying the house. She also made a mental note to get the electricity turned back on.

"Moving in?" the man asked. She jumped in surprise and turned to look at the speaker, who flashed a brilliant white smile.

He was dusky skinned, though not as dark as her, with close-cropped hair and a five o'clock shadow. He wore a grey T-shirt promoting something called Broken Gazebo, a pair of jeans that had seen better days, and a battered pair of sneakers. Though his baggy clothing hid much of his body, his muscled arms and shoulders hinted at more of the same.

She arched her eyebrow. "No. I'm just a big fan of recreational box carrying."

He laughed and lowered his head sheepishly. "Well, you got me there. Still, the old McCormick place. I didn't expect anyone to move in there any time soon."

She shifted the box in her hands, its weight in conflict with her desire to continue talking to him. "It was just going to be a fixer upper that I was going to rent out. Life has a funny way of changing things for you. What about you? Do you live around here?"

"Oh, no. I'm just staying with a friend nearby. Name's Darren." He extended a hand, and she fumbled with the box to shake his hand. A crack of static electricity arced between them and they both jerked back. "Ouch, sorry. Hey, that looks heavy. Need a hand?"

Marcie passed the box over to him and he huffed at the weight. "Let me guess. Books?"

She nodded, grabbed another box, and headed toward the house. Ahead of her, Darren set the box on the porch and stepped back from the house. She continued past him up the steps, then looked back. She heard the house settle as she stood there. Every time she went onto the porch she heard that sound.

Feeling daring, she said, "You can bring the box inside. I promise I don't bite."

Darren paused, mouth open on the verge of speech, and looked at the house warily. "I'd really rather not."

Marcie shifted the box over to one arm to open the door. "I know the previous owners were pretty sketchy, but I've at least gotten most of the bloodstains and globs of melted candles cleaned up."

He shrugged and walked back to the sidewalk. "Sorry. I just don't think that would be a good idea."

Marcie watched him head down the street in the direction he came from and worried about what might have him so spooked.

~

She lay awake in the darkness, uncertain what had roused her to consciousness. The house sat silent as the grave around her. As she came more awake, she realized there was a strong pressure in her bladder. Time to brave the bathroom.

She slapped the ground nearby, searching for her flashlight. Her hand made contact with something cold and leathery. The something shrieked, like an angry rat, and then she smelled a whiff of something foul burning, like old tires. She yanked her hand back in disgust. The burning smell sent her into a moment of panic, wondering if the former inhabitants had broken in to spook her out of the house with a fire. But the smell dissipated quickly, and she dismissed it as simple paranoia. She really wished she'd made the room in her car to move her bed today.

Marcie reached out again and found her flashlight, turned it on, and shined it around. No sign of anything strange in the bedroom. She wriggled out of her sleeping bag, the air chilly against her bare legs. Marcie debated for a few moments about trying to find her sweatpants in one of the boxes to add to her oversized T-shirt, but decided to hurry instead. She stepped into her slippers and shuffled down the hall toward the bathroom.

On returning, she waited to turn off her light until she was bundled back in her sleeping bag. Moments after the light went out, she heard skittering. As the sound grew closer, she turned on the light again. A dark form, about the size of a small cat, crouched a few feet from her makeshift bed. It bolted into the shadows. She tried to follow it with the beam of her light but lost it on the other side of the room.

Pride warred with fear. She finally dug through a box and pulled out her sweatpants, then headed down to her car while scanning every corner with her flashlight.

~