Restless House

Chapter 1
In the darkness the walls seemed to waver. Sam’s heart pounded in his ears, drowning out any other sound that may have been there. Down at the end of the corridor that he knew existed, the black door waited. What lie beyond the door, Sam Rogers had no idea. Standing in the darkness, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. The taste of fear was evident in his mouth. Salty and bitter. Sam tried to swallow the familiar taste, but his mouth was too dry.
His hand gropes blindly in his pants pocket. The rough feel of the denim is almost painful, his nerves nearly fried. Sam wrapped his fingers around the cold metallic object in his pocket. With a few clicks, an orange glow from the lighter momentarily blinds him. As his eyes adjust to the dim light cast by the flickering flame, off white wall paper with its yellow edges that curl up, come into view. Beyond the circle of flickering light, shadows dance, and for a moment Sam considers shutting it off. Then a thought occurs to him: Isn’t there some warning about these things blowing up if held lit too long?
Shaking the thought out of his mind, Sam checks the along the wall for a switch. There has never been a light switch before. But I’ve never looked, he reminds himself.
There on the left side of the doorway is an old push button light switch.
“Ouch!” He yells, as he drops the lighter. The sound of the lighter landing on the wood planks echoes hollowly in the darkness. Well at least it didn’t blow up. Feeling along the wall in the familiar darkness, he finds the push button switch. He pauses for a second before pushing it wondering if perhaps, It, wants him to push it. Maybe it’s waiting for him to connect the circuit so that it can electrocute him. Oh hell, how could a house want him dead? No not the house, but maybe owner, yes. His finger hovered over the switch for a long second, thoughts of death by electricity flashing. With a shaking finger, Sam pressed the hard plastic button. Click!
The memory of last nights dream was as fresh as if he had just woken. Even now with the distant voice of Debra Whiting in his ear, the dream seemed more real then the hard plastic phone pressed too hard to his ear. The dreams seemed to come more often as of late. Only two nights this whole week were dreamless. How could a house haunt you? Sam wasn’t so sure he wanted to know the answer to that. There was a pause in the crackling in his ear. “Huh?” Sam said, trying to regain some focus on the here and now.
“The proposal, the Everson proposal. You do remember it, don’t you?” There was no hiding the scorn in her voice this time.
“Yes Debra, I remember it and I will look at it in the morning.” The sigh on the other line told him that wasn’t the answer she was looking for. Biting his tongue was all he could do. To try and reason with Debra Whiting was beyond reason. She was an attractive woman, for forty, but the way she held herself, stiff and straight-backed made him think of a model on the runway. To good for you. It all but said. Her dark eyes and dark hair, made her seem shadowed in something. What Sam couldn’t tell, but she was a smart woman, and without her, he doubted if he would be where he was today. Her advice had made him millions by the time he was twenty-seven.
Who was he to judge someone by there looks anyhow. If some had walked in his office now, they would think that the young, attractive man with his feet on the desk, leaning precariously back was successful, happy and quite probably the most eligible bachelor there was. They would not see the sleepless nights. The medicine cabinet full of sleep medication –not all gotten by prescription. Nor would they see the clutter of his apartment, the half empty glasses of scotch or the stack of take out containers. No, he was a successful millionaire not some college flunky. Indeed, what did someone exterior say about who that person was? For all he knew, Debra could be a very loving, maternal woman. That made him smile. Sam wanted to laugh at the very thought of Debra’s stiff posture, cooing and soothing anyone.
The crackle in his ear brought him out of his wondering thoughts. “...you’re busy, I understand, but it is important.”
“Debra, it’s not only that I am busy, there would be nothing I could do about it tonight. The court is closed. Why don’t you go out tonight, maybe down to Macy’s and buy yourself a new dress. Yes, you’ll need a new- sophisticated dress for court anyway.”
“You know you’re right.” The rise in excitement in her voice almost made her sound like a bird chirping.
After spending another five minutes listening to Debra Whiting elate over the possible dress options, Sam replaced the receiver. Sam rubbed his hand over his face, noting the need to shave. Sam closed the manila folder on his oak desk and spun around in his chair. Traffic had died down by now. The rush hour commute was well over, as usual. He stared out the window for some time, watching the few cars drive by. From his view on the sixth floor on the Brennan building, the cars looked like faced bugs. The white eyes to lure you in close, but there true nature was always there lurking behind them.
Sam gathered up his things and placed them in his briefcase. Tomorrow was another day. There was still tonight to get through.


This is a work in progress. Let me know what you think. Thanks.