Chapter 3

Ben stood and stared at the walls in his living room. His living room. He felt immensely proud of himself standing in the living room of his first house. He also felt slightly disgusted. Even with his friends helping, moving everything in was hard work. He was sweaty, dirty, and sore all over. It was all worth it. After months of dealing with paperwork, getting approved for a mortgage, and searching for the perfect house in his budget, all of that was over. He found his perfect home. 

Maybe not perfect for his parents. Or his friends, but it was perfect for him. It was definitely in his price range. His parents politely called it a fixer-upper and impolitely called it the worst investment he could make. Ben liked it, and more importantly, he could afford it. It had been on the market for years and just needed some attention. The inspection revealed a list of mild-to-moderate concerns, but nothing major. It had good bones. It had character. It had peeling wallpaper, creaky floors, and flickering light, but Ben appreciated it in a way he'd never appreciated something before. It was his. He worked for it. He wasn't afraid of hard work, but the work would wait for tomorrow. Tonight, he was exhausted. He wanted to take his first shower in his new house.

He dropped his duffel bag near the wall and scrubbed a hand over his face, smearing sweat across his forehead. Even with help, moving had been brutal. His muscles ached in a way that felt earned, the good kind of sore that came from effort instead of stagnation.

He locked the front door before hauling his bags down the hallway. The house smelled faintly of dust and old wood, but beneath it was something else. Something neutral. Empty. Like a place waiting to be filled again.

Ben had the foresight to pack a few bags of essentials he might need during his first couple of days. All of his belongings were packed up and shoved into the garage. He had made sure to bring the essentials. His TV was set up in the living room and another in the main bedroom. His mattress was on his floor, his bedding piled on top of it. He had some kitchen essentials in boxes on his counter.

The master bedroom was at the back of the house. It was larger than anything he’d lived in before, with cathedral ceilings and wide patio doors that opened onto the porch. During the day, he imagined, the light would pour in.

At night, though, it was a black mirror.

He paused just inside the doorway, staring out at the glass. The backyard stretched into darkness, and beyond that was the greenbelt. No streetlights. No neighboring windows. Just an expanse of shadow.

A faint unease brushed his spine.

He shook it off. New place jitters. That was all.

“Curtains,” he muttered to himself. “First thing tomorrow.”

The en-suite bathroom was in better shape than he’d expected and dated, yes. Dirty, absolutely. But intact. The fixtures were black, the counters white beneath a stubborn layer of grime. The lights cast everything in a yellowed haze, making the room feel permanently stuck in another decade.

Ben dropped his bags and sighed.

Tomorrow, he would clean. Tomorrow, he would replace bulbs, scrub surfaces, and make the house his.

Tonight, he just wanted a shower.

He rechecked the doors before heading back to the bedroom, a habit ingrained from years of apartment living. Everything was secure. The house was quiet.

Too quiet, maybe.

He frowned, listening for a moment, but there was nothing. No creaks. No distant traffic. Just the hum of the refrigerator and the soft tick of cooling pipes.

Ben shrugged and stripped out of his clothes, tossing them into a pile near the bathroom door. He turned the shower on hot and waited for steam to fill the space.

As he stepped under the spray, tension melted from his shoulders. The water pressure was intense, steady. Reliable. He leaned his forehead against the tile and closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

This was his house.

No roommates. No landlords. No one telling him what he could or couldn’t do with the space.

He stayed under the water longer than he meant to, letting the heat work into his muscles until his thoughts slowed and the house faded to the background.

Ben was rinsing out the shampoo when he realized he had forgotten to grab towels out of one of the unopened boxes in the bathroom. He also had a pair of slip-on house shoes in the box he planned on wearing after the shower.

The floors in the house, including the bathroom, were covered in dirt. He didn't want to walk wet and barefoot on his grimy floors.

 Maybe his dirty clothes were close enough to reach. He could walk on those.

When he finally shut off the water, steam hung heavy in the air.

Ben opened the shower door to find his towel. 

It was hanging on the outside of the shower door.

He froze.

He frowned, staring at it, his mind scrambling to fill in the gap. He was sure he hadn’t grabbed it before stepping into the shower. He was almost sure of it.

His house shoes also sat right in front of the shower, ready to be used. 

“Guess I’m more tired than I thought,” he muttered.

He dried off quickly, pulled on sleep clothes, and collapsed onto the mattress he’d thrown on the floor. The patio doors loomed dark behind him, but exhaustion dragged him under before unease could take root.

As Ben slept, the house held its breath.

.