Novel & Cerita The House Of The Spirits

They only disappeared when we turned on the lights. A heavy silence fell. The priest clapped his hands and asked sharply, Has anyone ever been murdered in this house? Hussein quickly looked away, as if to avoid the question. “No… never,” Miranda said, struggling to maintain her composure. The priest studied her for a long time, then spoke in a low voice: "Where did these evil spirits come from?" Miranda hesitated, her voice unsteady: "I don't know... Perhaps someone was killed in the neighboring houses, and their spirits have crept into ours."

Now I knew he'd been bleeding me dry for Riley Anderson, his childhood sweetheart. "I want to refinance the house, too," he added. I stopped what I was doing, my hands frozen in the sink, and turned to stare straight at him. "You really want your four three-year-old sons to end up homeless?" This house wasn't much, just a small three-bedroom, but it was ours—the one we'd fought for, saved for, and sacrificed for. The mortgage wasn't even close to being paid off. His name was on the deed because when we first bought it, I had been out of town on business. He'd told me it would be easier that way, with him making the payments.

The smell of something burning drifted down the hallway. Elena didn’t move at first. She lay still in bed, sunlight warming her bare shoulder, listening. A low male voice muttering. A child giggling. A pan clattering. She smiled. Three months ago, the house had been quiet in a way that felt fragile. Now it sounded lived in. She slipped out of bed, wrapped one of Adrian’s shirts around herself, and padded barefoot toward the kitchen. The scene she walked into made her stop in the doorway.

My nostrils flared as I sucked in deep breaths, fighting to keep my wits about me. “What do you want from me?” I rasped. If I could get it talking, then maybe I could find a way out of this. I wouldn’t. But it was worth a shot. The spirit moved to one side, its footsteps slow, predator-like. It moved to the other side, its gaze never leaving me. Its mouth opened wider, and it laughed. “Blood.” Blood? “Why?” The spirit crouched, ready to attack. “Thiiiiirsty.”

"Mr. Moss, the house is cleared out. Porter really is efficient. That family moved out in the middle of the night yesterday. "They didn't dare leave a single thing behind. Porter asked me to see if you want to come inspect the place." I went. The house was completely empty, looking much like it did when my father first bought it, aside from some scratched walls and stained floors. All those miscellaneous items belonging to the Marlowe family that once filled every corner had vanished without a trace, as if they had never lived there at all. Porter leaned against the bare living room wall with a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

How idealistic of him. As for the house he mentioned? It was just a worthless secondhand house. Besides, Riverpolis had been shifting its economic center to the south over the past few years, which caused the houses in my area to fall. That house was really not worth that much money. He wanted to use my money to get himself a good reputation? This was a great plan, and it was clear that he was not the one who thought about it. I looked toward Joy, and she was startled. I could see the excitement she did not manage to hide.

Her past pain feels suffocatingly present. My throat tightened. The E glints, sharp as Esteban’s smirk in the stories Big Danni won’t tell. Too much like Louise’s hands clutching that cheap chain from the French Market, hissing— slurred, like a ghost in my ear—It’ll keep the spirits away. A hollow promise. I spit into the mud, voice trembling, “But the spirits always came anyway.” The mariposas negras. Esteban. Louise. They always found their way in.

“Because you asked the right questions. Because sometimes the spirits point the right person toward an old wound.” I did not fully understand, but I nodded. “Thank you. Truly.” She placed her thin hand over mine. “The house is on the east side of the Outlands. Near the birch trees that grow in a crooked arch. Follow the old road. It won’t look like much. Time has played its part.” I nodded again, memorizing every word. “Be careful in there,” she whispered. “The truth is not gentle.” I stepped back, offering a small bow of gratitude before leaving her home. The wind outside felt cooler, sharper, as though it sensed the direction of my next steps.

Just dear, said with the kind of warmth that makes my eyes burn. "I don't understand," I whisper to Damon as Mrs. Chen bustles away. "Why are you being so kind to me? You don't even know me." His gray eyes search my face, and I feel like he's seeing something I don't even know exists. "I know enough." The inside of the house is even more overwhelming than the outside. Marble floors stretch in every direction, reflecting light from a chandelier that probably costs more than I'll make in my entire lifetime. Fresh flowers fill crystal vases on polished tables, and everything smells like money and luxury.

A bad feeling washed over me. I threw the door open, and my eyes went wide. My once-pristine leather sofa was buried under piles of clothes. Some had even fallen onto the rug, stomped over with muddy footprints. Toiletries from the bathroom were strewn across the floor, leaking everywhere. The refrigerator door hung wide open, and I spotted chips and snacks scattered all around. If it weren't for the familiar curtains, I'd have thought I walked into the wrong apartment. What pushed me over the edge—my Lego sets that I'd displayed on either side of the TV had been knocked to the floor and smashed to pieces.