The woman hesitated, eyes flicking to her husband before she spoke. “It’s just that… there’s been talk. People say that house is haunted.” Rose blinked, lips parting. Haunted. Of course. Her grip on the doughnut box tightened as she probed, “What kind of talk, exactly?”
The wife leaned in, voice low. “The last owner—no one really knew him. He kept to himself, never came to neighborhood meetings, never gave out candy on Halloween. But there was always constant construction and noise. Hammering, drilling. Even at odd hours of the night.”
“One day, a group of neighbors went over to ask him to stop with all the racket. He lost it—shouted at them. ‘It’s none of your business what I do on my property. You’re all gonna die anyway!’ People labelled him as a crazy freak. Then, a few months later—he just disappeared. Left everything behind.”
The woman’s voice dipped into a whisper, almost conspiratorial. “The police came. So did the bank people. Everything was still there—his wallet, his car, even a pot on the stove. But no sign of him. Not a single trace. After that, well… people started saying the house was cursed.”