Wake to Dream(2)

"What's wrong?" Her boss, Sarah, never had time for pleasantries.

"I think I have the wrong house," Alice explained. "You can't possibly expect me to sell this."

"Three story Victorian on the corner of Woods Boulevard and First Street?"

"Yes, that's where I am."

"Then you have the right one and you will sell it." An intelligent person would understand the veiled threat in Sarah's response. Silence ticked between them before, "I have faith in you. I couldn't put my finger on it when I first hired you, but I knew something was there. Impress me."

The door shoved open with a screech, a cloud of dust rolling through the fractured sunlight from within the house. Alice grimaced to find that the interior was as dilapidated as the exterior...if not more so.

"Oh, and one last thing," Sarah added, her voice more chipper now that Alice hadn't complained further, "there might be squatters, so be careful going in. Call me with your thoughts after you've performed a full evaluation."

The line went dead, along with Alice's dream of a new and successful career.

Wrinkling her nose against the thick stench of mildew and mold, the distinct sliver of something that had died but not yet fully rotted away, Alice placed a hesitant foot inside the structure.

"Hello?"

Her voice echoed back at her, a haunting repetition of her fear in the one single word.

Scrabbling feet of a rodent against wooden floors could be heard in response, but nothing indicating that a person was inside.

Muttering to herself, Alice gingerly moved about the entry room, her body angled oddly in order to peek into what was technically a formal dining room, if not for the tree that was growing up through the floor.

"There's no way," she muttered to herself, "unless the buyer has a bulldozer to take to the place."

Vibration from her purse pulled her attention to her phone, but she ignored it, opting instead to keep an open eye on the shadows of the house. Just because she received no response when she called out didn't necessarily mean no person was inside.

Creeping forward, she cringed each time the floor creaked beneath her feet, the sickening crunch of rotted wood threatening to drop her into the crawl space of the home with each step she took forward.

And to think she had two more floors to go.

Quitting this job would leave her in dire straights, but if this is what she had to look forward to, her life and wellbeing was worth more than the possibility of a commission from a sale.

Another vibration reminded her that someone had called or sent a message, but she ignored it again.

"Damn it, Alice. Get it together, woman."

Fishing around in the giant purse she wore crossed over her body, she fingered the can of mace she kept on her after leaving home and living alone. Never before had she used the aerosol weapon, but the peace of mind it afforded her helped her stumble a few more steps into the interior of the antique kitchen.

Definitely a tear down, she thought, somewhat dismayed that the owner of the house had allowed it to fall into poor shape. Glancing up, she admired the vaulted ceilings and carved wood crown molding. Such a shame that neglect had ruined what would have been valuable features.

Winding stairs took her up to the next level, bedrooms spaced out evenly through the dimly lit halls where light from the windows could barely penetrate. The floors groaned to take her weight, her fingers clenched tighter to the strap of her purse as she peeked into each room that she passed. Not as worn as the first floor, but still desiccated to the point where it couldn't be salvaged.

A service stairwell was hidden behind a door at the end of the hall, the hinges falling away from the frame entirely when Alice yanked it open. Laying the heavy partition on the floor, she spit out the dust that had covered her mouth and tongue. Her clothes were smeared with the same dust, patches of spider webs woven into the ancient brown dirt.

The third floor was nothing more than an attic converted into a spacious room. Possibly a bedroom at the time it was inhabitable, the vaulted roof arched down on the sides, and a small closet door was set off to the right.

Blankets and trash littered the floor, the smell of human excrement a thick irritation in her nose. Coughing in response to the abysmal state of the space, Alice was thankful that large windows allowed in enough light to let her know she was alone.

The only task left to do was investigate the closet. In old homes such as this one, doors led to peculiar places, and Alice was unable to ignore her curiosity as to where the three foot doorway led.

A secret passage wouldn't make the house more valuable, but it would lend a touch of mystery when the potential buyers arrived to inspect the property. If only she could block their view of everything except for the odd, small door.

Hunched over and dragging the weight of her briefcase and purse, Alice reached out with a trembling hand to pull at the knob, hopeful that the door would open and reveal something she could use to sell the place.

A gentle tug wasn't enough to loosen the door from the frame and she feared ripping it off entirely if she pulled much harder. Twisting the knob again, she pushed back her fear and...

"That door tends to stick when it hasn't been opened in a while."

She was a pile on the floor before the man who'd spoken could catch her fall. His strong hands wrapped her biceps, dragging her to her feet before she could flinch away from his touch.