A House for the Ages
an unsettling short story by David Henson
For all of you trampled by the housing market, this story may present as a good metaphor. For everyone else, this is what it’s like house-hunting, especially in a savage and predatory market. Take heed!
Offers starting at $400k…
A House for the Ages
by David Henson
Colleen greets her clients at the driveway and leads them to the entrance of the two-story house on Werner Avenue. A shutter dangles, shrubs sprawl and one of the three steps up to the front porch is splintered.
“It’s a fixer,” Colleen says, the years trembling her hand as she unlocks the front door. The realtor and young couple step inside.
Linda crinkles her nose. “Musty.”
“Green shag?” Bob wipes his feet. “Ugh.”
“The place needs to be aired out, needs to breathe,” Colleen says. “And there’s probably beautiful hardwood under the carpet. They built houses with good bones 80 years ago.” The realtor has thinning, white hair and thick makeup around her eyes. A red scarf hides her neck. She’s given up trying to disguise her sagging jowls.
Walking slightly stooped, Colleen escorts the couple through the house. The stairs squeak. Flowered wallpaper in the master bedroom is yellowing and peeling. The floor in the second bedroom feels uneven.
“It’ll take a lot of work,” Linda says after they finish their tour.
Bob puffs up his chest. “I’m handy. We can put our stamp on it and create sweat equity, too.”
The three exit the house. “Think about it and get back to me.” Colleen takes hold of Linda’s arm. “Help me down these steps, Sweetie.”
#
“Thanks for meeting us here on short notice,” Linda says as Colleen unlocks the door to the house on Werner.
Bob removes a tape measure from his pocket, pulls out the metal band a couple feet then retracts it with a snap. “I want to see if our table will fit in the dining room.”
Colleen strides up the steps to the porch. She’s wearing less makeup, and her eyes sparkle. Her skin is smooth, the flesh of her neck tight. There are brown streaks in her hair.
Linda walks slowly up the steps. “We’ll need to add a rail.”
“I could do that,” Bob says, then winces. “If my back gets better.” Linda squeezes his hand.
Colleen opens the door. “How’d you hurt your back, Bob?”
“Not sure. Might have slept crooked. Never had it before.” He laughs. “Getting old, I guess.” He stumbles on the threshold as he enters the house and steadies himself on the door jamb.
Linda sniffs the air when they get inside. “That musty odor’s gone. Unless I’m losing my sense of smell, too.”
“Too?” Colleen says.
“I found out a couple days ago I've got cataracts and macular degeneration. Just came on all at once.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Colleen says. “What—”
“Look at this.” Bob motions toward the floor. “No green shag. Is this oak?”
The realtor smiles. “The owners decided to make some renovations so the place will sell faster. Wallpaper’s gone, too. Don’t you smell the fresh paint?”
Linda groans.
“Are they raising their ask?” Bob says. “Because this place is already at the top of—”
“No, no,” Colleen says. “Same price. But — and I’m not trying to pressure you— I’m getting more interest. So if you’re—”
Bob limps past Colleen and heads for the dining room. “Help me, Linda.”
Linda follows her husband. “Colleen, can you turn on the lights,”
“Uh… they're on, Linda.”
#
Colleen answers her phone. “Hi, Linda, I was going to call you. Just a second.” The realtor turns off the treadmill and mops her face with a towel. “Are you and Bob ready to offer on the Werner house?”
Linda’s voice is weak, and Colleen can’t hear her over noise in the gym. “Hold on, Linda…” Colleen jogs to the locker room. “OK, this is better. Are you and Bob ready to—”
“We’ve had a change of plans, Colleen. Bob’s back is worse, and now he has arthritis everywhere. He has to use a walker. My eyes have gotten worse, and … and… now diabetes and...” Linda sobs. “I think we might have to move into a facility.” Linda begins crying uncontrollably and hangs up.
Disrobing for a quick shower, Colleen checks out her body in the full-length mirror on the wall. Her legs are slender, but not yet as toned as she’d like. Most of the flab under her arms has disappeared. She’s a brunette now. Getting close, she thinks.
#
“I read that there was an old folks home on this land a hundred years ago,” Mr. Johnson says. “It got shut down for all kinds of nasty violations.”
“I didn't know that,” Colleen says as she unlocks the door to the house on Werner. “This wonderful home is only five years old.” She leads the Johnsons through the house, pointing out the granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, tray ceilings….
After touring the house, the three are standing in the entry discussing the price when Mrs. Johnson, huffing and puffing, sits on the floor. After a few minutes, she says she’s better and holds up her hand. Her husband grasps it, but is unable to pull her to her feet, so Colleen does.
#
“It’s a new-build,” Colleen says as she unlocks the door to the Werner home.
“Good,” Mr. Brown says. “It won’t be haunted.”
Mrs. Brown sighs. “You’ll have to excuse my husband. He believes in ghosts.”
Colleen shrugs. “I can safely say this is the most special house I’ve had in all my years as a realtor.”
Mrs. Brown chuckles. “All your years? Did you start when you were 12?”
Colleen smiles. “My job keeps me young. Let’s see the many things this place has to offer—ample closest space, tons of upgrades. Take your time.” The realtor draws a deep breath and slowly exhales. “The longer you're here the better.”
Meet the Author:
David Henson and his wife have lived in Brussels and Hong Kong and now reside in Illinois. His work has been nominated for three Pushcart Prizes, Best of the Net and Best Small Fictions and has appeared in various journals including Pithead Chapel, Gone Lawn and Moonpark Review. His website is http://writings217.wordpress.com . His Twitter is @annalou8
My most recent encounter with the underside has been scaring away the hawk stalking our bird feeder. I know hawks have to eat, but someone else's birds, please.
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Loved the story! Thanks!
This was delightfully unsettling.