Wood dries out. Old houses settle. She knew all that. But now every sound seemed loaded with meaning. The old man’s warning kept circling in her head.
She tried to guess what had happened there. After a while Lydia forced herself to think practically. Maybe the man was just a local crank who liked scaring newcomers.
Maybe the people around here simply didn’t like outsiders and wanted the place to stay empty. Either way, she wasn’t planning to abandon the only home she had. No strange neighbor was going to run her off.
She closed her eyes and made herself breathe slowly. Little by little the tension left her body. At last she drifted into an uneasy sleep.
In the morning she woke to bright sunlight coming through the still-dirty window. She got up, washed with cold well water, and made herself a simple breakfast. Over tea and sandwiches, she planned out the day.
She needed to go to the local store for groceries. She also had to find someone who could sell her a load of firewood. And if she was lucky, maybe she could talk somebody into helping with the shed roof.
When she stepped outside, she took a deep breath of fresh air. The day was clear and warm for September. The sun was gentle, not hot.
Lydia looked around, taking in the area. In daylight the place seemed not frightening at all. It was just a small rural community with aging houses and old decorative trim around the windows.
Some fences were still standing straight; others leaned or had fallen apart. Older women worked in their gardens. Laundry hung on clotheslines, giving the whole place a peaceful look.
Nothing about it suggested danger. Lydia walked down the road, glancing into yards as she went. There weren’t many houses here, maybe thirty at most.
Half looked abandoned, with broken windows and sagging roofs. The rest were occupied, though all of them were old. She saw no young people, only retirees.
She reached a small grocery tucked onto the side of a house. Over the door hung a faded sign that read “Groceries.” Lydia stepped inside.
The place smelled of fresh bread and something faintly sour. Behind the counter sat a heavyset woman in her fifties wearing glasses on a chain. Lydia greeted her politely.
The woman nodded but kept studying her. Lydia introduced herself and said she had recently bought the house that had belonged to a woman named Mary Peterson.
At that, the woman froze. Her glasses slipped down her nose. She pushed them back up and slowly asked if Lydia really meant that house.
Lydia said yes. The storekeeper asked why she would do such a thing. Caught off guard, Lydia answered honestly: because she needed somewhere to live. The woman shook her head and turned toward the shelves.
She muttered that the house had sat empty for three years and nobody wanted it. When Lydia asked why, the woman said nothing. She began rearranging items on the shelf as if the conversation were over.
Seeing she wouldn’t get an answer, Lydia asked for the groceries she needed. The woman rang them up on an old calculator and gave her the total.
Lydia handed over five dollars, took her bag, and turned to leave. Then the woman, still not looking at her, said she ought to be very careful in that house. She meant that literally, she added. It was not a simple place.
Lydia wanted to ask more. But the woman had already disappeared into the back room, making it clear the discussion was finished. Lydia had no choice but to head back outside….
