Haunted House

As the car pulled into the drive, Jane and Pete stared at the house. It was perfect, the dream home they had always wanted. Wisteria draped from the gutter, window boxes bloomed beneath the two bay windows, one with Lavender and herbs, the other Foxglove and Roses, plus mature flowerbeds framed a lawn so neat it looked professionally cut. 

As Jane left the car, the heavy, sun-warmed fragrance of the garden washed over her, drawing her gaze to the crowded flowerbeds where she began pointing out foxgloves, marigolds, and lilacs one by one. 

Smiling broadly, Jane walked up to the door, turned the key the estate agent had given her half an hour earlier, and pushed it open. On the way to their “forever home,” they had stopped at M&S to pick up a bottle of bubbly to celebrate. 

"Wow, hang on," Pete said, blocking the way. "I need to lift you over the threshold." 

Laughing, Jane leapt into his arms. Pete groaned playfully as he set her down, exaggerating her weight. "Good God, Jane." He said coughing. 

"Cheeky sod," she smirked, delivering a sharp tap to his arm. Then her smile vanished. "Core, what is that smell? I don't remember that from the viewing." 

She took a deep, deliberate sniff. "It smells like something died." 

Pete marched across the room and shoved the window wide. "Open the back door, Jane. Let's get some fresh air in here." 

Jane stepped toward the kitchen, but the moment she crossed the frame, she screamed. Pete crossed the space in three frantic bounds, only to freeze dead in his tracks. "What the hell?" 

Plates, cutlery, pots, and pans were whirling violently through the air in a metallic storm. To their right, a wooden dining chair teetered on a single leg, spinning under the power of an invisible hand. At the sink, the tap blasted at full force, but the water wasn't falling. Instead, it twisted upward into the air, across the ceiling in a dark puddle. 

A thunder sound cracked through the house, sending a sheet of water from the ceiling down on them. Every cabinet door slammed shut simultaneously with a deafening crack that echoed like gunfire. 

"Get out!" Pete yelled, grabbing Jane’s wrist, but the kitchen door slammed shut before they could move. 

The temperature in the room plummeted instantly, turning their panicked breath into thick white plumes of mist. From the centre of the swirling vortex of cookware, a low, guttural growl vibrated through the floorboards. Then the gas rings of the Aga burst into flames, scorching the wall. As the flames died down, a chilling message was left behind: "Leave while you can" had been burnt into the blackened surface. 

Jane pulled against Pete's grip, her eyes fixed on the spinning chair as it smashed into the 1960s-style kitchenette, spraying glass in every direction. "Pete, out now!" 

The unseen force suddenly threw them both backwards onto the floor. As they scrambled up, the kitchen door clicked open an inch, mocking them. They didn't look back; they bolted through the gap, threw open the front door, and tumbled out onto the manicured front lawn. 

Sprawled on the grass, they looked up at their "forever home." The front door slammed shut by itself, and the keys they had left in the lock turned with a sharp, final click. In the upstairs window, the silhouette of a figure stood perfectly still, watching them.