A couple relocates to a historic house due to financial issues. Initially, the residence seems manageable, but things take a turn when they begin hearing footsteps and find food missing from the refrigerator. Could it be that they are not alone in the house?
Margo and Robert were relocating to the house that had belonged to Margo’s grandmother. They had packed the car with their possessions and driven there, the trunk and back seat crammed to the fullest.
Margo had recently left her job, necessitating a need for frugality, which led to their decision to move into this house to save on rental expenses.
Neither Margo nor Robert was particularly happy about the move. They were headed to a shabby house on the outskirts of town.
Robert, a foreman by profession, intended to renovate the house little by little. Being handy, he was somewhat optimistic about the challenge, though it was overwhelming.
As Robert parked near their new dwelling, Margo stepped out of the car with a sense of foreboding. The house appeared eerie. The shutters were misaligned and the paint was peeling in large patches.
Weeds grew abundantly around the property, and the garden was overrun with thorny bushes. The house seemed to loom over them, casting long shadows in the late afternoon light.
Margo hadn’t known her grandmother well, nor had the rest of her family. Her grandmother was reclusive and peculiar, and the townspeople considered her the local oddball.
Robert approached Margo, trying to sound cheerful. “Are you ready to go inside?” he asked, glancing at the house.
“Honestly, I’m not,” Margo replied, feeling a knot tighten in her stomach.
Robert nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, me neither. This isn’t what we envisioned, but it’s our reality now,” he said, picking up a box from the car.
Margo took a deep breath and followed him. “I know. Let’s just get this over with,” she said, trying to summon some courage as they walked toward the house.