She bounded around the house, rushing from room to room, seeing things that hadn’t worked in years, turning to life. The refrigerator rattled that cranky tune, bringing joy she hadn’t felt in forever. Oh, how she missed that sound. The old heater in the upstairs master bedroom groaned in triumph as it tried to do its job. Again, she put her hand out to feel the heat.

Nothing.

The ceiling fan in the spare room flew in circles, the chain that controlled it having been pulled before the power went out. She stepped closer, lifting her face to the whirlwind of air, and waited for the blessed feeling.

Nothing.

The basement was hard to navigate with no light, but she knew this house like the back of her hand. Inside and out. Every wall, every room, every little sound it made she knew by heart. She didn’t need light to see a thing. She stood in front of the furnace, listening to the joyous sound of it clattering to do its job.

She jumped when a short spark lit up the dark room.

Giggles erupted.

“Oh, don’t be a ninny. That thing can’t hurt you.”

Because nothing could hurt her.

Only her thoughts could, and she never let that happen. Or tried not to, anyway.

Her ears perked when she heard another sound.

The most blessed sound she hadn’t heard in forever.

She raced back upstairs into the living room and waited, her eyes staring so hard at the front door, as if willing it with her mind to open.

Then it did.

The man who stepped through the threshold had her sucking in a breath. Well, sort of.

She’d seen many people come and go through these walls. Old people. Young ones. Fat ones. Skinny ones. Tired and upbeat ones.

But this one.

It’s as if God had stepped in to answer all her prayers. Well, if she bothered to pray at all. It’d been a while, and even then, they were short and to the point. Not enough to get an answer, she figured.

He had dark-brown hair that held a slight curl behind his ears, suggesting it’d been a while since he had a haircut. His eyes were grayish with a hint of green. Odd, as she’d never seen that sort of color on a person before. She couldn’t tell much about his physique as he had a black winter coat on, considering it was the dead of winter, but he was tall and looked built like a king. She’d enjoy drooling over him.

He shut the door, leaving the cold behind, not that it was much warmer inside the house. It’d take the furnace a while to do its job. If it did it at all. It hadn’t been started in ten years.

The man looked around the room, taking it all in. A short sigh even released.

“I know. It’s not much to talk about, but it has great character if you look hard enough. Trust me.”

He blew out a breath, nodding. “I like it. This might be one of the worst things I’ve ever done on an impulse, but I like it.”

She clapped, jumping with laughter. “I’m so glad to hear that. Most people hate it. They never stay very long. I hope you stay a while. I’ve been so lonely.” She glared. “I don’t admit that to everyone either. Don’t hold it against me. Do you want a tour?”

He shivered, rubbing his hands together. “I should check on the furnace. It’s cold as shit in here. I wonder how long it’ll take to heat this place up.”

“A long time. You better have some great blankets. I’m telling you, the heaters around here suck.”

At least, based on other people’s experiences, it didn’t do so well. And hello, it’d been ten years since it last ran. Couldn’t he hear the gurgling going on everywhere in the house? It was such a glorious sound. She loved it.

He walked around her, heading for the basement door. She followed close on his heels, jaunting down the stairs with merry. The lone light lit up the room, making everything a weird orange glow. It didn’t seem to bother him as he crouched near the furnace, tinkering with this and that before standing up. She had no clue how the dastardly device worked, but he seemed to understand what he was doing.

“It needs a few parts to get it working better, but it’ll do the job for now. Thank goodness.”

“I told you, have some good blankets. I don’t lie.”

She followed him back up the stairs and into the kitchen. He winced when he opened the fridge.

“Yeah, the last owners didn’t care about grabbing everything. You should see the bathroom upstairs.” She stuck out her tongue, making a gross face. “Like, be prepared when you open the toilet lid. That’s all I’ll say.”

He waved a hand in front of his nose as if something smelled atrocious. She figured it did when she peered over his shoulder and saw the few bottles of condiments on the shelves and the chicken the last lady had been preparing before hightailing it out of the house. It was still sitting on the plate, uncovered, marinating in the sauce and spices. If what was on top of it was actually the sauce and spices.

“Ewww. I would never eat chicken again after seeing that. Gross.”

“Yeah, so no chicken for a while.” He shivered, slamming the door shut. “I don’t even want to touch that.”

“Don’t ask me to touch it.”

She tailed him as he went room to room, commenting on this and that. Smiling sometimes at things he’d see, groaning at other times. Like she had originally said: The house had character if you looked hard enough.

They made it back to the living room, and she felt more alive than she had in the longest time.

“Yeah, this’ll do.” He shivered. “Though I do need more blankets than I have.”

“Told you!”

“I’ll be back later. Maybe tomorrow. I don’t think I can sleep here tonight.”

She shook her head, the panic hitting her like a ton of bricks. “No. No, you can’t leave yet.”

He looked around the room. “We have a lot of work to do. It’s all going to be okay.”

“Stop!”

She stepped in front of him, shivering for the first time—ever—when he stepped right through her.

He turned at the same time she did.

“You felt that. Just like I did,” she said with awe.

She’d never actually gone through a person before. She always sidestepped them.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “First thing is fixing that damn furnace. Too many drafts in here.”

Then he walked out, shutting her inside the big, lonely house once again.

Copyright © 2023 Amanda Siegrist.

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