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The Old Haven House [Closed] - Printable Version

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The Old Haven House [Closed] - megs - 06-01-2017

[Image: ayEQNDx.png]
megs & saronym


RE: The Old Haven House [Closed] - saronym - 06-01-2017

Son,

I know I do not have much of a right to call you that. All I have given you so far is my name. Do you know that story? After you were born, I refused to sign your birth certificate until your mother named you ‘Hart’ though I refused to marry her. I also promised to give her hell in custody court if she didn't obey me. Yes, I held her hostage all those years. I doubt she ever told you. I decided where you lived, what school you went to, and on and on. I thought I had the right to dictate from afar while I wrote checks to sustain you.

I don’t know why I was like that, Owen. I was a terrible man and I still am.

I had nothing to do with the person you have become, as you are well aware. It is probably for the best. I would have ruined you. Hart men have a darkness in them. I pray that it skipped over you and that your mother’s loving influence has made you into a better man than I and less a Hart. I spoke to your mother recently. She forbade me to contact you. She told me you were in your finals before graduation and that I had no right to seep into your life again. She said specifically I had no right to try ‘sneaking out from hell to drag you back with me’. She was right. I let it be. I hope you can forgive me.

I hope you did well.

I’m writing you now, and I wanted to speak with you then, because I have a progressive cancer and the doctor tells me I don’t even have six weeks to live. Suddenly, I am confronted with my mortality and regret. I never gave you anything but my name and money. How would you like some more? As you have by now found out, I have passed and I’ve left you my entire estate. Go and enjoy your life, my son. You are a rich man now. I hope that you find yourself long before I did. Before time catches up with you. Take care of your mother.

Love,
Renly


Owen had memorized every line of the letter his father had left him in his will - along with millions upon millions of dollars. A Hart’s inheritance. The letter - and the circumstances - had changed his life's trajectory. He had floated his resume before graduation hoping to land some job. Any job. He planned to move back with his mother while he searched for employment.

But now he found himself with a lot of money and a curiosity to ‘find himself’ as his father had instructed him.

He bought an old - rumored to be haunted, or whatever - home in the town where he was born. A place he had never lived but only heard the worst of things from his mother. It's a black hole there. Sucks in everything good, even light.

The idea upon his returning to home that was never home was to discover his roots. Maybe write a book. Maybe meet a girl. Maybe fix up the old country home. Maybe do whatever struck him.

What an opportunity.

He bought the house sight unseen. And here he was with the realtor who sold it to him unlocking it for the first time. “Here you are Mr. Hart.” She sang at him when she passed over the keys and left him to his home for good.

It was dusty, creaky, and felt positively ancient. Not at all what a twenty-something young recently rich man might find himself purchasing. He was probably trying way too hard to not be his father.

What had he gotten himself into?

There were still furnishings from the previous owner - an old woman by the last name of Haven had held onto it for as long as she lived. And now it was his.

Owen moved his suitcases filled with clothes and books and personal things into the foyer of the home and left it all there. He wandered each of the rooms, uncovering furniture protected by tarps. In the parlor, that famous parlor, he discovered a grand piano. Still in great shape, though worse for the tuning.

Whatever struck him indeed.

That entire first afternoon and into the evening he spent tuning up the old piano and playing sad songs to an audience of dust. The creaky wood floors liked Moonlight Sonata. The old curtains, he swore preferred Chopin’s Nocturnes. He drank straight from a bottle of whiskey and ate from cartons of Chinese take-out between numbers. His mother's angry voice echoing in his mind when he told her what he had done.

RE: The Old Haven House [Closed] - megs - 06-02-2017

August 18, 1919
I met a man, today.

At the Harvest Festival. I was waiting for Elliot near the flower stands when he approached. I watched as he purchased a single variegated tulip. The petals were white and red on long green stem. You can only imagine my surprise, when he walked right up to me and handed me the flower. In the language of flowers, tulips like that mean that receiver has beautiful eyes. I wonder if he knew that; if he was trying to compliment me without saying anything. Perhaps, he just thought it was a lovely flower.

I was flushed red, immediately.

He is very tall. Much taller than I (my head just barely aligns with his shoulders), and he has long blonde hair like spun gold, and eyes that are grey like summer storms. His name is Absalom. He’s a Hart. Of course he would be a Hart. Absalom invited me to enjoy the festival with him, and I accepted. Father would be furious to hear what a lovely day I had with the son of his rival, but I don’t care.

Absalom is intelligent, and kind, and talks to me as if I were an equal. We had the most wonderful discussions on art, and music and politic. World culture. He has traveled to many places. He offered to take me to them.

I don’t want to be too hasty with my words, but I could see myself falling quickly in love with him.

I will be seeing him again in the days to come. Here’s hoping I can keep a good head on my shoulders.

The last of the Havens had died. An elderly woman by the name of Anna who had never married had taken the Haven name to the ground with her. The house of their name had been empty since then. It was rumored to be haunted, which was enough to keep most potential buyers at bay. Any who dared to come view the home were quickly scared off by eerie coincidences that interrupted their tours. The realtor always cursed the house when she left. She hadn’t believed in ghosts until now.

Julianna Drusilla Haven had died some time ago. Now that the woman who would have been her great great great (and so on) niece had perished, she was content to live in solitude. If her spirit was to be trapped within this godforsaken house, she would rather it be in isolation. If there were no more Havens to live in the house, then there was no one to live in the house. Period.

The mousy real estate agent continued to have other ideas. She showed up on the front porch in the early afternoon. Julianna, though annoyed, would have no problem scaring off the next batch of potential buyers. A spooky piano that played itself; slamming doors; pockets of cold air and hushed whispers were all it usually took to change their minds.

Today was different, there was no tour, no bright eyed and eager faced couple that thought they were getting a good deal on an old home. Just a man. One man, and the keys had been pushed into his hand, and he had been left to his own devices.

A tall, blonde haired and grey eyed man had pushed his things into the foyer and left them there. Exploring the rest of the house. Julianna was furious. Who was he? And how dare he think he could move into her family’s home. She followed this man, silent and unseen as he observed the house.

The man didn’t do much else. He found the piano in the parlor and had started to mess with it. Julianna hovered in front of her portrait above the fireplace, still furious, and watching as he tuned the instrument. Did he intend to play it? Julianna rounded the man and the piano and sat on the bench with a silent huff, crossing her arms over her chest. He sat next to her, though he didn’t know it, and she didn’t have to but she made room for him on the seat. She watched his hands, long graceful fingers danced across the keys.

How dare he.

How dare he.

Skilled as he was he had no business touching her things. Eating something greasy and foul smelling and drinking whisky from the bottle like some kind of vagrant. When he paused in the middle of Clair de lune for another swig of whisky, Julianna slammed the cover over the keys and pushed aging sheets of music to the floor in a fit. She glared at his profile as pages noisily fluttered to the ground.

RE: The Old Haven House [Closed] - saronym - 06-02-2017

He was surprised - startled - but not spooked in the way one who was beginning to be haunted might be. The sudden slamming of the key cover made him jump and spill whiskey down his lips, chin, and onto the front of his shirt in a dribble.

“Oh shit.” He said as he wiped at his neck and licked his lips of alcohol that burned.

“Okay. Okay. I get it. No Debussy.”

He wasn’t talking to anyone so far as he knew. Just the aged house which had rejected his choice in music.

Owen immediately took to inspecting the hinges on the key cover. “I’ll have to replace these, I guess,” he muttered to himself before he bent to shuffle the sheet music back together. He lifted himself up and opened the bench seat to rifle through whatever other music he might could find there.

Pulling out an old notated score, Owen held it up for the room. “Little ragtime to lighten things up around here?” He asked while holding his other hand out in a gesture of question. His eyes gazed around the room as if looking at his inanimate audience he’d formed in his mind. It was then he noticed a portrait hanging above the fireplace.

Stepping around the bench Owen approached the picture. Painted green eyes seemed to track him across the room. Sign of a talented painter. “How do you do ma’am?” He asked the painting, bowing his head gracefully. He tipped an invisible hat to her. He may have been a little drunk.

“Names Owen. Owen Hart. And if it pleases you ma’am, I’ll play this here piece for you.” He held up the sheet music for her inspection.

Something about the painting caught his attention. Something ethereal. Timeless. And the woman captured there was beautiful. High cheeks, delicate nose, and the neckline to her dress would make a modern man blush.

“I’ll be damned if you aren’t something.” He said in a mock southern accent as his fingers grazed carefully over the elaborate frame that held the oil painting.

RE: The Old Haven House [Closed] - megs - 06-02-2017

August 22, 1919

I think my father has contracted a mild form of lunacy.

When I informed him that I have been spending an (admittedly scandalous) amount of time with Absalom, he didn’t raise a fuss. It cannot deny that he turned a sickly sort of pale, as if all the blood had been drained from him, but he did not protest. ‘That’s nice, Julianna,’ was all he had to say in the matter.

‘That’s nice, Julianna!’

What am I even to think of that? It seems as if this rivalry with the Harts has been wildly overblown.

It is possible that his mayoral candidacy has him somewhat distracted with matters more important than his daughter’s casual consort with a Hart man.

Oh well, I will not prod a reaction from him. I’d rather spend the time with Absalom.


Julianna smirked as he made a mess of himself with the whisky, it was a small victory since he was wholly unperturbed by her slamming things. That victory he’d given to the hinges of the piano cover. Maybe it was the whisky that was making him so unmovable. Fine. She had other tricks up her sleeve.

She was forced to move when he lifted the bench. She huffed again, not that he could hear. She considered just making herself visible to him. She crossed her arms again and watched as he rifled through the music she had stashed there. Materializing herself was usually something she saved for last. A grand finale if you will.

He was moving towards her portrait, so she moved with him. She stood next to him, close but not quite touching. Not that he would have felt her in this form. Julianna looked up at him, continuing to observe his profile. Something about the shape of his nose and the curve of his mouth was familiar to her, but she couldn’t quite place it. She looked up at her own visage. The paint was still as vibrant as it had been a hundred years ago. In it, she was wearing her favorite yellow lawn dress; spun silk and handwoven lace. He was introducing himself to her - to her painting.

Hart.

All at once a rage seemed to boil up in her. Her own hand lifted to the ugly purple and yellow bruises that decorated her throat like a macabre necklace, as his own lifted to touch the dusty frame of her portrait.

A gust of cold air. The drapes across the windows fluttered. Julianna grabbed his forearm to wrench his hand away for the painting. She would not suffer another Hart in her home. Not after the last.

RE: The Old Haven House [Closed] - saronym - 06-02-2017

His hand seized up and went cold like dunked in ice when he touched the picture frame. Jerking his hand away he shook it out and then turned away from the painting. He tucked the sheet music under his arm and massaged at the affected hand and arm with the other.

“Little carpal tunnel flare, ma’am.” He apologized to the painting smiling over his shoulder at her. “Maybe it’s best if I take a little rest, if it’s alright with you?”

He settled that unplayed score on the piano’s music rack before collecting his drink and food to take it all into the kitchen.

“Should have seen that doctor mom was on about.” He muttered to himself as he walked to the kitchen. If he was being realistic, he was a bit worried about the sensation he’d felt. More icy than anything. What had that been about?

His mind went to the rumors about the place being haunted. He’d seen the reviews on the realty website.

Owen threw the empty Chinese cartons into the trash and leaned against the counter above the sink. He stared through the window facing the backyard and sighed. This was the first time he had lived alone. There was so much space for him. Too much space. Though it was full with an old woman’s furniture. It all felt empty, but not truly empty. Maybe it would have been better if his voice echoed off the walls.

There was just something there there in the silence of the house. He couldn’t put his finger on what. Probably just the weight of all that history on him. He turned around, taking his bottle with him, having decided to go to bed.

Owen paused in the kitchen’s doorway. The frame was marked with lines likely signifying the heights of children that had grown up there. Some had a little letter next to the markings to identify the child. He ran his finger on the last line under the letter J.

“You didn’t get very tall did you?” He asked the line, as his finger moved upwards tracing over those that had surpassed this J in height.

Suddenly something occurred to him. He was in a ‘do whatever struck him mode’ so Owen found a knife in one of the drawers and lined his back up with the door frame. Using the sharp end of the knife, he carved himself a line - higher than all the rest - into the frame. He turned around and worked at carving an O for himself.

“There.”

He fancied himself a child of the house now.

RE: The Old Haven House [Closed] - megs - 06-02-2017

He was still talking to her portrait, like a lunatic. Or at very least a drunk. Julianna turned at the waist to spy the bottle of liquor still perched unceremoniously upon her piano. If he left it there for too long, she would knock it off, and let a bout of cleaning up broken glass and mopping up whisky show him what she really thought of his indefinite stay in her home.

Julianna followed Owen into the kitchen, because she had nothing better to do. Scaring him off was quite obviously her singular goal. She wanted him out as soon as possible. A Hart didn’t belong here. She stood next to him at the window. Arms crossed, glaring at the side of his head. Her curiosity in his features had been sated and now that nose and those lips only served to make her angry. He sighed, and there was something sad in it. She turned her body to look out the window. The tobacco fields had long since been mowed down, and there was nothing left but seemingly endless green grass. Well kept, but not nearly as profitable.
Layers of skirts twirled around her ankles as she shifted to follow him out of the kitchen. Of all the markings on the door frame he picked hers. Why? Apparently, because she hadn’t gotten as tall as her brothers. She huffed and stomped her foot on the wooden floors. The knock of it echoed through the kitchen.

“I was ten,” she complained to no one. She still couldn’t be heard. “What are you doing,” she wondered as he rifled through a cabinet. “You better not!” She warned as he lined himself up with the door frame. Words falling on ears deaf to the dead. She muffled a scream behind closed lips as he marked himself above all the others, decorating his vandalism with a crooked O.

Oh, she could have slapped him.

A loud series of knocks on the front door, signaled that Owen had a visitor. A pretty blonde woman stood on the wraparound porch, waiting for the door to be answered. She’d heard that someone had moved into the Old Haven House, and as gossipy as she was, she wanted to meet them of course. Her hands were full with a bottle of rum and a pack of cigarillos in a tin case. The traditional housewarming gifts of a town built by tobacco farmers and bootleggers. No apples pies here.

RE: The Old Haven House [Closed] - saronym - 06-02-2017

Owen’s head cocked at the sound of an ominous and singular knock that seemed to come from...under foot? He stared down at the floor, frowning at it. He thought he might have heard some kind of yowling?

Owen shrugged. Some animal probably stuck up under the house. Opossum or raccoon or a stray of some kind. Hopefully it found his way out before it died under there and stunk the place up.

Loud knocking on his front door made Owen start in surprise again. “Jesus.” He complained to the air. He started towards the front door making it halfway down the hall before he realized that he was still gripping that knife. He whirled around and returned the knife to the drawer before he trotted back towards the front door.

“Coming!” He yelled on the way down the hall.

Owen released the lock to the door and pulled it open to find himself confronted with a beautiful, blonde southern belle. Or whatever the present day version of southern belle was.

“Hi there.” He greeted her looking intrigued as his eyes passed over the treats she had brought him - other than herself it seemed. He scrubbed his hand through his hair and down his face suddenly realizing how intoxicated he really was. He was paranoid that she would be able to tell. “Is this the - uh- town welcoming squad?”

He smiled charmingly and gazed past her as if looking for the others that had come to welcome him.

RE: The Old Haven House [Closed] - megs - 06-02-2017

Julianna hovered over Owen’s shoulder as he answered the door. She frowned at the blonde on her porch. Who was this? What did she want? She didn’t want more people in her house. One uninvited blonde was enough.

“Hi!” The blonde greeted him back with an energetic cheerfulness that didn’t quite suit the hour. It wasn’t yet dark, the sun was still casting the sky in orange and red behind her head. Illuminating her features in soft light. She hadn’t expected a tall, and handsome man to answer the door. That was pleasant surprise. Typical questions came to mind. Was he married? Single? Rich? The Old Haven house had been listed at millions of dollars, that she knew. The money had to have come from somewhere. She smiled wide and bright.

She lifted the treats higher, even though she’d already noticed him eyeing them. And her. The charming smile playing on his features was encouraging. “No squad. Just me! Name’s Madeline.” She had the drawl that you would expect from her appearance. Flannel over a tank top. Cut off shorts and Converse. She rearranged the goodies, and held them against her chest with one arm. She thrust her now free hand in his direction for a shake. “You can call me Maddy though. I’m your neighbor.” She pulled her hand back and waved it a little, chuckling all the while.

“Neighborly, anyway. I’m still a mile or two up the road, but I just had to meet whoever bought this silly old house.” Her eyes glittered with poorly masked intentions. “Can I come inside?”

Silly.

Julianna could have slapped Madeline, call me Maddy, as well.

RE: The Old Haven House [Closed] - saronym - 06-02-2017

Madeline - Maddy - was cute in that little country girl next door kind of way.

Owen took her hand and shook it, careful not to squeeze too hard but just enough. “Nice to meet you Maddy, I’m Owen. And yeah I did buy this silly old house. And that made us neighbors apparently. You're welcome for that.” He smirked at her, getting the flirting off to a quick start. Owen then gazed behind her up towards the way he knew was the next nearest house figuring it was hers though he couldn’t see it from this far.

“One’s a welcoming squad in a town like this.” He laughed and moved aside to let her in. “Come on in, the party already started.” He said alluding to his earlier foray into his own bottle of alcohol.

“What do you got there?” He put his hand on the bottle as if to take it, but only if she gave it up to him. It had a label that referred back to 1920s rum running. Midnight Runners with a footprint on it. Owen nodded his appreciation.

“You know my family were bootleggers back in the day?” He offered this interesting tidbit as he led the way into the kitchen. “I don’t know much about it really, but my origins are in this here town.” The last three words he playfully said in a drawl that matched hers.

“I’m a southern boy born, but raised in New England. Yale grad.” He preened at her a bit sarcastically, making fun of himself for his Ivy League status.

He stopped in front of a glass-front cabinet and brought down two glasses with a film of dust over them. “My daddy left me some money when he died, so here I am getting in touch with my roots.” He said while rolling his eyes at his own expense knowing how lame it sounded when said out loud. He was awfully chatty and probably due to that minor stint with the lonely house and partly from the alcohol already working in his system.

“So Maddy…” He said handing off a glass he rinsed off in the sink. “What do you think of the owner of this silly old home?” He spread his hands out standing before her like a manikin to be evaluated.

RE: The Old Haven House [Closed] - megs - 06-02-2017

You’re welcome for that he said, and she giggled. Girly and flirtatious. He’d already started, so why couldn’t she? Maddy followed him into the home. “Town special,” she explained and easily relinquished the bottle to him. Fingers brushed. She shook the tin of cigarillos that she was still holding. “The tobacco's all gone, but the distillery is still here.”

She tossed her hair over her shoulder, listening with an easy smile as he revealed some of his history to her.

Julianna followed the pair. She wasn’t smiling. Green eyes made a perfect semicircle at their obvious and disgusting display of courting.

The blonde gasped in delight. “Don’t tell me you’re a Hart!” She sounded wildly too excited by the prospect. Julianna certainly didn’t think it was anything to get in a titter over. “Guess the news hasn’t reached town, yet, or you’d have more guests than lil’ ole me.” She leaned against the kitchen counter and picked up the rum he’d left while he rinsed out some glasses. She peeled back the label and unscrewed the cap. She listened as he detailed a brief history; education, how he’d come into the money that bought him the house. Color her very interested.

“Nothing wrong with that,” she encouraged his getting in touch with his roots. Maddy wouldn’t mind getting in touch with him, if you caught her meaning. “I don’t know how deep you’ve dug, but I’m a Sorensen.” She smiled proudly. “It’s not like bein’ a Hart or a Haven,” she gestured around the kitchen with her free hand, before accepting the glass from him. “But my family ran all the speakeasies that the Harts were runnin’ to. Now, we just own the bar.”

She poured herself a healthy serving of rum and pursed her lips. She looked him up and down, taking the opportunity to access him as he stood before her, all but asking for her to ogle him. Maddy made him wait for her answer as she took a generous drink.

“I gotta say, Owen, I’m likin’ what I’m seein’.”

Julianna was not.

RE: The Old Haven House [Closed] - saronym - 06-02-2017

That alluring tinkle of a laugh she’d given him at the door stayed in his mind all the way to the kitchen. He would love to keep hearing it. He wondered if she would giggle like that if his stubble rubbed on the right places on her body. Whoa- getting ahead of yerself there boy, he reminded himself.

Though really, was he?

“Guilty.” He responded when she practically accused him of being what he was : a Hart. Apparently, they were kind of notorious. He liked that. Liked feeling known for something he had no part in. He could dig on riding the residuals of infamy if it got him into the panties of hot little blondes that lived up the way.

“Haven’t at all.” He admitted with respect to his research into his heritage. She shared a bit of her history and his eyebrows rose in response. “Well look at us now. A match made in...history? I suppose.” He grinned at his witticism feeling mighty proud of himself for it. It helped that she was so encouraging and receptive.

He watched her take her drink, before he took his own. She complimented him and he tipped that invisible hat to her - the one he’d tipped to the painting in the parlor. “Well there’s more where that came from lil lady.” He was referring to more of himself. Specifically his dick. Hadn't known the local country gal but five minutes and already talk of his cock. Oh boy.

He raised his glass to toast her, “To prohibition which made my daddy’s side of the family very rich.” He clinked her glass then added with a softer more sensual tone of voice. “To new friends in old places.” Owen kept her eye contact the entire time while he drained his glass of rum. He could feel the heat rising in his body and presumably the room? Or was that just him?

“So where’s your boyfriend at tonight?” He asked pointedly while he refilled both their glasses. It was an obvious question. You gonna let me fuck you or what?

Whatever struck him... he had promised himself.

RE: The Old Haven House [Closed] - megs - 06-02-2017

The night went as Julianna had expected. Their flirtations were fueled by liquor and not even an hour into Maddy’s visit the two had fallen into bed together. Her bed. Glasses and cigars and a half empty bottle of rum abandoned in the kitchen. Maddy and Owen were loud and sloppy. Julianna continued to blame it on the liquor. She didn’t watch them. Though she could have and it would be a lie to say she wasn’t the least bit curious.

She’d never shared such a moment, herself.

After helping herself to a glass of their discarded alcohol, Julianna pouted at her piano. The pairs cries and movements echoed from the upstairs. His neighbors should be thankful there’s so much space between them, the annoyed ghost thought bitterly. She looked up at her portrait, remembering how Owen had complimented her features. Despite her agitation, she’d taken the compliment to heart. It was nice to still be pretty a century after she died.

Complimenting women just seemed to be a thing he did, however. Another Hart man in her bed with a woman who wasn’t her. She seemed to be cursed this way.

Night had fallen and the house was cast in darkness by the time Maddy and Owen had had their fill of each other. Julianna still sat at the piano, running her fingers lightly over the keys. Her pinky pressed against one, the hammer struck within the instrument and a high pitched note resonated in the space of the parlor. She continued this way, one keening note over and over in a slow cadence.


“Do you hear that?” Maddy rolled over and nudged Owen’s shoulder. She didn’t know how long they’d been asleep. Her hair was a mess and her skin had a lingering stickiness. “Owen,” she whispered sharply, trying to rouse him. “Do you hear that?”

He mumbled something, likely brushing off her concerns as he rolled over and slung an arm around her waist. He tried to pull her against him, but she resisted. She was wide awake and curious.

She’d of course heard the rumors of the house being haunted.

Pushing his arm off, Maddy slipped out of the bed. She located her clothing and dressed quickly. She followed that singular tone downstairs and towards the parlor.

Julianna could hear her footsteps, as quiet as she was trying to be. Regardless, she was attuned to the house in some way. She was always aware of its occupants and their movements within. Tentative steps down the stairs. Julianna halted her note. Fingers rearranged themselves into a more proper position.

It was perhaps, cliche and a bit overblown, to being playing the funeral march from Chopin’s Piano Sonata No. 2, but Julianna, a ghost trapped in her own home as it was defiled by a Hart and his urges, was feeling a bit cliche and overblown.

Maddy halted on the stairs.

Julianna continued to play, she was smirking all the while. A terror had struck the other woman and she could feel it. At some point she’d manifested herself physically. Able to be seen by the living. By the time Maddy had willed herself to peek around the open door of the foyer, Julianna had reached the interlude of the piece.

Maddy could only see the head of the player. A woman, cast mostly in darkness with rolling curls that fell over her shoulders. “W-who are you? What are you doing here?”

She was trying to be strong, brave. Julianna scoffed, leaning into the notes. She played for a few seconds longer, until Maddy opened her mouth to interrupt her again. The music stopped abruptly. Julianna slammed the cover over the keys again and Maddy jumped with a yelp.

“You shouldn’t beer here,” Julianna accused. A cold breeze affronted the blonde in the doorway.

Maddy screamed.

RE: The Old Haven House [Closed] - saronym - 06-02-2017

A third time startled on his first night at his new home. That scream jerked him to a sitting position even before his mind could comprehend it. Owen grabbed his boxers shouting for Maddy. His brain was half muddled still from the drink. A sour taste lingered in his mouth. He stumbled into his boxers as he went down the hall.

“Maddy! What! What is it!” He was yelling to her as his feet pounded down the creaking stairs.

The door was open and Maddy’s car was whipping around in the front yard kicking up dirt and spinning its tires in her desperation to get away.

“What the fuck!” He yelled after her car gesturing with frustration and anger.

“You could have just sneaked out like all the other girls do for fucksake!” He continued his yelling - as Julianna had noticed there were no neighbors to disturb this far out.

He slammed his front door behind him and stood in the foyer fuming. What had gotten into that girl? Had she really taken those old ghost stories to heart? Gone and freaked herself out over a creaky old house. Country girls were probably more skiddish than city ones. Hell, he’d lived in buildings damn near as old as this one up north and nobody put up a fuss up like that.

Owen walked through the house, his bare feet padding on old floors that seemed to protest in certain spots under the weight of him. It didn’t bother him. That’s what old floors did: complain. Like grandparents whining about aches and pains.

It was a glass on the piano that gave him pause.

He cocked his head at it not remembering that either of them had left it there. When he sat at the piano, he drank straight from the bottle. He and Maddy held their flirtation exclusively in the kitchen before stumbling their way directly to bed.

So why the glass there?

He was hesitant to approach and picked it up after a moment of careful consideration. What if the place was haunted?

The thought made him laugh out loud. Clearly Maddy had come down stairs for another drink, had played a little piano - hadn’t he heard the sound of piano? - and scared herself. In the kitchen, Owen filled the glass with water from the tap and gulped it down.

What a strange evening.

"Stupid old house. I was gonna fuck her in the morning too, ya know! Fucking spoiled my good time. I'm going to paint you mustard puke yellow in punishment!" He cursed the place and kicked the nearest counter. Not a great idea considering he was barefoot. "Ow. Shitfuck." He complained and hopped on one foot to the nook in the kitchen. Owen sat down and rubbed miserably at his toes.

RE: The Old Haven House [Closed] - megs - 06-02-2017

Julianna had vanished once more by the time Owen had made it downstairs. It hadn’t been too difficult to scare Maddy away from the house. She hadn’t even done anything particularly spectacular. Oh, well. Good riddance. Now, if only the Hart man wouldn’t have been so stubborn.

She seemed to have a preference for sitting in front of the piano. She remained there as Owen came to inspect the glass she’d left upon it. She could feel him considering the existence of a presence. He laughed it off too easily, she huffed. Standing to follow him into the kitchen.

Why was he being like this? Why was he so determined to stay it out in her house. He didn’t belong here. Rude and vulgar and obscene. This house deserved better. It deserved a Haven, but there we none of those left. He ruined it just by existing within it’s walls.

“You will do no such thing,” she countered when he threatened to paint her house some dreadful shade of yellow. It had been repainted recently and the brilliant shade of white suited it’s red shutters nicely. She laughed when he kicked the counter and sunk to the floor. The joyful peel could just barely be heard, as if coming from another room and being brought along a breeze.

She crossed her arms and lorded over him as he tended to his toes. She walked closer to him, her skirts would have touched him had she been corporeal. She pushed glass quarter filled with water off the counter, because she was petty. Like a cat that wasn’t getting enough attention. It bounced a few times on the hardwood, but didn’t break, spilling water as it rolled.