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Summary
When Rey decided to put an offer in on the old Victorian house at the far end of town, on a dead-end street, all of her friends tried their best to talk her out of it.
“It’s creepy” they said. “No one has lived there in over twenty years.” “And yet, sometimes, people say they see the lights on inside!” They even went so far as to spin a tale about a shadowy black cat that would manifest on the wooden posts at the top of the stairs, bright yellow eyes gleaming like demonic twin lanterns. But just as quickly as one could spot it, it would vanish into thin air. Rey could only laugh at these stories because she thought believing them could be nothing short of foolish. Finally, with as calm an air as ever, she would tell them with the utmost confidence, “Ghosts aren’t real.”
Yet her friends would continue their tirades, and they would all agree on one particularly vague testimony:
“There is something wrong with that house.”