The first time I saw a circus, I was six years old.

I'd gone with my father to the fair, and it had been one of the best days of my life.

Because my father passed away a few days later.

It was my fondest memory of our relationship, too, because he had been so warm and affectionate with me at the circus when I'd been overwhelmed by the awesome things that were on display.

I could tell a few people at the fair were familiar with him, because when the show was over, he'd eagerly gone over to one of the performers, the Magician, and they discussed with flourish.

I could not easily forget the magician because he had a strange smile due to a gash on the lower part of his face.

Sometimes I still get a twinge in my chest because I feel like I can perceive his scent from that day.

My father was always particular about those things.

He wore only cotton shirts and a particular type of pants.

He had a very fancy gold Rolex watch he got from the fair and it never left his wrist.

But after his death, that watch went missing from his belongings.

And now it was this watch that had me curious when the small miracle of a Craigslist offering appeared on my screen for a fancy gold watch that sunny Saturday.

I assumed it was awfully similar to the watch which my dad owned, but I had nothing to reference the watch by, so I quickly sent a message to the seller.

They replied in minutes, and I could tell he tried his best to make a salesman type of charm with me.

I went with it with keen attention, drawn to this watch by a power which was beyond me.

I chalked up to the fact that it reminded me so much of my father.

The seller made his price known, and it was a steep call from what he had stated on the site.

I asked why it was so, and he claimed to have only dropped the price to court interests, that no one had ever wanted to watch up until I came along.

I thought that was an interesting reason, even though I couldn't shake the awry feeling.

Hey, I typed at him, I'd like to get the watch and I'll pay your sum.

I noted his hesitation at first, because our exchange had been fluid up until that stage.

I was anxious.

Seconds passed with the heavy hand of an eternity.

As I watched the screen, the harder I stared at the watch, the clearer it became to me that it should belong to me.

He told me that he could have it delivered to me personally if I did not mind, as it was surprising to him that someone would want such an old watch for that sum.

I didn't mind and agreed.

We talked about the time of his arrival.

Hours passed since my conversation with the seller, and I was reminded by the blaring alarm, which I had set for the moment of his arrival.

I rushed from my workstation a small part of my house to the clock to turn it off.

When a light, rapping noise echoed on my door, I paused in my track and heaved clear my foggy mind from the lumbering progression of thought.

Who's there, I asked, as I walked gingerly towards the door.

Hey delivery, The voice, clearly old and male, replied, shit.

I cussed under my breath as I sauntered through the room to the door.

I turned the key on the lock backwards and pulled it open.

The door yawned open enough for me to stick my head through.

A familiar, rushing scent wound into my nostril, and I recoiled.

The man's face changed from a beaming smile to a look of concern when he noted my reaction.

Are you okay, he asked, when I stared at him in confusion, unable to place the scent still, I nodded gently, assessing him guardedly.

A clean strip of cold sweat pooled around my neck, and I struggled with zipping and unzipping sensation.

Of my chest.

It had been years since I'd felt that, and I wondered if it was worth getting the watch back.

You wanted the watch, the man asked, with a stern expression, Yes, please.

How would you like to be paid casher online?

I quizzed, dizzy from the rush of my mind.

He paused and stared at me.

I'm not sure it's safe to collect such a sum of cash from you, and I'm not quite familiar with these new online payment systems.

I stopped and wondered why he would come all that way just to deliver his wrist watch without knowing how he would like to be paid.

My sense of concern was aroused.

How about I think of a way to take payment from you, and I'll be back in a few days, he said, and stared down in his pocket.

Before he could fully flash a smile.

He retrieved his hands from his pocket and the watch came.

Out with it.

I was overcome with a cold sweat as he looked up, and that familiar smile from years ago read stood in my head.

I was stunned silent as I visually trailed the scar on the lower part of his face, which made his smiling awkward.

I swallowed a harsh, nervous air, which was at the back of my throat.

How did you get this watch, sir, I asked, Pardon me, he queried back.

He was no longer smiling.

He had a wicked grimace, which betrayed his ready inclination to harm me.

I did not care.

My father once owned this watch, I clarified as I stood by the door, heart racing as he turned around to reveal his eyes.

First the pair of pupils were blue, and then they were red, and then green.

As he blinked and walked towards me, My respiration intensified as the meaning of all of it dawned on me.

I was standing before the man who had stabbed my father all those years ago, and he'd hypnotized me now.

I felt my muscles slacken as he moved closer to me, and I started to wobble backwards from the door.

With my strongest effort to break from his hypnosis, I moved back and slammed the door shut.

I shook my head and I was once again in control of myself.

James as though I'd have to collect everything now rather than later.

He snickered viciously as he pried the door open with a forceful yank.

I had no means of escape, so I did what I had to and leapt on him, dashing out a striking blow with my fist, which connected with his throat.

He joked and gasped for air, pleading.

I assume someone's already paid you, I shouted.

He struggled through, wheezing.

Damn, I should have known that I can't sell the same watch to a family twice.

With those last words, he shut his eyes and I stood there, shaking with panic and wondering what had just happened.

I checked my watch, tapping my feet against the sidewalk with an irritated sigh.

He was late.

I hope this wasn't someone trying to swindle me or mess with me.

I'd always been funny about buying things off sites like Craigslist, since there were very few regulatory checks into the cellars of the items.

I had no idea who I was meeting up with apart from the slightly blurry picture of a young man.

Maybe I should have done more research into who I was buying from before meeting up.

At least he suggested a public place rather than somewhere quiet and secluded.

I'm sorry to keep you waiting, a voice said from behind me.

I turned my gaze, falling onto a much more defined version of that profile picture.

He was older than I expected, maybe in his early to mid thirties, with close cropped brown hair.

I shrugged.

I haven't been waiting long, I lied.

Twenty minutes was longer than I would have liked to have waited, but there was no point making a big deal out of it.

He was giving me a good deal, after all, I'm parked just up the street, he explained, I have the mirror in the car.

I throwed my brow.

Why didn't he just bring it with him?

Did he expect me to follow him?

To his car.

I glanced around the street.

The road was fairly busy at this time of day, and there were a couple people walking around.

If he tried anything funny, at least I wouldn't be alone.

Did you drive here, he asked.

When I said nothing, I nodded, jerking a thumb to the old ford behind me.

Yep, he nodded, his eyes roaming over my face more intensely than I would have liked.

I subconsciously stepped back break his focus.

He cleared his throat.

I can go grab the mirror, he said.

I didn't want you waiting for me any longer.

That's all.

I stuffed my hands back in my pocket, sighing softly.

No worries.

I'll come and get it.

It saves you walking all the way back.

I knew I shouldn't be so nice, especially after him keeping me waiting, but I wanted to be done with this transaction so I could get back home.

Meeting up with strangers like this always made me antsy anyway, especially when they were men.

It comes with being a woman, I suppose.

He started walking back towards his car, and I walked a little behind, maintaining a good distance between us.

He didn't seem the sort to try anything, but you could never really tell.

His car was a red pickup with some old carpets rolled up in the back.

He noticed my gaze.

Oh, I'm doing some renovating.

That's why I wanted to get rid of this, he said, as he reached back into the seat and pulled out something wrapped in cloth.

He peeled it back to show me that it was the mirror that I was expecting.

Perfect, I said, digging my purse out of my pocket.

Twenty right.

He shook his head.

Uh, knock it down to fifteen, he said, as an apology for being late.

I blinked at him.

Are you sure?

He nodded, offering me a smile, and I'd handed him the money, accepting the mirror in return.

Thank you, no problem, pleasure doing business with you.

I merely smiled and said goodbye, before turning around and heading back to my car.

By the time I glanced back, he already had driven away, which I was thankful for didn't have to worry about being followed.

I drove back home, relieved that it had gone so smoothly.

The last thing I needed was to meet up with some creepy guy, but he seemed all right in the end.

When I got home that afternoon, I finally unwrapped the mirror and hung it up on my wall.

I'd recently repainted and refurbished my bedroom, and the mirror had been a perfect finishing touch to match the rest of the decor.

It looked brand new as well, which was even better.

It wasn't till much later in the evening, when I was in bed with the light switched off, that I saw the small, blinking light coming from somewhere in my room.

It was a reddish hue.

At first, I thought it might have been some type of reflection from outside, but my curtains were closed and it didn't seem like it came from a car or a street lamp.

I sat up, reaching for the lamp beside my bed, but as soon as the warm glows spread around the room, the light disappeared.

Hmm, maybe I'm just imagining it.

I switched the light.

Back off, waiting for my eyes to readjust to the dark.

There it was again, a faint red light blinking at me from somewhere in the room.

My eyes found it on the opposite wall, and I kept my gaze on it while simultaneously reaching for the light switch.

I flicked it on and blinked.

I was looking at the mirror, the new one I had just bought earlier this day.

Why was there a red light coming from it?

Nausea crept from my throat as the realization struck me.

There was only one explanation I could think of.

A camera.

There was a camera in the mirror.

That's what the red light was.

It was recording, which meant when I got dressed earlier, the camera had recorded everything.

The camera and whoever was watching on the other side that disgusting creep.

The light looked off suddenly, and I shook my head.

He must have realized that I figured it out.

It didn't matter anyway.

There was no way I was keeping this now.

I pulled the mirror off the wall and headed downstairs to throw it in the trash.

I heard the glass crack as it hit the side of the kitchen bin, but I didn't care.

I wasn't having that thing in my house anymore.

I was about to head back up to bed when movement in the corner of my eye made me turn around.

A scream immediately tore from my throat.

Someone was standing outside the kitchen window.

Looking in, I recognized the face immediately.

It was the man who sold me the mirror.

What the hell he followed me here?

But I checked he drove away already, unless unless the red light wasn't a camera at all, but a tracking device.

He grinned at me through the glass, his dark eyes flashing as he touched the window with his fingers.

Panic threw me through my veins.

I turned and ran upstairs, fumbling for my phone.

I called the police, my hand shaking as I dialed the emergency number and almost dropped the phone when I heard something thump downstairs.

Was he in the house?

Oh my god.

I ran into the bathroom, locking myself in.

When I relayed my address to the dispatcher, begging for them.

To hurry up.

I hid in the bathroom when I heard the sirens.

By the time the police came, the man was nowhere to be found, and the mirror was gone.

Today Brad pulled his hands away from my eyes and I got my first view of the place.

Wow, I said, careful to make sure my voice sounded enthusiastic.

I didn't want my husband to hear any of the disappointment I was feeling.

The place was big, as he's told me, but it was also run down and filthy.

The paint was peeling and half of the shutters had fallen off.

The whole place looked sad broken.

This was not where I wanted to spend the rest of my life.

I knew Brad had called it a fixed rupper.

That was an understatement.

This place should be bulldozed.

So you like it, he asked, I love it.

I knew how he wanted me to react, and I knew how much this moment meant to him.

Together we walked over the dead grass, up the broken porch steps, and into a house that genuinely made me want to recoil.

The inside was just as bad as the outside, with missing tiles on the floor and a musty, acrid smell throughout, as if something had died in the world walls.

This was our new house, but the only thing knew about it were the flies that had come in with us.

And that was how Brad and I moved into the house on Cherry Street.

We unpacked our boxes the same day, and Brad went to work the day after, leaving me alone with the dust and frustration For the first week.

I spent nearly all of my waking hours cleaning off surfaces and making a list of everything that needed to be replaced.

I woke up, got to work, and then ended my day with a lukewarm shower in brownish water.

Every day, Brad would come home from the office, stressed from his new job and asked me how my day went.

I always bottled up my sadness and told him that I was just fine, that I loved the house he'd picked for us.

The days were terrible, but the nights were even worse.

After the sun dipped over the mountains behind us, the house began to make noises, creaks and groans, and all sorts of unidentifiable sounds that Brad euphemistically called settling.

The house was settling, We were too.

On those long nights, while Brad snored away, I lay in bed and tried to ignore the noises around me.

I took ambien more than I should have, and that worked for a while.

But after about a week I couldn't sleep at all.

The noises were getting worse.

They were changing too.

What started out as minor creeks and groans morphed into louder noises, banging, thugs.

Worst of all, whispering.

At first, I thought it was all in my sleep deprived head sad, but I knew I wasn't crazy.

There was actual whispering coming from the walls, unintelligible voices that were sometimes punctuated by giggles.

Several times I woke up Brad from his deep sleep, but as soon as I did, the whisper stopped.

It was as if the house wanted to terrorize me and me alone.

Each time he got increasingly annoyed, as if I was finding unnecessary flaws with his perfect home.

After a few nights of this, I gave up completely.

He'd never hear the voices, and he'd never believe me.

After two weeks of sleep deprivation and near constant fear, I'd had enough.

The whispering had grown even louder, the voices more confident.

I had to figure this out for myself.

I pushed myself out of bed, careful not to awaken my husband and elicit even more anger.

I crept out of the room and into the long, dark hallway.

Aside from the creaking floorboards under my bare feet, I had to be silent.

I had to listen to the whispers.

To see where they were coming from.

I passed the bathroom, with its dripping shower nozzle clinking to the rhythm of my heartbeat.

I passed the guests bedroom deathly quiet and in the living room.

When I made it to the kitchen, I knew I'd found the source of the whispering.

I was close enough, and the voice was loud enough for me to make out individual words.

They sad removed the wife.

These voices were talking about my husband and me.

They were laughing too, coldly, mockingly.

I pushed open the kitchen door, expecting to find nothing on the other side.

After all, these were just voices, they didn't have a physical presence.

The kitchen's windows were all covered, so it took a second from my eyes to adjust to the darkness.

But when they did, I gasped in horror.

There crouched near the table were two figures.

One was male and the other female.

They were bent low, tearing apart a loaf of bread that sat on the floor between them.

They noticed me right away.

I couldn't see their faces in the dark, but I saw them turn their heads and look at me.

Too scared to move, too scared to flee for my life.

The figures didn't move for a long moment, just waiting in the dark, until the man whispered something to the woman.

The woman whispered back.

It was some kind of disagreement between them.

Then the man stood up, thin and frail, but impossibly tall.

He walked towards me, and before my frozen body could react, he grabbed my shoulders and lowered his face until it was inches from mine.

Yes, there's a nightmare, he whispered, you're asleep, and then he pushed me backwards out of the kitchen.

He slammed the door behind him.

That was when I screamed.

I guess it had taken that long for my senses to come back to me.

I screamed louder than I ever had before, and in seconds Brad ran to me from the bedroom.

What's wrong, he asked.

I couldn't form words, no sounds would leave my mouth.

All I could do was point one shaky finger towards the kitchen door.

He angrily pushed it open and charged into the kitchen.

I wanted to stop him, but I just couldn't.

Then he called my name, Teresa, come here now.

I held my breath and followed him into the dark room.

He clicked on the light and the kitchen was completely empty.

By then, my throbbing heartbeat had slowed and I was able to speak people.

I said, there were people in here.

He spread his arms out wide and gestured all around him.

Yeah, well, they're not here now.

Jesus Christ, Teresa, do you hate our new house so much that you have to ruin my sleep with some hallucination?

And he was right, there were no intruders there.

I looked at the floor where the figures had been crouching.

Brad, I said, look at the crumbs.

The tiles were speckled with break crumbs, so you must have missed the spot when you were sweeping.

Finally, I snapped, I was done being scared.

I was done hiding my emotions.

I hate this house, Brad, I shouted.

It was the first time I ever shouted at my husband.

It's terrible and there are there are things here, and I'm tired of you pretending that everything is perfect.

It's not, and I want us to move out right now.

Before Brad could answer, I heard a giggle coming from the half open pantry.

Fear ate away at my anger and my beating heart was now filled with a mixture of both fear and anger.

Brad's expression softened.

I realized that he heard it too.

Finally, he started walking towards the pantry.

Don't I told him.

He ignored me and pulled open the pantry and clicked on the light.

I carefully stepped forward, feeling the bits of break crumbs under my bare feet.

I looked over a Brad's shoulder into the pantry.

It was empty, just shelves of spices and canned food.

My heart sank, and then Brad leaned forward and pushed some of the cancer the side.

Feeling a small opening in the wall behind the shelves.

I'd never seen that before, even though it was big enough for a full grown adult to crawl through.

He leaned his face toward the opening and shouted, whoever you are, get out here now.

Inside the darkness, there was some rustling in silence.

Then slowly, very slowly, the man and woman crawled into the light.

They were covered in dust, their clothes torn and ragged, and they smelled like mold, like filth.

I glanced at Brad to make sure he saw what I saw, and he did.

He glared at the intruders.

Who are you, he asked.

The man answered, the bank took everything away, but we couldn't leave.

This house is ours you you've been living in the walls, I asked.

The woman looked away.

The man's dark eyes locked onto me.

He stared me down.

This is hor house, he said again.

Brad told me to get my phone and call the police.

Then he turned back towards the couple and screamed at them.

We bought this fair and square.

If you don't leave us alone, we're going to I interrupted my husband.

No, I said, I'm done.

I turned and walked straight out of the front door.

I got in my car and drove to a hotel.

The house on Cherry Street was ours.

It was what Brad had chosen for us, but I refused to set foot in it ever again.

I'd finally had enough.

A creaking sound was made as I dragged my heavy metal box through the wide gate into the big compound.

The house was a sign to behold.

It oozed an aura of protection and command.

If I didn't know better, I would have thought it belonged to an army general, But it was simply the house of a prince, a prince that needed a cook.

I saw the job on Craigslist, and I was attracted to the housing facility attached to it.

I didn't care that the job was below my status.

I needed a house to stay in, I bed to sleep on, in the assurance of food.

I was desperate enough to want the job to grab the chance as soon as I saw it.

The butler met me at the door.

A fine man, he looked like he was in his early forties.

He reminded me of my husband.

My dead husband, Harry was such a charming man.

His death caught me off guard, threw me off balance, and made me search for death.

Harry was the sweetest man I ever met, someone who gave his entire self to me.

It was unfair that he died in a plane crash.

He only went for a short business trip but didn't make it back home.

You must be Lynn, the butler said, and extended his hand for a shake.

I took it and smiled as we shook hands.

Prince Fred is not around.

I'm afraid I'll have to show you to your room and leave you to prepare to present yourself when the Prince arrives later.

That's no problem, I said, and he led me crossed the back through the garden into a secluded hutthouse.

This is the place, I whimpered, and the butler nodded in his response.

I wanted to complain, but my beggar had no choice.

Thank you, I muttered instead, you need to be careful, though the last cook suddenly went missing and no one has seen her since.

I nodded.

The agency had filled me in on the occurrence, and really I didn't care.

All I wanted was a getaway from the home my husband and I lived in.

I wanted out of the world I was used to.

I longed for.

Something new, something different.

The butler left and I began to unpack.

The hut house was made of brick and the floor was made of wood.

It was warm and cozy inside.

The temperature felt perfect for summer.

There was an iron bed and a mattress, a small table but no chair, a bathroom and a toilet and running water.

After a couple of hours spent unpacking and arranging, I went for a bath in the bathroom.

I forgot to say.

There was a weird telephone in the room.

It was supposed to be used to call for the cook when she was needed.

The phone rang As soon as I stepped out of the bathroom, Prince Fred is back.

You should come and introduce yourself, the butler said through the phone.

I got dressed and stepped towards the house.

I got back to my room at night, exhausted, I flew to bed and slept.

It wasn't a peaceful night.

First I heard soft taps beside the bed.

I woke up and checked everywhere, but saw nothing.

I concluded it was an insect or a rodent.

The room was unoccupied for a while.

There was every possibility rats or cockroaches inhabited the room in that short while.

I went back to sleep, but a few minutes later I was woken by whimpers, soft yet commanding whimpers.

I buried my head in the pillow and tried to block out the noise, but it was futile.

The noise seeped through my pillows into my ears.

I didn't sleep for the whole night, and I appeared at the main house with heavy eyes in the morning.

The Prince's mother, who also lived in the big house, was my immediate boss.

When she saw my state the next day, she allowed me to retire early to catch some sleep.

She concluded that my inability to sleep and the things I heard were due to tiredness and the effects of changing houses.

I agreed with her and went for an afternoon nap.

The sleep was peaceful, and I was energized when I woke up.

The Prince's mother was right.

I was just stressed.

I prepared dinner, ate my portion after serving the family, and then went back to the hut house again.

That night, I couldn't sleep.

The taps were louder, the whimpers were softer and more penetrating.

It sounded like agitated whimpers.

The next day I confronted the butler and made him to tell me the story of how the previous cook went missing.

Her husband visited.

He was furious that she took a job that required her to stay in the house.

He shouted at everyone, the Prince, his mother, myself, and the gardener.

The Prince almost let the old cook go, but he couldn't.

The woman didn't want to leave.

Her husband left the next day after spending the night with her.

The guard claimed to see the cook and her husband leave together, but it was absurd because her husband came back and claimed to see his wife.

Prince Fred made the man go, but we became worried.

We searched the hut house for traces of her, but found none.

Her things were still in the room, and we only cleared them after we employed you.

Why are you asking nothing, I smiled, I was only curious.

The butler nodded and asked me to get back to work.

I cleaned the kitchen, cooked the next meal as I was assigned by the prince's mother.

After another stressful day of cooking and not thinking about my dead husband, I retired to bed in search of sleep, but found none.

The whimpers softer and demanding.

The taps were ramping up so hard that I thought it was beating my ear drums.

I stood up from the bed and I traced the sounds.

It was underneath the bed.

I pulled off the mattress and rolled away from the iron bed misplaced floorboards.

I tapped it and realized I could fit in it.

Underneath the floorboards, wrapped in white clothes was a woman that seemed to be the previous cook, screaming with every energy in my lungs.

I ran towards the main house and called the butler.

No.

I called everyone, and I pointed to towards the hut house.

They followed me, more anxious than curious, into the hut house, and still under the floorboards the dead body was The sound had been produced by the misplaced floorboards underneath the iron bed.

The Prince reported the body to the police, and after investigation, they realized her husband was the murderer.

He killed her and buried her in the room, exited the house very early in the morning with a mannekin dressed like his wife, and came back demanding for her like he knew nothing.

He was arrested, and I gave up the cooking job.

My old life and missing my husband was better than those few days of fear.

It was not the newness I wanted.