2430 Tornado Road

A few days and a tub of ice cream later (Justin loves ice cream), we felt ready to look at houses again.

"Another weird address," I observed as my dad slowed down in front of 2430 Tornado Road.

"It can't be worse than 666 and 13," Justin pointed out.

I grunted in agreement. "But it could be a sign that this house is trouble." After all, I had lost track of the number of well-meaning loved ones who had told us "it wasn't meant to be" after we lost the Rabbit Court house.

And it was too early for me to see that they were absolutely right.

"Oh great." My mom pointed to a man and a woman who were crossing the street, heading straight for the big red "open house!" sign at 2430. "Someone else just got here."

I groaned. "Not again." If this house did turn out to be amazing, I didn't think I could stand to lose it to someone else—again.

"We're right behind them," my dad promised, pulling over.

We all rushed to remove our seat belts. I was right behind Justin as he hurried up the driveway.

"Rita's on standby," Justin murmured, reminding me of our plan. "She's ready to draft up a contract if..."

Justin's voice trailed as the man and woman who had just entered the house rushed back out of it. The door slammed loudly behind them as they moved briskly down the path, murmuring in hushed, angry tones.

"Don't go in," urged the man, slowing down as he passed us. His eyes flicked between me and my mom. "Especially the ladies."

They raced off towards their car.

I could feel my eyelids expanding to make room for my shock. "What just happened?"

"'Especially the ladies'?" my mom repeated.

My dad glanced across the street at the couple, who were speeding off, and back at the house. Brown garage, brown brick, nothing special—but nothing scary either. "Let's go take a look. The location's good, the price is good, and the front yard is big enough to fit an entire lawn mower."

My dad headed up the driveway, followed by my mom and Justin. I didn't move. I knew the feeling creeping into my gut. Fear. The couple's reaction wasn't normal. And it certainly didn't inspire confidence.

But my family seemed OK with sticking to the plan. I guess we're doing this.

A strange symbol hung over the front door. It looked eerily familiar. My brain jumped back to grade ten history. Was that what I thought it was?

As usual, my mom encouraged me and Justin to step inside first. I noticed purple paint splatters on the threshold. My mom's pen was already flying furiously across the flyer she'd just picked up in the front hall—it seems she'd noticed it too.

Suddenly I was accosted by a short man with apparently forty perfectly white teeth. "Hello! Are you here to see the house?"

I shot a glance over my shoulder, meeting Justin's gaze and beckoning with my eyes for him to come to my rescue. "Er, yes, hello."

The selling agent's grin grew even wider. "Wonderful. Perfect." He seemed to notice my dad was frowning at the purple paint splotches, which trailed into the hall. "We can change the floor if you don't like it."

My mom's brow furrowed. "I saw something like that in your flyer." She glanced down at it. "'Floor on the main level can be changed if buyer prefers.'" She forced a gentle smile. "We'll let you know."

The selling agent bowed and smiled. "Come on in. There is lots to see."

The small entryway contained a rug, a lovely table with a plant, and a door that presumably led to the basement. In other words, it looked normal. But I couldn't shake the bad feeling created by "especially the ladies." 

I followed my parents into the hall. Why would someone say that? He was only a minute ahead of us—what could he have seen that we hadn't yet? It doesn't make sense. Why would he—

And then it hit me. I touched Justin's arm and he stopped walking. "Hey, maybe this house looks so good that that guy wanted to trick us into ditching it."

Justin's eyes widened. "Yeah, so he said something scary to give him and his wife time to go home and get their contract."

The bad feeling started to subside. Maybe there was nothing to be afraid of after all.

"What were they thinking?"

I sped up at the sound of my dad's voice. He was standing in the family room, which was incredibly dark in every sense of the word—low lighting, dark purple walls, dark floor and old furniture with claw-like feet, as though it might walk out at any moment.

I know I wanted to.

My dad gestured to the floor. "There's paint residue everywhere."

I leaned over my mom's shoulder to read her notes.

Fellow buyer urged not to go in, "especially the ladies." Paint splotches on threshold and in haunted-looking family room.

"Let's try the kitchen," my mom suggested.

My dad followed her.

"Wait, what?" The fear had crept back into my stomach, and I was pretty sure it had unpacked its bags and was here to stay. "What part of this room suggests we should try the kitchen?" Justin was following my parents away from the front door and towards the table peeking out of the kitchen. "I have a bad feeling about this. Don't you?"

"Kinda," Justin agreed. "But look, a decent-sized kitchen." An L-shaped kitchen with outdated counters and cupboards overlooked a table surrounded by six chairs. "Where apparently they like to serve paint." More purple paint splotches flecked the counter tops and floor.

"What is going on here?" my mom murmured, staring at the flyer and back at the house. "The advertisement claims this is a 'stunning kitchen.'"

My dad snorted. "Yeah, stunningly ugly."

I giggled behind my hands, trying not to alert the selling agent.

Justin puts his hands in the air. "OK, I have a proposal. Michelle and I are still scarred by the underwear we saw at the fresh poultry house. How about we skip the rest of the house and just leave?"

I gave a deep sigh of relief. It felt like an imaginary rope was tied from my belly button to the front door, and the further we moved from the exit, the sicker I felt. "Yes, please, I second that motion."

My mom nodded. "You don't have to convince me."

I made a beeline for the front door, practically plastering myself against the basement door to avoid making eye contact with the selling agent.

"Wait!" he urged as Justin turned the knob on the front door. "Make me an offer."

My mom exchanged glances with my dad. "We'd have to put 10k into this house just to make it livable."

The selling agent laughed. "10k? Not 10k..."

My dad folded his hands cross his chest, his voice gentle. "You're right. Maybe more like 20."

The selling agent pointed to the basement door. "There is a lady in white in the basement."

Justin's face paled. "Lady in white?" he mouthed. He leaned in and whispered in my ear, "Does he mean a gho—"

My mom was scanning the flyer. "Oh yes, you mention that here. There's a tenant in the basement."

Justin gave a deep sigh of relief. I put my arm around him, feeling relief as well. I wouldn't put it past this house to be haunted.

The selling agent nodded eagerly. "She can stay or she can go, whatever you prefer. Extra income."

My dad shook his head, gently coaxing my mom towards the door. "It's OK," he said, "but thank you."

Justin opened the door and I sucked in the fresh air, practically trampling him in my rush to get out. My mom was hot on my heels, my dad right behind her.

"Make me an offer!"

Those were the last words I heard as we rushed down the driveway, the lights on our car flashing as my dad repeatedly clicked the "open locks" button on his key chain. I swung open the passenger door and threw myself inside.

The moment we'd all put on our seat belts, my dad drove off, taking us away from the house as fast as the law would allow.

"It cannot," I started, catching my breath, "get much worse than that." My stomach was still doing a series of a flops, as though frantically validating the signals from my brain that screamed, "We're safe!"

My mom crumpled up the flyer, but not before I spotted her note at the bottom of the page: House in desperate need of paint job. Selling agent in desperate need of new job. 

"No, it can't," my dad agreed. He made contact with me in the rear view mirror. "Are you guys OK?"

I looked at Justin, who was shaking his head as he reached for my hand. "Lady in white," he murmured.

My mom laughed. "I know. 'Extra income,'" she muttered. "At this rate, I think he'll have to pay someone to take that house off his hands."

My dad turned on the radio and the comforting music washed over us.

Justin's voice was low and gentle. "Hey." He brought his face closer, inches from mine. "It's going to be OK." He squeezed my hand and I squeezed back, my heart warming. "Even if we live in a shack after we get married, I will be the happiest man on Earth. Do you know why?"

I smiled. "Why?"

Justin grinned. "Because I'm with you."

I wrapped both my hands around his. "Me too. That's the only thing we need to make our house a home."

Justin sat back, his hand still in mine. "So which house are we seeing next?"

We passed a park where kids were running around playing, then turned onto a sunny, tree-lined street.

I glanced down at the list of open houses my mom had made.

"1522 Sunrise Boulevard."