After long days spent traveling to escape myself, I'm almost there, I try to hide my face, I've been crying again, but I feel curious eyes watching my every move. When I look back at them, they're looking out the window. I'm on a greyhound bus, the scenery is beautiful, mountains and the water shimmer in the sunlight.  I am actually excited to be coming to a small community, I always hated living in Toronto. We pass by small shops and eclectic houses, everything feels surreal, like reality is crashing around me. I'm bound to be seen, and that terrifies me to my very core, but maybe it'll be a good thing.
The bus stops and picks a handful of people up.  An elderly woman sits beside me, wrinkles pattern her face like waves on the shore.  She's wearing a black skirt and pale pink button-up shirt. She smiles at me, and asks, "where are you headed? I haven't seen you around here before."
"I'm actually moving here." I smile back, wiping my tears and trying to look happy. She looks concerned.
"you pack light, don't you?" she looks at my small backpack, holding my few possessions.
"Yeah, I guess so." I avoid eye contact, feeling embarrassed. I ran away so suddenly, Kegan tried to find me, but I was long gone. I was done with him and the way he treated me. I left behind most of my things, and he sent me a video of him burning all of my art. I remember crying on the bus, watching the video. So many years of progress and hard work, completely lost. The pieces I sold are still out there, but my most precious pieces are gone now.
"Where are you moving in?" she asks.
"the house on the cherry road."
"what?" she makes a face and recoils from me. I look at her, confused. "are you really? I wouldn't do that if I were you."
"Why not?"
"it's not safe."
"oh no, is something wrong with it?" My mind races with possibilities. This was supposed to be the start of a new life, I knew something would go wrong.
"that place is cursed; some might say haunted." She speaks quietly, but everyone can hear her. People around us nod in approval of her words. I guess these are small town superstitions huh?
"Well, I'm sure it'll be fine for me." I feel confident it'll be fine. If the worst thing she has to say about that house is that it's haunted, I don't have anything to worry about.
"I don't think you understand, " she insists, "nothing good comes from that place." Her voice is threatening. "It's satanic there."
"I don't really believe in that sort of thing." I'm trying to be calm, but she's making me nervous. Not about any sort of superstition, but because I want to live in this community and be accepted. I don't want to be the black sheep anymore.
People are staring at me, some have expressions of pity on their faces, shaking their heads in disbelief. They don't hide their reactions this time. I suddenly feel very out of place, but the bus stops, and the driver looks back at me with a knowing stare. I quickly rush off, but hear the old woman's voice behind me, talking to the man in the seat beside her.
"She won't last." They laugh, and the bus doors close behind me.
The cool air stings my lungs as I breathe heavily, trying to collect myself. My anxiety jumps, and I start to panic. What if I made the wrong decision? Jesus Christ, what if this was all a mistake? I should've stayed with Kegan and let him hurt me, I can't handle this, I'm not ready to move on, I'm not ready for any of this!
I sit on the stone steps and cry, but immediately wipe the tears away and try to tough it out. I've payed for the house with the last of my money. I don't have anywhere else to go. So, I open the door, and take a deep breath. The air is stale, and dust is unsettled with every step I take. I go upstairs, looking for a bedroom. There's two of them, so I take the smaller one. I'm hoping I can get a roommate to help pay for utilities.
I set down my bag and put some music on my phone, singing along. I go downstairs and start to tidy up. I take large sheets off of the furniture, and pile up boxes filled with what I want to sell and what I want to keep. There are so many strange antiques, and beautiful paintings. I'd like to keep them, but money is a bit tight right now, and I'm sure I'll have to sell them eventually. I decide to take a break and go explore the house for a bit. The downstairs is pretty standard, so I go upstairs and see something in the hallway. It's a small hatch on the ceiling, probably an attic. I pull on the cord, and dust falls all around me. I try to rub it out of my eyes, stumbling backwards and spluttering. Finally, when I gain my sight again I see a ladder in-front of me. I climb up, and find a dark attic. I don't hear any rodents, which is odd for how long this house has been for sale, but I walk forward, crouching slightly. I can't see much, so I use my phone as a flashlight. There isn't much around, but I find another box.
This box is large and flat, maybe another painting? I don't know why it would be in the attic though. I reach forward, feeling strangely entranced. My fingers go to the edges, but it's taped shut. I look around for something to open it with, but find nothing. As I leave, the box calls out to me. I can almost hear it singing along to my music... I rush downstairs to find something I can cut it open with. On the kitchen counter, I find a note and a key for the door. The note reads:
Dear Jamie, you have been such an amazing client, and we were so happy to sell you this home! It needs a bit of TLC, but it's in a great area and I'm sure you'll love it here! In your rush to move in, we forgot to set down some rules, so here they are! We would like you to refrain from selling or interacting with the paintings, and we will be picking them up by Wednesday. Secondly, stay away from the attic, there is currently an infestation of rats. You can keep or sell any antiques or furniture, but please do not interact with the paintings. Thank you, I hope you have an amazing journey with your new home!
I raise my eyebrows a bit, startled by the instant tone of the letter. I've already broken all the rules, let's just hope I can stay. I ignore the message, and take the key, going back to the attic. Now that I've turned my music off, I'm confident that the box is singing. I gently open it, ripping off the tape as I go. Piece by piece, I slowly become more anxious to see the painting. Finally, all the tape is gone, and I open the box...