I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives in the House

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1

I have heard myself say

that a house with a death in it

can never again be bought

or sold by the living.

It can only be borrowed from the ghosts

that have stayed behind.

To go back and forth,

letting out and gathering back in again.

Worrying over the floors

in confused circles.

Tending to their deaths

like patchy, withered gardens.

They have stayed

to look back for a glimpse

of the very last moments of their lives.

But the memories of their own deaths

are faces on the wrong side

of wet windows,

smeared by rain.

Impossible to properly see.

There is nothing

that chains them to the places

where their bodies have fallen.

They are free to go,

but still they confine themselves,

held in place by their looking.

For those who have stayed,

their prison is their never seeing.

And left all alone,

this is how they rot.

I did not know it at the time,

but the house that stands

at the end of Teacup Road

in the town of Braintree, Massachusetts,

was such a house.

A house that holds a seat

for the memory of a death.

The staying place of a rotted ghost.

At the time of my arrival

in the first part of August,

the house was occupied by Iris Blum,

the author of 13 novels.

The kinds of thick and frightening books

that people buy at airports

and supermarkets.

Of her books, I have read fewer

than nine pages of only a single one...

and all the while

suppressing a very bad taste.

I am not even sure of the title.

From where I am now,

I can be sure of only a very few things.

The pretty thing you are looking at is me.

Of this I am sure.

My name is Lily Saylor.

I am a hospice nurse.

Three days ago, I turned 28 years old.

I will never be 29 years old.

It's...

She's just above,

the bedroom on the right

in the front of the house.

Hello, Ms. Blum.

My name is Lily.

I'm going to be staying with you

from now on. I hope that's all right.

No snooping, you.

Polly!

I am very seldom required

to wear white by my employers.

But, anyway, I always do.

It has always been that wearing white

reassures the sick

that I can never be touched.

Even as darkness folds in on them

from every side...

closing like a claw.

Wake up, spaz.

Then go to sleep.

I don't know what.

Is Bart in there with you?

You slut.

Is he awake?

Tell him hi.

No, no, no!

Don't tell him who it is, just...

What are you guys doing?

You guys are lame.

Nothing.

Couldn't sleep.

The first night in a place

always weirds me out, you know.

Kitchen.

The phone is in the kitchen.

What do you want?

It's got one of those

ridiculously long cords

that your mom used to have.

Remember that?

Well, it's a real old house, so...

I don't know.

They're thicker?

The walls are thicker.

"Creepy"?

Why would you say that to me right now,

in the middle of the night

when I'm here all alone?

I'm okay.

No, he hasn't called.

And he doesn't have this number.

I can't imagine what I'd say if he did.

I mean, what does a person say?

"Remember that time we almost

but then didn't get married?

'Cause I do."

No, I don't think he will, either.

Can we not talk

about Scott right now, please?

Yeah. It'll be good to be here.

Good to be away.

Just good to kinda put myself away for...

What are you guys doing?

Well, that sounds pretty yummy

right about now.

Yeah. I know.

I'm sure I'll end up

cooking a bunch for Ms. Blum.

No. It's Blum, stupid. Not Ms. Plum.

This isn't Clue.

Well, maybe I'll bake a pie.

I think I saw some blackberry...

Jesus!

Hello?

Hello?

The phone just flew out of my hand.

The cord not as long as it seems?

Or I dropped it, like a stupid idiot.

I'm gonna give myself a heart attack.

Anyhoo...

what's new with you?

There.

It was just there,

even then.

On my very first night in the house.

A death.

But I cannot see it.

Not yet.

But I can feel it shifting its weight

from bare foot to bare foot.

Stepping around softly

behind a curtain of dark.

Pacing back and forth

in the cage of my chest.

"Dark Moon Flower."

"Underwater Housewife."

So that's where you're hiding.

They told me there wasn't one of you,

and I don't mind telling you,

I was a little worried.

Come on.

Well, no need to be rude.

Ms. Blum.

You scared me.

Well, let's get you back.

Now, I'm thinking

it's not the best idea for you

to be getting up without me from now on.

Can we agree to that?

Polly?

Um...

No...

My name is Lily, Ms. Blum.

We met a few hours ago.

I'm going to be staying here with you

from now on.

My Polly, tell me you missed me

just a little bit too.

You'll give me as much as that, won't you?

It can't be too much longer now.

Because time spent in a house

with a death in it

passes more quickly, you know.

Eleven months.

Passing like the night.

Susie.

Sally.

Candice and Jane.

Scary.

This is how you rot.

France.

Was the drive all right?

Yes. The summer season finally done

and everyone going the other way

over bridges.

- And how is the lady of the house today?

- She's comfortable.

Taking a nap,

as she usually does at this time.

And the wall, you say?

Yes.

It was fine when I first moved in,

but now I think it's gotten much worse

in the past few weeks.

Possibly a mold of some kind.

Likely there is some plumbing

behind the wall,

- a pipe that runs up to the bathroom.

- The laundry room is just above, I...

I sometimes hear the water going up

and a kind of knocking sound.

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