“1890? That’s an old house—a little over 80 years,” said Brian.
“Indeed,” said the man on the line. “My mother grew up in that house. The place is overflowing with boxes and old furniture. As I said, I’ll pay you well, Mr. Cruz.”
“Not a problem. I’ll clean it in no time.”
“I hired a young woman months ago. Paid her in advance, but she disappeared and hasn’t returned my calls. Poor Mother. She was heartbroken.”
“Not to worry. I specialize in hoarder’s homes.”
The following morning, Brian stood outside the old Brownville farmhouse. The building was slightly twisted to the right, tilting forward. The exterior boards were swollen and rotten. A rusty pickup was parked close to the side of the house. He knocked on the door, and the hinges squealed as it cracked open.
“Hello?” answered the warm voice of an old woman. “I wasn’t expecting any visitors today.”
“Greetings, Miriam. I’m Mr. Cruz. Your son sent me to clean the place.” The savory aroma of meat pie invited him in.
“Oh, William, not another one!” Miriam patted Brian’s shoulder and laughed. “Come on in, hun! I made a runza pie. Nobody goes hungry in this house.”
“Why, that’s my favorite dish!”
Brian followed Miriam into the kitchen. Along the way, he saw that the house was so full of boxes that it only left room for a narrow path through the house. It was all a horrible mess, except for the dining room and kitchen.
Brian—a native Nebraskan—couldn’t help but think something tasted a little different about this runza pie. It wasn’t bad, just different.
“Thank you, ma’am. That was real good.”
Miriam smiled.
“Now, where should I get started?”
“Take these boxes to the basement for me, will you, dear? I’m going to town—be back soon.”
Inside the basement, Brian was stunned by the smell of something foul.
Probably a dead rat.
The basement was cold and damp. It was dark, save for the light of the narrow windows. Along the walls, spider webs blanketed piles of old furniture. The sound of the pickup’s engine was loud. One of the windows was broken, covered by a plastic bag that was slit down the middle.
No wonder everything’s wet in here.
Brian spent a few minutes organizing the basement. Setting a box near the off-white freezer in the corner, the smell of rotten meat overwhelmed him.
“What the hell?”
Better clean that out.
Brian opened the freezer and saw the half-thawed, disjointed remains of a young woman. He tried to scream, but all he could muster was a shrill series of gasps. Sweat running cold, he sprang to the door. It was locked. Struggling to catch his breath, he became lightheaded. The rumbling engine was muffled by the intensifying, racking ring in his ears. Brian lurched over the furniture, towards the window. He clawed at the rubber hose connected to Miriam’s exhaust pipe and pulled. He slipped, falling backward. Everything went black.