And one of the rules I had for myself was this–always watch the front of the house. The last thing I needed was another Theo. God, he was a pain in my ass. And don’t even get me started on Luther. I needed to make sure no one else stumbled in through the front door. So from my second-floor bedroom, I watched her sniffing around with the bleach-blonde realtor woman. She also had blonde hair, but it was softer. More natural. The color of corn husks at the end of the season. She had the kind of curves I wanted to run my hand across, and as she climbed the porch, I could make out the smattering of freckles across her perfect nose. I willed her and her long, silky locks to stay away. To get back into the realtor’s fancy silver car, and drive off down the dusty gravel road like they all had, on to find their real houses. To their real lives.

I knew the minute she stepped out of the car–this one was different. It scared me. But I knew I couldn’t stop her. What could I do, other than bang my hands against the windows, and wail? I had tried once before, when a group of loud teenagers had stumbled up the steps. It had worked, in the sense they had run off terrified. But it had also drawn more attention to the house, which was the last thing I wanted. People wanted to see the “haunted Victorian at the end of Hastings Road.”

I was here to atone for my sins. My sins, and mine alone. Anyone else who ended up here was an unfortunate accident. Which meant I could only watch in horror as the pretty thing climbed the steps, stars in her bright hazel eyes.

I couldn’t remember the last time I had touched a woman, and I craved to feel her, to run my fingers through her silky hair while I gazed into her eyes.

If she knew what was good for her, she’d rush back into the car and drive far, far away from here.

Eventually she left, and I sighed. Half in relief, half in disappointment. She was safe, away from me. Until an engine woke me from my nap a few days later. I hurried to my window. I expected to see another flashy car, another couple with glazed-over eyes. Instead I saw the blonde woman, hair piled high on her head, driving the ugliest truck I had ever seen in my life. The back was loaded with cardboard boxes.

No. No. No. No. No. This was not happening. No. No way.