Page 60 of Corrupt Shadows

Solomor pushes Stephanie’s hair behind an ear and bats her mascara-laden lashes. “No, you wouldn’t have. I’m just in the process of house hunting with my husband, but he had to stay at work today, and I was just too excited to check out the potential neighborhood.” She giggles unabashedly.

“Oh.” The stranger’s lips turn down in a frown. “There’s not a whole lot of availability on this street.” He pauses, scratching his dirty hair. “However, if you go over to Gardenia Street, they are building two new houses. Although, if you ask me—”

“Thank you so much. But I am actually interested in this house,” she says, gesturing toward the fire-damaged home.

He throws his shoulders back, narrows his eyes, and lifts his chin.

The man practically snarls. “Unfortunately, it’s not for sale. Why would you want to live there anyway?”

“It has so much potential for a remodel.” The woman smiles brightly, ignoring his partner-in-conversation’s souring mood.

“Well, as I said, it’s not for sale, so why don’t you just head over to Gardenia Street and try your luck there.” The man tries masking his emotions, but it’s useless. Anger simmers behind his eyes. Solomor finally takes the hint.

“Okay,” Solomor says in the woman’s voice, waving her hand.

The man stomps away and into a beige version of every other house on the street. The front door slams, and Solomor smiles. He turns away from the house, oozing smug satisfaction.

An elderly woman meanders down the sidewalk. Solomor’s meat suit walks several steps in her direction, consequently closer to my location in the Shadow Realm, and pretends to be looking for something in her oversized black purse. As the other woman nears, a tube of lipstick slips from his grasp and clatters on the cracked sidewalk by a pair of tan loafers. The old woman nearly runs right into the demon. Solomor’s meat suit retrieves the silver tube, her long champagne-colored nails scraping against the cement before she quickly stands and tosses it into her bag. The old lady eyes her skeptically, but the corner of her lips twitch upward.

The older woman is wearing an absurd ensemble that has no right to be seen in public. Mauve dress pants cover her legs, stopping at a heavy elastic waistband that sits past where her navel should be. Her white blouse is practically exploding with frills, the hem of the top disappearing behind the waist of her pants. That shirt belongs on a pirate ship. She wears a bright-purple jacket on top of the blouse, open at the waist. A cherry-red, wide-brim hat rests on her head, completing the outfit. The front brim is pinned to the crown of the hat with a costume-jewelry-quality brooch, shaped like a dove. I snort, then wipe off the ash collecting on the mirror in front of me. Assorted rainbow flowers cover the brim of the hat in a nauseating display.

I bet my ass, that woman goes to church regularly and volunteers for every committee.

The old woman places her hands on her hips, and Solomor meets her unwavering gaze warily, like she might bite.

“You all right there? Awful clumsy with that lip balm,” the frail female states.

Solomor clears his meat suit’s throat. “Yes, I’m fine. My lipstick,” he says, “just slipped from my fingers. I wanted to freshen up before my husband meets me here. We’re looking for a house to buy. I was on my way to Gardenia Street when I spotted this gorgeous home.” Stephanie gestures toward the abandoned house.

“Oh, sweet pea, you don’t want that house!” the old woman exclaims. She clasps her hands, her wrinkled fingers weaving together. “Everyone knows it’s haunted. How could it not be after everything that went down there?”

Solomor raises both brows, his confidence returning. “What happened?”

“You don’t know?” She lowers her voice conspiratorially. “Rumor has it, horrible things happened in that house. Unspeakable things,” the older human says excitedly as she prepares herself to spill every drop of small-town gossip. “One night, about nine years ago, a fire broke out, killing everyone.”

“People died?” Solomor asks with mock surprise.

“Oh yes, people say you could hear their screams from several blocks away as they burned alive!”

Solomor gasps and covers his meat suit’s mouth with both of her hands. The woman continues.

“The police are always having to bust down the door and roost out hooligans, breaking in to do drugs and God knows what else. I’ve gone to several town meetings and demand they demolish the place, but they say the property is owned by someone, and they cannot just simply demolish it unless it is ‘officially,’” the woman says with air quotes, “causing harm to members of the community.” She rolls her eyes.

“Wait, did anyone survive?” Solomor asks, his meat suit’s eyes darting toward the Fallenmoore house again.

The elderly woman leans closer to Solomor. “There was one survivor, a little girl. She was a bit strange. Never one to have friends or seen much out of the house.” She gestures with her chin toward the beige home behind Solomor. Her hat teeters to the side from the sharp movement. “That fellow you were speaking to earlier adopted the young girl after the incident, bless his heart, and they lived happily for a long time.

“Sounds like there’s more to the story here.”

The female tsk-tsks. “I haven’t got to the worst part yet. One day, the most terrible thing happened. Their son died in a freak accident! No one knows what happened, only that they found him in pieces.”

Stephanie clutches the fabric of her jacket at the chest, worry lines deepening in her brow. “That’s horrible.”

“It is, but I’m not finished yet. The adopted daughter disappeared on the same day. No one has seen her since.”

Stephanie cups the slender hand against her cheek. “How unfortunate. That family has had such bad luck befall them.” Solomor chokes on his words before the overly friendly stranger can go on another tangent. But then, everything goes to shit. An unnaturally wide smile spreads across Solomor’s meat suit’s face, her eyes crazed; something clicked into place within the human body housing him.

Fuck! He’s figured it out.

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