Page 7 of The House on Haven Way

With that, Nigel and Hugo roll up the metallic rear door of the moving truck and unload everything that fit in my studio apartment in about ten minutes. I honestly think I saw that Nigel guy grow an extra set of legs, pick up my mattress in one hand, my dresser in the other, and clop into my house on steel-toed boots.

That sounded oddly like a horse’s hooves. A step-step, step-step pattern. Four sounds, four feet.

I need to rest. I hate driving after the accident, especially since infrequent bouts of blurred vision still strike when noises are loud and tensions are high. The doctors say at this point it’s fatigue and strain.

I believe it.

I stagger into the house, refill my water bottle at the sink, and sigh as I sip. This is good, clean water that doesn’t taste like chlorine from the city water treatment plant. In seconds, I’m sitting in the first of two kitchen chairs Hugo brings in, huddled over my phone, trying to place a grocery order on the local DirectCart app. I liked this town because I’ll barely have to drive for more than fifteen minutes to get everything I need, but right now, I don’t even think I can make it to the store.

“You okay?” The gruff voice of Nigel makes me flinch.

He probably thinks I’m such a useless loser, sitting here while he does all the work. Or worse, some spoiled rich girl.

“Just a migraine. Backache. Long drive,” I say, trying to hold a smile. “And I don’t think I can bear to get back into the car and drive to the store. I just need a couple of minutes, and then I’ll help.”

“We’re done,” Hugo says cheerfully. “Do you want us to go pick up something for you? Do you know that the pizza place delivers?”

Nigel makes an exasperated sound. “Most pizza places deliver, mate. When people move in, they need groceries to set up housekeeping.”

“I know that!” Hugo says indignantly, a boyish pout on his excited face. “Ooh! We could go to the store for her?”

I have to laugh. These two are totally the odd couple, and Hugo reminds me of a seven-foot-tall puppy. “I know how the app works. Thank you so much, though. That’s a really nice welcome.”

“I only moved here this summer, too,” Hugo proclaims proudly. “But my brother is a firefighter here. When I moved in, I got a big basket of muffins and breads from The Pine Loft Coffee Shop and so many coupons. You will, too.” His joyful expression turns to a frown. “But it didn’t happen on the day I moved in. It might happen tomorrow.”

“Okay. That’s okay. I’m just going to order a few things and get settled.” My headache, oddly enough, is lifting, even though Hugo is not the quietest person I’ve ever met.

It’s the overabundance of help he’s offering. The idea that this town will be a nice, welcoming place. Not like a big city where you only know people from work and you and your neighbors don’t speak to one another.

Nigel huffs, but then his frown softens. “We don’t normally fetch shopping, but we are your handy helpers. We could run to the —”

“No. No, thank you so much. I’m fine. Fine enough.” I reach for my purse that’s on the floor beside my chair, dropped in a heap once I had a place to sit, and pull out the two fifty-dollar bills I saved for tips. “Here you go. Thank you so much.”

“Thank you. Would you do me the favor of checking over the house before we leave to make sure everything is just where you like it?” Nigel asks, pocketing the money.

“Sure.” I bravely push myself out of the kitchen and wander through the living room and down the hall.

“Nigel! This is much less than the cost of the work,” Hugo hisses.

“It’s a tip, Hugo. It’s like a little bonus after we do the work.”

“Oh! A present from her? Do we hug her?”

“No, Hugo. We definitely do not hug her. Just say thank you and get back in the truck.”

I stifle a giggle and conclude my brief peek into the bedrooms. “If I have any home repairs, I’ll call you. This place looks like it’s in really good shape. Do you know why it was empty?”

“It was owned by a family who lived in the Brooklyn area, left to them by some older relative, the way I understand it. They sometimes used it as a summer vacation home, but when the father passed, his kids couldn’t stop fighting over who got it, and they finally decided to put it up for sale. The bank in town grabbed it for a good price.”

“Sold it for a good price, too,” I murmur, looking at the clean white paint and faded—very, very faded—yellow curtains over the kitchen sink. “At least the owners took good care of it. I think I’m going to like it here.”

Chapter Two: The Dead Hate The Living

September 17th, 2026

Sold it.

God damned ungrateful little punks.