An Albuquerque Mystery

A Story by Tony Rogers

Brent enjoyed his grandparents and loved their house, but would their house love him back?

As a little boy, Brent Fairchild loved visiting his grandparents at their modest ranch-style home in suburban Albuquerque. It was a beautiful single-story home, sandstone in color with copper red shutters accenting each window. The front door matched the shutter’s color-scheme exactly. It had a sprawling front lawn that was well kept by laborers who visited the house about once a month. However, he admired the backyard most. It was large and spacious with a covered veranda that hung over a wide concrete patio.

They often frequented the house, mostly for cookouts. His grandfather was the self-proclaimed grill master and would show him his grilling techniques, like how to use a chimney to light the charcoal. Using lighter fluid was not allowed. Not just because it was dangerous, but because it left a strange flavor upon his tasty burgers and dogs. Brent loved to help his grandfather cook, and usually spent as much time with him as he could. During these cookouts, his grandfather expounded fascinating tales, many based on true events from his life. Those stories became deeply embedded in Brent’s memory and stuck with him through most of his life.

However, Brent adored the house itself. He wasn’t sure, but it always seemed very inviting and comfortable, like a soft shirt or an old pair of worn sneakers. Even during winter storms, the interior remained cozy. He had no memories of any bad visits over all that time. It seemed like the house loved his grandparents as much as they loved the house.

As an adult, Brent married and, unfortunately divorced. Although he regretted the breakup, he shared custody of his two kids, a girl and a boy. Just like his grandfather, he taught both the kids the fine art of grilling, allowing them to assist and even cook for a bit.

Brent’s grandmother passed away during their divorce, and his grandfather was not doing so well. He suffered from onset Alzheimer’s disease. Brent informed his ex-wife and kids that he would be moving in with his grandfather to take care of him. Fortunately, they understood.

He rented out his house and moved in with his grandfather months later. Even then, his grandfather injected bits of humor and stories between his memory loss episodes. As time passed, those episodes became more frequent, causing Brent much strife. To watch a man who enjoyed so much happiness slowly deteriorate was very tough. Even the house seemed to sense something was wrong. Always a quiet homestead, the floorboards began squeaking. Faucets dripped and the toilet continued running. This caused Brent to perform many home-related repairs that took precious time away from caring for his grandfather.

Just over a year after he moved in, his grandfather barely knew who he was anymore. Brent was heartbroken, but continued caring for the man he loved dearly. One day, Brent returned from the supermarket, and as he set the bags down on the kitchen counter, a cabinet next to the stove suddenly flung open. Pots and pans spilled about the floor creating a loud racket. The sound echoed throughout the entire house, and Brent was afraid it may have frightened his dear grandfather. Instead of picking up the mess, he ran in to check on this grandfather.

He knocked at first, not expecting an answer. He was right. No one answered. He opened the door slowly, calling his grandfather. He found him still in his wheelchair by the window, right where he left him. He called out to him, but his grandfather didn’t respond. He continued talking as he approached his grandfather, telling him about the crazy thing that just took place in the kitchen. It wasn’t until he was right on top him that he noticed how still his grandfather sat. He gently grabbed his grandfather’s wrist and discovered the absence of a pulse.

Days later, he laid his grandfather to rest with a beautiful funeral that was pre-arranged. He spent some quality time with his kids and even his ex-wife and greeted other family member and friends. The sad occasion became an event for restoring connections and making a few new friends. The will reading took place a few days later in his grandfather’s house. As expected, his grandfather left most of his estate to Brent, but Brent refused to be selfish. He shared some with all the relatives who were present. By far, the largest inheritance was the house his grandparents occupied for over forty years. He arranged a small party after the reading of the will to ensure the family was comfortable.

That night, it had finally sunk in that it was his house now. The mortgage was paid. He received income from the house he rented and still employed. In the cabinet by the refrigerator, behind a box of Ritz Crackers and Apple Jacks cereal, he stashed a bottle of Courvoisier cognac. He moved the tall boxes aside and retrieved it. He pulled his grandfather’s favorite goblet from the cabinet and took the liquor and goblet into the living room. He sat in his grandfather’s leather reclining chair and understood why his grandfather favored it so much. The leather engulfed him like a warm blanket. He could feel each bump, ridge, and hollow his grandfather’s body left. He poured himself a drink and held it up, giving a toast to his grandfather and stating how much he missed him. The first sip was exquisite, and he wished he could share it with his grandfather. He switched on the television and started up Netflix. He chose his grandfather’s favorite show, Doc Martin, to watch. Settling in, he enjoyed the complex attitudes displayed by the Doc and his humorous, and sometimes surprising reactions to his fellow English villagers.

Halfway through the show, the floorboards began creaking in the hallway. He leaned out of the chair to take a look. Nothing was there. The kitchen faucet grabbed his attention next. It sounded like the water was running. He got up and checked. The sink was bone dry. Confused, he headed back to the living room. The ice maker on the refrigerator door noisily ejected some ice cubes, scaring him. He went over to retrieve them and noticed they had already melted, leaving small puddles of water. That didn’t make any sense. What’s happening in this house? He pulled some paper towels from the roll beside the sink and soaked up the water. The refrigerator door swung opened, slamming him in the head. Something strange is going on in this house. He closed the door and finished wiping up the water, keeping one eye on that crazy door. He tossed the used towels in the trash, then heard the floorboards in the hallway again. Exasperated, he entered the hallway, and as he thought, nothing was there. The door to his grandfather’s room slammed shut, sending him falling against the wall. He didn’t know what the hell was going on. It was like the house was rebelling. He tried to make sense out of the slamming door, blaming it on an open window. He walked towards his grandfather’s room, and the door opened by itself. Okay, he was done. Everything that was happening was not natural. He needed some time to think so he headed back into the living room.

Before plopping down into his grandfather’s chair, he pondered all the strange things that were happening. He thought about leaving the house now. Leave everything and just getting out, but he started rationalizing everything that happened. It was rationalizations based on absolutely nothing. Nothing could explain what was going on, but he chose to accept it.

He sat down in his grandfather’s chair and poured another drink. Before sipping, he scanned the room. He felt at ease, so he took a nice long drink. Two or three gulps later, then set the glass down on the side table. The liquor’s sting forced his face to contort. On the television, Doc Martin appeared to be looking directly into the camera; right at Brent, before the Doc said, “This is absolutely preposterous.” The television suddenly shut off. Quickly, Brent reached for the remote, and it jumped onto the floor by itself. The hallway doors began opening and closing. He could hear the kitchen faucet running and the banging of pots and pans clanging on the floor. He tried to get up, but the chair’s arms held him down fast. He began sinking, into the chair. His yells went unheard in the quiet suburban Albuquerque neighborhood.

Days passed before the police showed up at the house. They were contacted by both his job and ex-wife. The police entered the residence and found quite a mess. Dishes, food, pots and pans, were strewn across the kitchen floor. The other rooms were just as messy. The living room was another story. It was relatively neat. The bottle of Courvoisier sat atop the table with the cap off. Brent’s glass was partially empty next to it. Brent was gone, but his clothes were still in the recliner…laid out as if he were sitting there. Empty socks and shoes sat on the floor where his feet would be. The floors began creaking wildly, sounding like hellish, high-pitched laughter. The officers rushed their investigation and reported that Brent simply vanished.