Nobody knew for sure how the Glass House came to be. Even the native Americans who have known the area like forever. At least, so it seemed. When the Stones, a Black-American family, were relocating to the area little did they know they would live close to a house with no inhabitants. The Glass House had amazing views and architecture. And never did they understand what the natives meant when they asked, "Y'all gonna be immediate neighbours to the Glass House, can you guys manage that?". They had naively said: "We sure won't throw stones." The natives shook their heads and welcomed them into the neighbourhood, wholeheartedly. Of course, the Glass House was made almost entirely of glass, glass that looked flawless and without a scratch. Quite an expensive house; even a blind man would agree. The Stones spent the whole morning of that November moving in their things. They were a family of six; two boys and two girls. Happily, they packed into their new house and hoped to get along with their neighbours. The youngest of the Stones, Toby, was the first to notice some things peculiar about the Glass House the following day. He had stepped out to greet neighbours with his family when he noticed that a picture was ingrained into a side of the building, a wonderful stained glass portrait. Painted onto the glass, by its west side, was the picture of a melting clock and the sketch of a winged creature above the clock. Impulsively, without a modicum of thought, he began to walk towards the building. But he was stopped by his mother who noticed on time and shouted at him. The young boy turned back and returned to stand with the rest of his family. Obviously, the Glass House was a beautiful house. In the stained glass flower pots were fine flowers that looked more fresh and alive than ever. In front of the house, just along the entrance, was the sculpture of a man carrying a big fish from whose mouth water dripped continuously into a wide rectangular basin. Toby, his eyes still set on the Glass House, noticed some oddly-coloured frogs darting around the fountain. He continued to stare, his mother now holding his hand as she conversed with their new neighbours. And suddenly, to Toby's shock, a very deadly snake appeared from nowhere and snatched a frog with its strong elastic tongue. Toby shuddered and hugged her tightly.
"What is it, Toby?" his mother casually asked. "Can't I just talk with a neighbour without you interrupting?" But Toby just clinged to her and wouldn't let go. "Alright, let me get you the cupcakes you requested a while ago." His mother said and excused herself. Mrs. Stone took the hand of the little boy and led him into their new house while the rest of the Stones talked and laughed outside.
***
The next day being Thanksgiving, the whole family stayed home and treated themselves to assorted food and haute cuisine. They invited some friends and neighbours over and made sure everyone was comfortable and entertained. Meanwhile, while everyone was busy eating and talking and laughing, Toby, having eaten to his fill, found a cosy place to draw. He opened his drawing book and began to sketch seriously. He was sketching things as clear as his little mind made them. His siblings were busy skinning fried chicken and turkey and laughing. Mrs. Stone with a boisterous laughter turned and saw her little son but didn't pay much attention to that. The house was quite lively with music and voices. Everyone seemed happy, hosts and visitors alike. The little member of the family, on his own, kept himself busy with a drawing book. Nobody disturbed him, not until Mr. Stone with bone in his mouth turned and saw his little son laughing, pointing and talking to someone. The laughter suddenly left his mouth and the bone dropped to the table. He was suddenly shocked and stilled to his marrow. The aura of the room around him suddenly became eerie. He fixed his gaze on the boy, his eyes suddenly bloodshot. Meanwhile, every other person in the room continued to laugh and talk. The air around him became wavy as he watched his son. He could feel the wavy nature of the air turning his son into a zigzagging image like that viewed from above a water body. And the voices in the room became distorted. The boy continued to laugh and point at something he couldn't see.
"Who lives in that glass house?" Mrs. Stone asked before everything became normal again. Mr. Stone blinked his eyes and regained consciousness from the paranormal activity. He picked the fallen bone and dropped it into a plate. He looked at his son again and saw the boy drawing happily.
"Well, I'd like to say nobody." Mr. Woos said. "At least, not any that I am aware of. I heard the owners abandoned it years ago."
"That's strange. Such a fine house." Mrs. Stone said. "Who wouldn't want to live in such a house?"
"The owners." Mr. Woos replied cleverly. "The owners."
"There must be something that needs to be known, something that ought to be identified." Mr. Stone said. "Nobody abandons his house like that. And the house should cost a whopping sum."
"I agree." Mr. Woos said and drank some water. "All we know is that strange occurrences happen there. Nothing too serious and nothing less serious."
"Strange occurrences?" Mrs. Stone asked.
"Yes. Everyone has a story to tell about the Glass House. Mine might be trivial." Mr. Woos said.
"Tell us yours, please." Mr. Stone begged.
"Well, it's just a matter of too much wind blowing there when every other place is still. Well, maybe it's because the house is a little bit downwind in contrast to most houses here that are leeward. But I think that doesn't justify the kind of wind that blows there with whooshing sounds."
"Honey, are you sure we are safe here?" Mrs. Stone asked her husband. "Wish we knew all about this before packing into the neighbourhood."
"Well, it's too early to worry." Mr. Stone said and turned to look at his little son. He noticed the boy was no longer in the living room. "Please, excuse me." he said and stood up, wiping his mouth with a serviette. "I will be back." He walked straight out of the living room in search of his little son. The first place he checked was the room he shared with his older brother. But he wasn't there. He quickly rushed to the room he shared with his wife, but he wasn't there. He immediately checked his sisters' room, but he also wasn't there. Confused as to where he could be, he forcefully pushed the bathroom door only to see him facing the bathroom mirror and giggling. He was playing peekaboo with himself, but Mr. Stone noticed that each time he closed his eyes with his two hands that the mirror image of him didn't do the same. His eyes bulged with horror and goosebumps rose all over him. He was totally shocked. He wanted to call his son's name, but the air around suddenly became wavy and it seemed he was barricaded from reaching out to the boy. There he stood trying to figure out a way to reach out to him, as his legs felt heavy and immovable. There he stood till someone touched him from behind and he heard:
"Toby, what are you doing?" It was the voice of his wife. He sighed and turned.
"Come here, Toby," he said. "You shouldn't be moving about aimlessly. Stay with everyone in the living room. Honey, come with him." He walked back to his seat in the living room and watched his wife return with their little son. He ensured the boy sat next to him while they continued to enjoy their food and discussion.
***
With a toothbrush in hand: "I think we should keep a close watch on our nine year-old son. I think I have been imagining distorted things in my head. I just have some bad feelings."
"I myself have bad feelings in general." his wife said.
"We need to be very careful till we know what that glass house is all about." Mr. Stone said and proceeded to brush his teeth.
"Sure." his wife replied and watched her husband for a while before moving to the next bathroom mirror to brush hers.
Later in the day, when they returned from work, they sat together in the living room and kept each other company. They discussed the day's work and how their days went. They ensured their children were in the living room with them, especially Toby. The oldest of the children, Celine, was busy helping her sister Prisca with some schoolwork. The oldest boy was busy with his video games. The couple ensured their attention was fixed on the little Toby.
"Hope no one went close to the Glass House." Mrs. Stone said.
The children nodded.
"Did you go close to the Glass House, Toby?" Mr. Stone asked.
"No." Toby said and stayed quiet for a while. Then he raised his drawing book and added, "But I saw this through our balcony this evening."
His parents looked and when they could not see the image well from where they sat, they stood up and rushed to look at the image their son wanted them to see. Mr. Stone took the drawing book and stared at the image squarely. His wife stared too.
"What is the meaning of this?" Mr. Stone asked after minutes of staring.
"It is the image of a long-haired girl playing inside the house."
"Whaaa...what do you mean?" Mrs. Stone stammered.
"I mean I saw this." Toby said.
"Cripes!" Mrs. Stone exclaimed and began to pace the living room.
"What is going on, mom?" Frank the oldest boy asked.
"Nothing! Stay back there." Mrs. Stone said. "Nothing. Just stay back there."
However, the boy stopped playing his video game and began to watch his parents and little brother.
"Hmm. This is quite creepy. So this means there is a girl in there, isn't it?"
"I don't know. Have never seen that entrance door open nor have I ever seen anybody enter or leave that house." Toby said.
"It's a ghost." Mrs. Stone said. "Honey, that is what it is. We need to call the police."
"What do we tell the police?" Mr. Stone said. "It's too early for that. Let's contact neighbours first. We need to hear from them first; they've been here for long, at least longer than us."
"Why isn't her face clear?" Mr. Stone asked his little son.
"Because I never saw her face. Her face was covered by her hair even as she danced and moved from place to place."
"We need to find out more about this Glass House." Mrs. Stone said and held her husband's hand. "Let's give Woos or Maurice a call before it's night. We need more information about this Glass House. Give them a call."
Mr. Stone handed the drawing book back to Toby and fumbled in his pocket for his cellphone. He went to his Contacts and searched out the phone number of Maurice. He proceeded to dial the number.
"Hello, Mr. Stone." the voice from the phone said. "What do I owe this call?"
"Good evening, Mr. Maurice. Please, it's urgent. Can you come over to my place?"
"Alright. Let me finish with this apple pie à la mode. I will be with you in no time."
"Please do." Mr. Stone said.
"Alright." Mr. Maurice replied.
Mr. Stone brought down the phone from his ear. "He's coming."
"He really should hurry." Mrs. Stone said. "My hands are getting numb with fear."
"Get hold of yourself. Everything will be fine." Mr. Stone said and collected the drawing from his son again. "Toby, go have a seat now. We will get to the root of the matter if this drawing is based on reality."
"That's what I saw." Toby said with a frown.
"Alright, Toby. Just sit while we wait for Mr. Maurice." his father said and led his wife to the sofa where they were formerly sitting, Celine and Prisca staring bemusedly.
"Feel like running away." Mrs. Stone said, her head on Mr. Stone's shoulder.
"You are going nowhere." Mr. Stone said. "I am here with you. Everything will be fine. And Mr. Maurice will soon be here."
"Okay." Mrs. Stone said and sat quietly with hands folded upon her chest.
***
Mr. Maurice arrived minutes later. Helping his limp with his walking stick, he went to have a seat. "Hope all is well," he said with a smile.
"Please, Mr. Maurice." Mr. Stone began. "If this is not an act of bothering you, can you tell us what you know about the Glass House?"
The middle-aged visitor stroked his beard and laughed. "Well, it's a strange house. At least I know that much."
"Go ahead, Mr. Maurice." Mrs. Stone said. "Please tell us everything you know. Please don't hold back any information. Everything, please."
"But what got you guys this upset?"
"We will tell you later. I promise." Mrs. Stone said.
"Alright." Mr. Maurice said and cleared his throat. " I will tell you the little I know. Well, the only person who knows much about the Glass House was a woman I met when I packed into this neighbourhood. I met her before she grew very old and died two months ago. She said she worked as a nanny for the owners before she was suddenly told that the house had been sold and that her services would no longer be needed. She said the owners had only one child and that it was the child that she took care of. So..."
"What's the gender of the child?" Mrs. Stone interrupted.
"Oh, she said it was a lovely girl."
"Good! Continue." Mrs. Stone said and bent forward.
"Well, they eventually packed out. But before they packed out, the nanny said she stopped seeing the girl for months and wanted to know what happened to her. But she said her parents claimed she fell ill and was taken to the hospital. She said she once believed them until she stumbled on a mass of hair in a bathtub that the family never made use of, and that there were blood stains inside the tub. She said she didn't really know what to believe, but that she felt the young girl was already dead from a certain circumstance which her employers wanted to keep from her. She further said she started seeing the girl in her dreams before she left to stay with a friend also in this neighbourhood. I think that's all I know."
"Quite creepy details." Mr. Stone said and showed Mr. Maurice the drawing. "Take a look at this. My son said this is exactly what he saw this evening."
"So what's this?" Mr. Maurice asked as he took the drawing and adjusted his glasses.
"Well, look at it closely." Mr. Stone said.
Mr. Maurice, squinting a bit: "A girl?"
"You are right." Mr. Stone said. "You are right. My son said he saw her moving and dancing inside the Glass House."
"Haha." Mr. Maurice laughed. "That's impossible. Nobody lives there. That door has stayed closed for many years now. I don't even know why nobody has bought the house yet."
"Mr. Maurice." Mrs. Stone began. "Don't you think that maybe, just maybe, that this is the dead girl's ghost?"
"Oh, please perish the thought. Ghost? Oh, please don't make me laugh." said Mr. Maurice.
"Then how can this be explained?" Mrs. Stone asked. "And my son can't be lying about this."
"Well, I don't know what to say for now. I will come around tomorrow, but keep an eye on the little boy." Mr. Maurice said and stood up to leave.
"Sure. We will." Mr. Stone said. "Thanks for coming."
"Alright." Mr. Maurice said and began to walk towards the door. As he left through the door, Mrs. Stone looked at her husband and reached for his hand.
"Everything will be fine. Everything will be fine." Mr. Stone said and crossed his arm across her shoulders.
***
When morning came, the weather had a certain cold feel. It was a Saturday morning of course. Mrs. Stone, in pajamas, walked tiredly to the balcony where she quickly set her eyes on the strange Glass House. She noticed some leaves were strewn on the pavement in front of the house, and a handful on the ground. The fountain was still spurting water that dripped down the fish's mouth. She looked at the glasses and saw how unblemished they looked. She wondered why the house stayed so neat and stainless, and that was for a while. She turned afterwards and went in to make breakfast.
At around nine a.m., everyone gathered at the dinning to have their breakfast. After serving the whole meal, Mrs. Stone sat down and joined in the eating. She picked a slice of bread and tried to apply moderate amount of butter on it before asking:
"Any call or chat from Mr. Maurice?"
"No." Mr. Stone answered. "The day is still young though."
"Okay." Mrs. Stone said and focused on getting her breakfast eaten.
Around noon, Mrs. Stone asleep on the sofa heard a knock or a series of knocks. She had fallen asleep on the sofa after breakfast. She rose from the sofa and went to answer the door. When she reached the door's threshold, she waited for a while before opening it. But when she opened it, she saw nobody. Confused, she walked up and down the balcony in search of answers. And when she could not find any, she decided to return inside. On reaching the door jamb, she realised the door had closed by itself. Frightened, she pushed the door forcefully and struggled with it till it gave way under her weight. Disturbed, she locked the door and went to meet her husband inside.
Later in the day, three people visited and talked with the Stones: Mr. Maurice, Mr. Woos and Mrs. Fusebius. Each gave their own account as regards happenings at the Glass House, and advised their new neighbours to feel comfortable. After rounds of drinking, they rose and bade the Stones goodbye.
***
At around six p.m., Mr. and Mrs. Stone sat on wooden chairs in their balcony and talked about their future and fate as immediate neighbours of the Glass House. They also felt their real estate agent should have asked vital questions before talking them into buying the house. They talked and ate cupcakes with bottles of cold wine. They suddenly found themselves admiring the Glass House, the fountain and the painted glass especially. Love and the sweet nothings enveloped them into the act of feeding each other before Mrs. Stone decided to cast her eyes in the direction of the Glass House. Lo and behold, the door was suddenly flung open. The door of the Glass House was open, and strands that looked like strands of hair were flying out the door under the influence of a strange breeze. Mrs. Stone was terrified, as was her husband who later noticed. The two held hands and watched, fear gripping the innermost part of them. Suddenly, they saw a ghostly figure emerge from the door. It was the ghost of a little girl and her ghostly face was covered by her long hair. Her hands were closed into a fist as if she was trying to conceal something in the little confines of her hands.
"Le...le... let's get inside." Mrs. Stone said to her husband.
"You can go inside. I will stay here and watch." the man said. "The lord is my strength..."
"This is no time for..."
"Just get inside, woman!" Mr. Stone shouted and stood on his feet. His wife obeyed and ran inside, banging the door behind her.
Suddenly, the ghost turned towards him and started moving in the direction of their house. Mr. Stone stood and watched. And slowly the ghost moved, approaching the house with a steady gait. Impulsively, he picked the empty bottle on the wooden stool beside him and held the neck of the bottle firmly. And yet still, the ghost approached.
"What do you want?!" he found himself shouting. "Tell me! You know we know nothing about your death!"
Suddenly, with light speed, the ghost arrived in front of him. He shuddered and fell with the bottle, the shards tearing his palm. He shivered with blood dripping down his wounded hand. The ghost flipped her hair backwards and revealed her battered face.
"I want nothing." the ghost said, the pitch of her voice undulating. "Just take your family and leave, else your little son will face a fate similar to mine. There is a taste for innocent little child's blood here. I may not be able to protect him. It would be best if you could run with them tomorrow. The wicked ghosts may be here earlier than I imagine. Save your son when you still can."
Mr. Stone, panting and his teeth clattering: "Al...al... alright. Thank...thank you. We will leave."
"It is for your own good." the ghost said and zoomed off into the Glass House, the door closing behind her. Faint light glewed from the Glass House as Mr. Stone struggled to his feet. He walked to the door and led his terror-stricken self in.
And the next day, they hurried out like devastated strangers.
Bio:
Marvel Chukwudi Pephel, also known as Poet Panda, is a Nigerian biochemist, writer and poet. He has contributed research papers to the field of Biochemistry as Nwachukwu Godslove Pephel. As a poet, Pephel's work explores themes of love, life, nature, and social issues, with a unique blend of creativity and scientific insight. His poetry is characterized by its lyrical style, depth, and emotional resonance. His work is a testament to the intersection of art and science. He is a fan of the surrealist painter Salvador Dali, and writers Helen Oyeyemi, Ray Bradbury, Irving Washington, Edgar Allan Poe, Frank G. Slaughter and Philip K. Dick. He calculates what he calls "Creative Functions", an experimental but effective way of writing short story endings before their beginnings.