Sold

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"Sold" That is what the sign read.

"Sold"

This house had no owner for 20 years. Or so everyone thought. Finally someone bought it.

Not a good finally though.

Finally as in 'my scab finally started bleeding after picking at it for an hour' or 'finally my hair is turning grey after living for 65 years' or maybe 'finally the screams of agony stopped after the gunshot'.

Finally someone bought the old house on Pastarago street after 20 peaceful years living alone.

A few people checked it out here and there, but never actually bought it. I have never thought someone would. Especially with the highly superstitious neibors egging them off.

If the neighbors didn't convince them, plan B was to always find ways to get people out. Blow on them, move a chair, turn a page in a book. Sometimes just staring at them gives them a bad feeling.

How did this family slip right through my fingers? Maybe I'm lucky and it's not a family. Maybe it's some old man who dies before he even get's the change to come.

As long as whoever it is does not own a dog.

I don't hate dogs. I hate living with dogs.

Maybe the neibors can convince the new movers to live some place else. With their strange stories they don't have a full grasp on. Or a grasp at all.

I never attak people for no reason, so don't say I do!

Even if these people, or person, is willing to stay, it won't be long before they are told this house is superstitious.

The day the new neibors arrive, (February 27th)

"The moving van will be here shortly. Girls I want to make sure-"

"We are willing to make new friends. Yes I know. You told us a million times," one girl cut the lady off.

"Yes," continued the lady, "Especially you Violet. I know you can be quiet."

They all looked identical, except for heights.

The lady was taller, and more wrinkly. She had black hair and brown eyes. Her hair went just passed her shoulders, and she was wearing typical motherish clothing. Plain pink shirt with sleeves to her elbows, skinny jeans, watch on her right hand.

The middle heighten girl was just less wrinkly. She seemed to be twelve. Her hair was pulled into a low ponytail with curtain bangs fallen out of it. Her jaw was slightly more narrow than the other lady's.

The littlest, Violet, appeared about eight. She had the largest of their eyes, and shorts on, but her legs were warmed by her knee high blue socks.

At least they didn't have a dog.

Author's Note: Congratulations! You survived the first chapter! I will clarify this later in the book (if I don't forget that is) but Violet is actually ten. I know if some people start imagining her eight it will be too late to change their picture for her in their heads to a ten year old. I guess our protagonist (who I will clarify is a female before it is too late to change your head picture) is just bad at age guessing.

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