https://moelane.com/tag/the-house/
“Fall short?” I said, pausing for a moment from my veal scallopini. Which was surprisingly delicate, actually. “Is it a house, or a competition?”
“Consider it more of a challenge,” Wayne said with a minor wave. “Some houses have personalities. You could very well say this one has opinions. And an expectation that those opinions get respected.”
“Opinions, but no history,” I said. “That combination seems odd.”
Wayne smiled, almost as if I had scored a point somewhere. “Ah, so you have looked into the house?”
I shrugged. “Morbid curiosity.”
“The best kind,” Wayne said. “Are you hoping for a revelation? A revealed truth to freeze the blood and sear the soul?” He laughed. “I’m sorry. It is a house. One that both my father and I have been listing for decades. During that time there have been no murders, no deaths, no apparitions of blood, no ghosts, not even a monster under the bed. Fully furnished, by the way.”
He laughed at my expression. “This is not the first time somebody’s come asking about the place, and they always have the same look in their eyes that you do. I know how this goes: I will tell you the rent, you will say that you will think about it, then you will call me back later and arrange for the lease. And then we will see how long you last.”
I shook my head. “No, that’s not how it’s going to go.” I stood up and extended my hand. “I’ll just rent the house now.”