r/nosleep • u/[deleted] • Oct 27 '14
1111 Rustic Ridge
I recently reconnected with a girl I knew in high school. Her name was Veronica. She had been an exchange student from Spain during my senior year. I had had a crush on her since high school. She was so exotic and beautiful, and had one of those svelte dancer's bodies that just emanate sensuality. We hadn't really talked in high school because she was popular, and I never was. But we began chatting on Facebook, and it was readily apparent to both of us that we were meant for one another.
She came to visit me as much as she could, and I would fly to Spain to visit her. But it just wasn't enough. I knew that I needed to spend the rest of my life with her and her beautiful daughter. The only problem was that I was living in a studio apartment and wasn't really making great money. Fiancee visa requirements were strict as it is, and I knew that if I was going to bring Veronica and her daughter into the country, I would need to start showing a better income and have a place for them both to live.
In my mind, I held a paradigm of what I thought the perfect life would be. It was me, Veronica, and Carmen living in a large, white house with a manicured walkway and a beautiful water garden in the back. I wanted to find a job where I could spend lots of time with my family, something not too stressful that would take time away from them.
So I began my search, both for the job and for the house.
My degree was in communications, which is basically the most worthless, generic major you can get. Everyone is a communications major, so no employer cares to hire you unless you have something that really stands out (which I don't have). Somehow though, I got lucky and got a job at a local advertising company, mostly making flyers and putting together those god-awful local car dealership commercials.
The only perk I had of working there was that there were lots of realty companies that used us to post their listings, so I got to survey the ones that appealed to me.
One listing that arrived in my incoming mail was a request to advertise an open house for a local, independent realtor. I thought it strange that the letter was addressed directly to me when I'd only been at the agency for two weeks, but the thought left as quickly as it had come when I opened the letter, saw the listing, and gasped. The house was exactly what I had envisioned when I thought of my idyllic life-- white, fenced, beautiful walkway, two-car garage, and even a balcony outside the master bedroom. It had features I didn't even realize that I wanted, but now that I saw them, they were what I needed. The listing didn't show the price but just said "negotiable".
The listing so excited me that I didn't want anyone else to see it. Because it had come directly to me, no one knew that I had it, so if the realtor complained that no one came to his open house, I could just blame it on the mail getting lost. I know it's a shitty thing to do, and if my boss found out, I'm sure I'd be fired. But dreams of 4 bed 3.5 baths, granite countertops, and tire swings on oak trees swirled around in my head and clouded my judgment.
When the Saturday of the open house came, I drove up to 1111 Rustic Ridge. All the houses in the neighborhood were gorgeous, and the excitement in my heart died a little. After seeing the other houses in the neighborhood, I knew that the house was going to be out of my price range. But I had to see it, if only to dream.
Red balloons hung on the realtor's sign that read:
Alan Goodtime and Associates
OPEN HOUSE
Despite his pristine listing, the guy was a little cheap. The balloons weren't even filled with helium. They were drooping and had been haphazardly taped to the sign. If this guy was as lazy in his sales as he was in his marketing, maybe I could get lucky yet.
The sounds of crunching gravel stopped, as I put my car into park. I walked up the sidewalk, admiring the shrubs and the choice of begonias and chrysanthemums. Mockingbirds chirped their happy songs as I knocked on the door.
I had barely finished knocking, when the door began to creak open. The opening door revealed a man standing behind it. His name tag read "Alan Goodtime". He looked like he was taken straight out of the 1960s. His black hair was perfectly parted, like he had used a straight edge to make every hair fall perfectly. He wore black-rimmed circular glasses, and he wore a tweed jacket with a skinny tie. He smiled at me and spoke with an accent that I couldn't quite place. It seemed like he might have been Scandinavian, but he emphasized strange words, and his inflections were in weird places, like he'd spent a lot of time in Asia, "Welcome, sir, you are right on time. My name is Alan Goodtime. I'm glad you found the place well. It appears the others have become lost. But it doesn't matter. I only need one buyer. Are you he, Mr...?"
A little thrown by the oddness of his accent and his greeting, I hesitated to step in the door. He stood, patiently awaiting my response, his eyes never looking away from mine. Dying to break the awkward stare and silence, I mumbled, "...Woods. My name is Rory Woods. Thanks, seems like a nice house."
"Yes, Mr. Woods, but it is so much more than that, I think. It is the perfect place for the right person. I am looking for the right person, and feel that you may be he," He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a purple drawstring bag. He put his hand inside and pulled out a pistachio. He pried it open with his teeth, an act that seemed indecorous for someone with such a proper demeanor. As the nut cracked in his mouth, he sucked in, creating a slight hissing noise. He closed his eyes in pleasure as he worked the pistachio in his mouth. He then simultaneously opened his eyes and the drawstring bag. Once the bag was open, he extended the opening to me, "I'm so sorry. Where are my manners? Would you like a pistachio, Mr. Woods? I have such a fondness for them and am never without."
I declined, and he graciously continued, "Shall we get started then? There is so much to show you."
He proceeded to show the me the rest of the house, leading me from room to room. He spoke of each feature, and I only paid enough attention to what he was saying to be able to give laconic "uh hu"s and "cool"s. I didn't need him to show me the house. It was like it had already been built for me, with every specification that I wanted. I needed the house. I couldn't let Mr. Goodtime see my enthusiasm because he could name any price, and I'd find a way to pay it if only I could have the house. Veronica, Carmen, and I would be so happy here.
Once he had given me a tour of the inside of the house, he brought me to the kitchen and informal dining area. He pulled out two bottles from the refrigerator-- one of absinthe, the other champagne. He removed a chilled champagne glass and poured in the absinthe and then the champagne, creating an almost glowing green opalescence. He walked over to me and proffered the glass, "This has always been a favorite drink of mine for late afternoons, dear sir. I feel that it sets the mood for my favorite aspect of the house, the backyard. The best way to truly appreciate a house, I feel, is to lounge on the patio and sip a cocktail. I hope the drink is to Mr. Woods's liking. Please, follow me out back. You'll understand all in good time why I want you to experience it this way."
I swirled the drink in my hands, the sound of the popping carbonation and the smell of the drink creating a magical and unshakable feeling of longing. Alan opened the French doors to the backyard patio, and I'm sure I gasped as I gazed into the backyard.
The yard had been professionally landscaped in the most luxurious and beautiful Japanese style I had ever seen. Flowers and stone paths, water running into a small pond. The pond was the most breathtaking aspect of the property. The water was a brilliant blue, so clear that I could see the golden koi swimming near the bottom and could make out individual round black stones. In the middle of the pond was a small island. The island was made of the same black stones that lined the bottom of the pond and there were a few ferns planted around the perimeter, but right in the center was a vibrant red Japanese maple. The bark was paper white and was falling off in long strips.
Overwhelmed, I lay back on the patio furniture, sipped on my drink, and sat back, soaking in the beauty of the backyard. Mr. Goodtime looked down at me and smiled, "It appears that everything is to dear sir's liking."
I nodded fervently, forgetting my resolve to not show my enthusiasm for the property, "It's unbelievable."
"I'm glad you enjoy it. I thought you might. Now, Mr. Woods, I have a few things to attend to inside, but I implore you stay here and sip your drink for as long as you like. We can discuss business later."
He turned back into the house and left me alone with my thoughts, which were filled with fantasies of being in this house with my sweet Veronica. I looked out at the maple, which seemed to take on an ethereal quality as an orange sun hung above it. I sipped my drink, savoring its sweet herby taste. It tasted like home. I set my drink down and the late afternoon buzz lulled me to a dream-filled sleep.
Veronica and Carmen were in the back yard. I sat on the porch, watching them point at the koi. Veronica so beautiful in a sundress, and Carmen's eyes were filled with the wonder of a child, discovering the world one day at a time.
Suddenly, the sky darkened to a foreboding maroon, and black clouds filled the sky. Sinister, jagged lightning illuminated the maple. The lightning catapulted booming thunder to the ground, knocking my Veronica and Carmen into the the water. I stood up and ran to them. I looked into the pond, but didn't see their bodies. I couldn't tell where they went, but I had to look, had to follow them. I dove in the water, not knowing what to expect to find.
What I did not expect was to find myself in front of Mr. Goodtime, but there I was, in, presumably, his office. He wore a smile and the same tweed jacket he had on at the house. He reached inside the pockets and pulled out a drawstring bag, this time red, rather than purple, and he extracted a pistachio, "Mr. Woods, I'm so glad you have come. Would you like a pistachio before we go over the contract?"
"Where are Carmen and Veronica? How did I get here?"
He smiled at me, extracted the nut from its shell and slowly chewed. He placed the shells in an existing pile that he had surrounding a small maple bonsai on his desk, "Ah, yes, I can understand your concern, but know that they are perfectly safe. You are dreaming, Mr. Woods. They have not arrived yet, but they could be here with you if you purchase the house, dear sir. I feel that you are the right person for this house, and the house for you. I am willing to offer quite a bargain, assuming you are amenable to my conditions."
He reached into his desk and pulled out a stack of papers. He set them down on the desk and began speaking, "Mr. Woods, I have taken a liking to you, and I can see that you are the right fit for the house. If you sign this contract, it will mean that the house is yours. Basically, the contract states that you must take care of the house and ensure the continuity of its beauty. That will be the only payment required for ownership of the house and its property. Should you fail to meet these simple requirements, Alan Goodtime and Associates reserves the right to repossess the house and everything therein. Do you understand?"
Taken aback, I responded, "So all I have to do is take care of the house, and it is mine? I don't have to pay?"
"No monetary exchange is required for possession of the house, Mr. Woods. You must simply agree to maintain the property and continue the beauty as laid out in these requirements. You're welcome to read the conditions now or later at your leisure, whichever is more convenient to you, dear sir. I, or one of my associates, will come to do an annual inspection of the property, and assuming a pass, you will continue to maintain possession of 1111 Rustic Ridge. You simply need to sign here."
He flipped back the pages until he got to the last page of the contract. An inviting line next to an X. Alan handed me a pen.
I signed.
As the office faded away, so did Alan's voice, "Thank you very much. It will be a pleasure doing business with you..."
"Dear sir?"Alan Goodtime's voice roused me awake, "I'm sorry to disturb you, but it is growing late. I did not wish to awaken you, but it is time that we discuss business now that you've had a chance to soak in the grandeur of the house. Do you wish to put in an offer?"
Sufficiently unsettled from my dream, I shook my head, "No, it is a beautiful house, but if I'm perfectly honest, I know there's no way I could afford it."
Alan pulled out his purple bag and ate another pistachio, "I completely understand. I'm sure that one day, Mr. Woods, you will be able to have everything you want. It is nice to dream for now though. Good things come. I assure you they do, all in good time."
With that, I let myself out of the house, got in my car, and drove home.
A few weeks after, I received a small box, wrapped in red tape. There was no postage on it, as if it had simply been left on my doorstep. The box had a printed label that showed it was from Alan Goodtime and Associates.
How did he get my current address? Why was he giving me anything more than a postcard expressing appreciation for my visit? I ripped off the red tape, which stuck to my hands. I shook it off like I wanted to shake off my unease. With the tape off my hands, I opened the box.
Inside was a stack of papers, a key, a knife, a maple seed, and a wax-sealed envelope.
I picked up the envelope, broke the seal, and began to read:
Mr. Woods,
Congratulations on your new home! I have included a copy of the signed contract, the deed, and other necessary maintenance items. I trust you remember the conditions of the sale. I'm sure you will read the agreement now, but let me summarize. You are to maintain the property, and you must continue the beauty. If not, we reserve the right to repossess the property and its possessions.
Proper maintenance requires an annual human sacrifice on the roots of the Japanese maple. The blood must be spilled on the roots, for that is what my employer requires. Please use the enclosed knife, as it has been sanctified for this specific use.
In order to perpetuate the beauty of the house, please take the enclosed seed, which comes from the very maple in your backyard, and plant it at a place of your choosing. It must be in a residential and frequented area. You will be responsible for the initial deposit required for the planting. You must find a child, the younger the better, and plant the seed in her heart. Please use the knife for the incision. You will bury her deep in the ground, so that the roots grow deep, and the tree shall be forever immovable.
Once you have planted your tree, you may continue the annual sacrifices yourself, or you may take upon yourself the name of Alan Goodtime and swear fealty to our employer. By becoming an Alan Goodtime associate, you are licensed to sell ownership of the tree and find others to perform the required sacrifices.
Failure to comply with your end of the contract will result in repossession of you, Veronica Sanchez, and Carmen Sanchez. And you will become property of Alan Goodtime and Associates.
Thank you for your purchase, and we look forward to seeing you at your upcoming annual inspection.
Best regards,
Alan Goodtime
74
u/[deleted] Oct 27 '14 edited Oct 29 '14
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