What about?


“Some people swore that the house was haunted.”

First he says, “The mortgage is upside down. There is nothing, let me repeat, nothing diabolical about that.”

She says, “Are you sure?”

He says, “What about the location?”

She says, “What about the creepy noises?”

He says, “What about the views?”

She says, “What about the footprints?”

He says, “What about the economy?”

She says, “What about the murder?”

He says, “What about the schools?”

She says, “What about the babies?” 

He says, “What about the interest rates?”

She says, “What about the banks?”

He says, “What about the appliances?”

She says, “What about the zombies?”

He says, “What about the low-e windows?”

She says, “What about the shadow of the weeping woman?”

She laughs. They stop for coffee.

She puts one pump of classic sweetener in her chai latte and says, “You’re right. There is nothing diabolical about a bad mortgage.”

He hesitates. He says, “Are you sure?”

She says, “Sure. What about the location?”

He says, “What about the howling?”

She says, “What about the recovery?”

He says, “What about the thousands of acres of clearcut and topsoil desecration?”

She says, “Hey, but what about the views?

He says, “What about digging through the gravesites of ancient Indians?”

She says, “What about the low-e windows?”

He says, “What about the blood stains that don’t wash off?”

She says, “What about the low interest rates?”

He says, “What about the incubus?”

She says, “What about the energy efficient appliances?”

He says, “What about the bite marks on the marble countertops?”

She says, “What about the parks and the botanical gardens?”

He says, “What about the sound of heavy footsteps on thick carpets?”

She says, “What about the excellent schools?”

He says, “What about the whispering and the ball that rolls down the hall?”

They park in the driveway and leave the motor running. The wind has died down; all is quiet and serene on this fall Friday in Hallow Park, a gated community.   

He says, or she says, “What about the realtor?”

She says, or he says, “What about the offer? What about this weekend? About 10 a.m.?”

Closing on October 1st, they have one month to pack and paint and have going away parties with live friends, and to announce their relocation on Facebook and Twitter. Everyone is happy for them; the tweets fly until the big day arrives.

Final tweet, October 31st, first night in the new house in Hallow Park:  “Some people swore that the house was haunted.”  Unfriended and seen no more, no one knows exactly what happened. Agreed upon is only one thing:

Nothing was ever the same again after that.


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October 2010
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