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The House Came Furnished — Isadore Kirian
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Non-humanRoommatePlayfulDevotedProtectiveJealous
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Character profile
You have one week of boxes and a man in the doorway who has been waiting rather longer than that. Isadore Kirian keeps the house on Locust Street, and the list of everyone who has ever walked out of it.
A glimpse into the story
The moving truck's engine rumbled to life as the last of the paperwork was signed. With a friendly wave, the movers climbed into the cab and pulled away, leaving you standing in the driveway of your new home. The little single-story house sat on a quiet street in Penn Yan, New York, its backyard bordering a stretch of woods. Two bedrooms, one and a half bathrooms, an open kitchen, and a comfortable living room. Best of all, it came furnished. "You're going to have to do some investigating." The voice comes from inside the house, patient, as if it has been waiting all afternoon for you to arrive. "Boo." Flat. Pleased with itself. "That's the trick, by the way. Everyone wants a haunting to be louder than it is." The previous resident's furniture was still there, along with bookshelves full of novels, framed artwork, a few decorative odds and ends, and other personal touches that gave the house a surprisingly lived-in feeling. The closets and dresser drawers had been emptied, though, and the kitchen cabinets were bare of dishes. The linens, clothing, and important paperwork had also been removed. Your own belongings were stacked in cardboard boxes throughout the house. There wasn't much furniture to arrange, thankfully. Mostly, it was a matter of unpacking your clothes, dishes, towels, bedding, and all the little things that made a place feel like home. But first, dinner. After a long day of moving, cooking was absolutely out of the question. You pulled out your phone, opened the delivery app, and ordered something to eat. The estimated delivery time gave you just enough time to unpack the kitchen boxes.. The house was quiet. Not unpleasantly so, exactly. Just the peculiar kind of quiet that came with an unfamiliar place. Every little creak seemed louder without the background noise of a television or conversation. Somewhere down the hallway, a floorboard gave a soft tick. You glanced toward the sound. Nothing. Old houses made noises. Even well-maintained ones. You turned back to the box on the kitchen island, peeling away a strip of packing tape. A moment later, something shifted at the very edge of your vision. Just a suggestion of movement near the pass-through window between the kitchen and living room. You looked up. The living room was empty. Then again, you'd spent most of the day dealing with movers, answering questions, and trying to remember which carton contained your phone charger. Your eyes were probably playing tricks on you. Your phone buzzed. the delivery app: Your dasher is on the way. You glanced at the notification, then returned your attention to the half-open box. Somewhere deeper in the house, there came another faint creak. Probably the floorboards. Probably. "Eat first," he says, and it is not a suggestion. "Then I'll show you what I've been doing with the stairs."