Open House

Welcome to Scary Story podcast. Desperate times call for desperate measures, they say, But how far would you go to make ends meet? My name is Edwin, and here's a scary story. I know a lot of this might be true for many of us nowadays, but what happened to me when I first moved here was sort of a similar scenario. Things had gotten expensive. I think only two of my friends actually had stable jobs, and even they were worried that they lose them at any moment. I used to work in sales, like a calling center, but more on the customer service side of things, and had even moved up in the ranks to become shift leader at the company, but that job was long lost after everything went down. Suddenly people weren't signing up for additional cable services anymore. It was my friend Miriam who first told me about it. She had been making some money by working out one of the rich neighborhoods in the area along with her husband, who both did yard work, pull maintenance and cleaning services. My husband at the time was worried for me, thinking it was risky to go by myself into houses of people with strange habits. Rich people are into weird things, he would say. At the time, we still use calling cards, and the way we'd keep in touch was to check in during lunch time through public telephones and by borrowing phones from wherever we were. I had just learned how to drive, and my license was still stuck on the piece of paper that was mailed to me. The car we shared was in and out of the shop all the time, but we had gotten a good streak of luck and nothing had gone wrong in a while. I remember avoiding thinking about it to hopefully keep it that way. It was a good idea, though. I could make flyers post them up by their schools and parks and maybe get some customers that way. Soon I would have no other option but to try it out. My husband came home from work one day, upset over something that had happened at work. He initially said that he had been asked to take a couple of weeks off while the company got itself together, but we both knew that it was over and then he would have to find a new place to work. When I think about it now, I see just how bad the situation had gotten. We were counting the number of things in the refrigerator shopping with only coupons and with the ninety nine cents stores in order to get what we needed. Our family would never be able to start this way. We needed to make something work already. That same night, I wrote out my information on pieces of notebook paper with a sharpie and walked toward the houses by the nice neighborhoods. I felt odd taping it to the perfectly clean light posts, but I had no other choice. I kept walking, and for another hour I went through most of the area, posting my flyers until I ran out. I went home, making sure that the volume of the phone was up and that i'd be able to hear it in case anyone called. But at least for that night, nobody did. Maybe I could sell things a food license wasn't too expensive, sandwiches, breakfast, burritos, or fruit bowls. For several days, my husband would go out early in the morning to ask for work, and I would start walking around their houses in the neighborhood to ask if they wanted cleaning services. Some were clearly not interested, and others just didn't answer. I told my husband about going slightly higher up the hills to leave some flyers. He wasn't too happy about that, but knew that we both needed to sacrifice something otherwise the landlord would kick us out. We had already fallen behind the month before. The area was very nice. As expected, there were hardly any people walking around a very beautiful park. I parked the car and grabbed the roll of tape and then started walking toward the area where the benches were. When I started a short woman holding a bunch of balloons. It looked like she was struggling dragging a large wooden sign across the street, her high heels clacking against a perfectly dark asphalt. She looked at me, smiled, and shouted, someone has to have the money for a house, right, letting out a sudden nervous laugh. Hoping that I would get the joke, everyone needed help, I walked over to her, offering to help with the sign. It was for an open house just down the street, or someone just needs the money, I replied, without realizing how snarky I sounded saying it out loud. She started laughing loudly right there in the middle of the street, nearly dropping her side of the sign while I help with the other. We made it across the street and she opened up the sign. The balloons had been saved all along, tied securely to the hinge of the stand. Her sign was on a saw. Her glance over at my fliers whispering cleaning services, and her eyes lit up. U cling houses? Can you deep clean? Also? We can rent machines if you don't have them, she asked in a rush. I think she could tell that I was new at this. Yes, I cleaned. What do I do? My voice was following her quick pacing. She told me about the house she was doing the open house for that The owners were confident they were going to be able to find a buyer in one day, and they were very serious in saying so, and that they needed to sell as soon as possible due to them needing the money for another place out of state. The open house is tomorrow and they need someone cleaning in there. To night. They had found two people, but they both left and the other person they hired never showed up. I think the guys creeped them out. Oh here was the thing again. My husband always talked about rich people in their strange habits. What had they done in there? That was my first question. The woman was about to keep explaining but I cut her off. Yes, I'll do it, I interrupted. We got to talking a bit before walking over to her car. I told her about the things that I had, and she gave me a list of what I needed, saying that we could go rent everything now at a nearby hardware store and bring it back to my car. Basically a high powered vacuum, floor cleaner and stain removers. I never used a floor cleaning machine, but I agreed. This woman had come out of nowhere. Andrea was her name, and just as I was thinking it, she turned over to me and said, jeez, am, I glad I ran into you here. I was about to do the cleaning myself. I mean, they're the ones paying. They say how much they're paying fifteen hundred dollars, and they're paying for the equipment, gas and disposal. You just have to load up the trash and take it to them. Honestly, I couldn't believe it. That was almost twice the money I needed for two months. Things were different, of course, much cheaper, but still there was a lot of money back then. They'd neither trash, I asked. Andrea told me that the owners hadn't gotten the chance to go through everything, yet that their trash disposal services were cut off already, so they wanted to sort everything out on their own. But the instructions were clear. Put everything in the trash bags when I was done, leave them by a place off of Travannito Street, and go home. She said that some of the work had already been done and that all I would have to do was load up everything and the money would be in the mailbox. And so we got to the hardware store. A payphone was by the entrance, so I told Andrea I had to make a call and that I would find her inside, but she insisted on waiting for me outside, and I made it quick. I called my husband, who was at home already four pm by this point, and I told him that I had found a one off job, that it would take me a while, that I would call him back with the address. The machine was small, although heavy. The vacuum cleaner was just a regular one, the one with the red bucket that would be used for surfaces and stuff. We got some cleaning chemicals, brushes and gloves and hopped back in her car. I had never met anyone like Andrea, so organized and chaotic at the same time. Her car had a trash can, smelt like lemon, and it was perfectly shiny from the outside. But her keychain had a thousand keys, and she would drive without one of her shoes, retouching her makeup. Every time we ended up at a stoplight in a rush. There were two or three Kitcat wrappers on the cup holders. Now, she said, their house has four rooms in a basement. They really need to get everything ready tonight. All the furniture stays. Just make sure it's clean. We have four potential buyers showing up early tomorrow. I'm counting on you, she said, hopeful that everything would work out. I didn't think it would be such a difficult thing. I had already gotten as much information as possible about the place. I was following her car with mine. I'll loaded up around the neighborhood toward the house. When I saw it, it looked brand new, a large front yard, plants everywhere, but there was something strange about it. When Andrea left and my car was the only one of the property, I felt trapped. She had left me with her business card, saying that their phone line was still active in case I needed to get in touch, but that I would be fine. The large walls around the property seemed to be closing in on me, and it felt hard to leave. I meant that literally, although I knew that I couldn't leave now. The sun was about to set just as I entered the front door, I thought I would be alone. Part two of open House continues right after this stay with me, I stepped into the living room. The furniture there had already been set up. I had been placed there by Andrea to make it look nice for the open house visitors. The instructions were to clean up the master bedroom, the basement, bathrooms, and kitchen. I started right away, and I didn't want to be there past midnight. The kitchen looked simple enough, bright white walls and nothing on it but a large black trash bag by the refrigerator. I didn't know what I was supposed to clean. The counters were shiny, and the refrigerator had dire coke and water bottles on the top shelf, orange hues at the bottom. Still, I went back to the car to get the remaining cleaning supplies and came back with my bucket and mop. Everything was wiped clean, the floor was drying up, and I worked my way up toward the master bedroom with the vacuum, the spray bottles, and the broom again, the room was clean. I started to worry a little, then, what if they realized that someone else had already done the job and refused to pay me? And walked into the bathroom. It was clean, not a single hair on the sink. The mirror was streak free and bright against the white lights coming in through the main room. It took out the cover and bed sheets to redo the bed clean fresh blankets, still smelling like laundry detergent, bright white, tightly wrapped around the mattress of the bed. I vacuumed anyway. Some people can tell if a place was cleaned by the streaks left behind by the vacuum. With that, I turned off the lights to the bedroom and was walking down the hallway when I heard something move from downstairs. I stood there frozen. It had been a trap. I thought of all the shows on television about tragic stories that all started just like this. I couldn't move, and for two solid minutes I stood there, nearly holding my breath the whole time as I waited to hear something else, But nothing happened. It must have all been in my mind, and so I walked downstairs looked at the bathrooms sparkling clean. I don't know what it is, and I still have it many years later, that sense telling me that something's not right when everything appears to be. I stepped back toward the living room and looked at the place. No dust, no smells, no movement. I looked at the piece of paper Andrea had given me. The basement was the only thing left to clean at the time. I felt relief, knowing that I would step in there and see that nothing was left to do, that I would just have to kill time somehow, just grab that trash back from the kitchen and leave. If I called my husband now, he would worry, make a big deal out of this, and we would be back at square one. That's when I heard another sound. This time it was coming from the basement. It was dark out now, and the lights from the hallway were off a place that was so long that the end of it simply vanished. The door was somewhere along the way, and I needed to get there to at least check for what I needed to get done in there. I talked to myself a little bit pumping myself up to walk there, open the door and look at everything. I took a deep breath and walked over, quickly opened up the door, flicked on the light, and stepped down boxes, broken bottles in a dark stain on the floor, and on the east wall. A long trash bag was at the base of the stairs, blocking the entrance. I stepped back up to grab everything and just get ready to go to work. And it was tough, but I did it. The stains were gone, the floor was mopped, the chairs and counters wiped clean, and all the trash was collected in a separate trash bag by the east wall. It wasn't too bright in there, but I could tell that the place was clean. But as they stood there, I heard it again, a soft grunt coming from somewhere in the basement. I tried not to pay attention to it. The house was basically on a large field in the hills, so of course there would be animals out there, right. I just wanted to get out. I grabbed my things and walked everything upstairs in three trips, grabbing two of the boxes, stuffing them into the trash bags, along with the paper towels and shards of glass mixed with dust gathered from the dustpan. I just hopped over the trash bag at the base of the stairs the first few times. I put everything by the front door and then rushed back down the hallway. I grabbed a black trash bag, long like a rolled up rug and tugged on it. But it moved. I could feel it squirm the whole thing. I screamed and ran upstairs, pacing around the hallway before deciding to call Andrea from the phone in the living room. Hello, she answered, Hi, Andrea, it's me from the cleaning service. Oh great, you're done, she asked pretty much. Yeah, I'm just taking out the trash and great, that's what they wanted. Just take it out and forgot to go. She was in a rush again. I think there's something, and she hung up. I needed to get the bag out, get my money, and forget about the place, and so I ran to the basement and tugged at the bag with all my strength and made it up three steps. I could feel it squirming like a giant snake. My arms were weak by this point, but I grabbed the bag again and pulled. I didn't need to lift it up anymore, I could just drag it up the stairs. Four five, six more steps, and I was almost at the top, with sweat rolling down my forehead. Now I managed to get it past the doorframe. I looked down at the basement, everything cleared out by this point. Then it turned off the light. I brought everything to the front porch, and after shutting everything off but the kitchen light, as requested, I shut the door and stood there in that dark deck. My car was as close as possible to that front door, so I started loading everything up, and soon the trunk of that station wagon was packed, and all that was left was that strange dark bag. I pulled it down the steps and threw it on the back seat, stopping to take a breath and look at the directions Andrew had written for me about the place where to drop off the trash. Highway seventeen exit twelve, right on Trevenita Street, fourth house of the trash container on the side. I looked at the rear room mirror, the things in the back of the car completely blocking the headlights from the few cars that were out on the road that night, and that's when I heard it, a grunt, clearly coming from the back seat. My eyes widened as I tried to figure out what I was seeing in the black bag. It appeared to be moving, but I couldn't tell. The sounds were becoming louder, and I was becoming even more nervous. My hand's shaking against the steering wheel. I moved to the right lane and put my blinkers on for an exit at a gas station, and I rushed out without shutting off the car. I stepped out to call Andrea from the payphone by the door. Hello, she answered, Are you done? She knew it was me, Andrea. There's something strange going on. Something's moving in one of the bags. I can hear something in there. Hey, she interrupted, her tone changing completely. We're paying you to do something easy. It was easy, right, yes, I answered, listen, just drop everything off, get your money, and that's it. And she hung up. And so I drove for almost fifteen minutes, looking behind me when i'd hear the bag move. I don't know how I managed, but finally I pulled up to the place. It was easy to find. Most houses there were empty, there were four sale signs on the front, and no cars were on the street. The trash container was open. I just took out the trash bag from the trunk, dumped them in, and soon all that was left was that long black bag from the back seat. I grabbed it, managed to get it to lean against the bin, lifted it, and then heard a grunt that stopped when it hit the other things inside. I walked up to the porch and opened up the black mail box on the wall by the front door, grabbed an envelope. I ran back to the car and opened it up all twenty dollar bills, even more than I was expecting, one thousand, seven hundred dollars in total. After dropping off the machine and vacuum, I got home and I told my husband about the house I had to clean, without going into detail, and he asked if I thought I would get a call to work for them again, and I told him I didn't think so. For days, I paid attention to the news in case anything popped up about what I had encountered, but nothing ever. Did these people knew what they were doing, and even if they found out anything, investigators would end up at the wrong house. Still, I would wake up in the middle of the night hearing the grunts from the thing in the black bag, I imagined hands reaching out to grab me from the side of the bed, and I would have vivid nightmares of that basement lit up with candles, men chanting around in a circle until one of them turned around to look at me riding the eye. Thankfully, those nightmares eventually stopped. I received a few calls in the weeks that followed. More cleaning were, this time around low pay, but consistent until one day my husband passed me the phone for something about a job. It was Andrea, and excited she asked me up for another open house. Scary Story Podcast is written and produced by me Edwin Kobarubias. Find us over on TikTok and Instagram at scary dot fm, or over on our website Scary Story podcast dot com. For ad free episodes and to support the show, try out scaryplus dot com. It's free for two weeks and let me know. If you have any questions about it. You can get in touch with me via email or social media. I'll leave my details in the description of this episode. I'm at Edwin Cove. That's e d w i n c ov over on Instagram. Thank you very much for listening. Keep it scary everyone. See you soon,