a collection of dry leaves dancing across the black and white marble tiles.
“Someone must have left the balcony door open again,” she said to her clients. “That latch is a little tricky.”
She strode in, flicked the switch for the Waterford chandelier, and spun back to the couple, hoping they would be able to see past the current state of the house and appreciate the amazing architectural features of the old mansion.
“Gross,” the wife remarked. “What’s that smell?”
“The property has been closed up for a while,” Sara explained. “The greater Philadelphia area has a high-water table, so it’s common for homes this age to be damp if they aren’t lived in.”
“Mold,” the husband said wisely, tapping the side of his nose. “Deadly black mold.”
Deadly black mold was extremely unlikely in a house this drafty. The drafty original windows provided too much unintentional ventilation for the place to ever really be sealed up.
But she could already tell her clients weren’t interested enough to care about a detail like that. Sara restrained the desire to sigh as she moved toward the next room.
“I’m going to pop around and get some lights on for you. Look around a bit. I’ll circle back to see if you have any questions.”
It was probably a wasted effort to turn on all the lights when these two would want to leave without seeing the whole thing.
She had known when they asked her to set up the showing that it was the wrong property. Al and Amy Martin were great buyers, but they weren’t the fixer-upper types. They had surely been attracted to the old place by the call of the rock bottom price point and the immense square footage.
And Sara had been eager to show it to them - to anyone.
A developer was poking around, threatening to do something with the whole stretch of land. This lot, sans the house, was supposedly the crown jewel of his plan. The walled garden outside would certainly be leveled to make space for parking.
The idea seemed awful to her. But she could hardly blame the trust that owned the house if they accepted an offer from the developer. The property had been vacant since Sara was a little girl.
There had been offers after the for sale sign finally went up a few years ago.
But something always went wrong.
The first interested buyer had lost his job before the offer was finalized. The second was in a car accident. And the third simply chickened out, forfeiting her deposit.
Around Rosethorn Valley, the rumors about the old house ranged from creepily campy to downright terrifying. The local kids tended to avoid the whole area. Some of the agents in Sara’s office even refused to show the property altogether.
She flicked on lights in the conservatory, which overlooked the garden and the koi pond, then made her way through the enormous dining room.
The Martins were following close behind her. They were moving too fast to be seriously considering the house.
“Wow, they sure left a lot of old furniture,” Amy said, looking at the massive wood dining table.
Sara loved the table’s heft and clawed feet. She had never seen anything like it.
An ancient painting of a man with dark hair and pale grey eyes wearing a stiff collar loomed over the scene from the wall at the table’s head, as if he were waiting for servants to bring his meal.
“My cousin can get us a dumpster at cost,” Al said proudly.
Sara almost swore the man in the painting winced at the words - probably a reflection of how she was feeling inside at the thought of throwing away all the wonderful pieces in the house.
“Some of these items may have historical value,” Sara pointed out.
Al grunted noncommittally and kept walking.
Sara made a mental note to get in touch with the Rosethorn Valley Historical Society. Her friend, Tabitha, was a co-curator there. Surely the society would take an interest in the furnishings. Hopefully, they could get the worthwhile pieces out before the house was torn down.
She approached the mantel of the fireplace and picked up a ceramic bud vase that held a single dried bloom. The pottery was cool and the weight of it was satisfying in her hand.
Al and Amy had begun arguing in the kitchen about whether or not they could remove a wall. Sara decided to give them some space.
Movement outside the window caught her attention. A small, brown bird was making a home in the ivy that climbed the side of the house.
The window looked