selling Caliban Manor?” Dee asked, her voice a bare whisper.
“I guess we’re not the only ones tired of tradition,” I muttered under my breath, looking up to the spot where the house was supposed to be. “Is the tide down? If it is, we should be able to walk over there, right?”
“Walk over there?” Martín scoffed. “It’s a six-mile walk.”
“How do you know it’s six miles?”
“The invitation says it. A van will be waiting for all of the guests to drive them over to the house.”
I kept my eyes on the direction of the house, the island that stood alone just six miles offshore. I could barely make out the black iron gates, but I knew they were there. It was always like this, covered in heavy fog. So much so, that some accounts claimed there was no house there at all. The disappearing house, they called it. There were endless threads about it not only on The Haunt, but all over Reddit. It was bullshit, of course, but also the reason my picture had been worth so much. No one had ever been able to get a clear picture of the house. As if having the same thoughts, Dee spoke up beside me.
“How are you supposed to capture a vanishing house?”
“I don’t know.”
“It won’t be vanishing tomorrow, at least not for the rest of the week,” Martín offered. “The gala is in two days. I’m telling you. You should come.”
“Yeah right.” I scoffed. “Good luck getting me invited to that.”
“You can go as my date.”
“I thought I was your date?” Dee raised an amused eyebrow. “But I’m willing to sit this one out for the sake of the website.”
“We can all go,” he said, looking at the two of us. “Come on. They didn’t specify guests on the invite.”
My stomach flipped at the thought of stepping foot in that house. I knew I wouldn’t be welcome. Guzmans never were. A few of my cousins worked in the main house doing repairs and they’d never been received well. One of them, my closest cousin growing up, Esteban, disappeared around the property one night. That night. Even though he’d been a few years older than me, we were as thick as thieves. He loved adventures, which was what ultimately led to his demise. The police said he drowned while out fishing. Legend has it that if you drown in those waters, the Caliban Manor keeps your soul. It was a dumb myth that I tried not to think about, the way I tried not to think about most awful things. I shoved bad thoughts into a box and stashed it away. It was the only way to stay sane.
“The Devil’s Chair.” Martín’s announcement pulled me out of my thoughts. I looked over at him. “The fog seems to have dissipated from this area. If you want to take a picture, now would be a good time.”
“You know, the elders on this island tried their hardest to take this down and couldn’t,” I said, walking toward it.
“It didn’t always look like this?” He stood, brushing dust off his pressed pants.
“No way. It was a mausoleum for the Caliban family. At least that’s how the story goes,” Dee said. “The workers had enough of the wealthy and decided to riot and take down anything that resembled wealth. Of course, it’s difficult to tear down limestone, so this stayed.”
“Why is it called the Devil’s Chair?”
“It looks like a throne,” I said simply.
What was left of the mausoleum resembled a throne made of limestone. Whether the name came from the fact that people called the Calibans devils because they had so much wealth or something more sinister really was under these streets was just another thing that brought curious tourists here. I took a few pictures before placing the cap back on the lens.
“Okay, I’m done.” I examined the pictures to make sure they were clear, then let the camera drop, the strap tugging as the weight of it hit the back of my neck.
“You’re not going to sit in it?” Martín grinned. “You never post pictures of yourself on the site. I bet it’ll get more views than anything else if you do, and sitting on the Devil’s Chair, to boot.” He signaled for me to hand him the camera. I took the strap off and gave it to him as I walked over to the rocks.
“You don’t have to,” Dee said, in the same voice she’d used that time I was dared to