of a h(a)unted house

Maidumji, this house so bigger. You will not be having any problems. And it’s only eleven thousand rupiss. It’s so cheap, no? 

I walked around the empty house, still a little shaken up from my experience with the pervert landlord who stole my lingerie from my apartment. There was a little voice in my head telling me it was too good to be true, and therefore not a good idea, but the broker was right! 11k was a small price to pay for those beautiful french windows and the thriving kitchen garden outside it. It was a fully-furnished flat too, and had exactly the setting I had imagined.

Why you are thinking so much? Say yes, maidumji!

The house seems okay, I said in a non-committal voice trying to disguise my excitement at finding a new home for my blue-green dinner set. When can I meet the landlord?

Today only maidumji. I will be calling you today evening. You should be coming quickly. Too many persons are wanting this house, but I tell Mr. Grover to save this house only for you.

I stepped out with a raised eyebrow and a heart full of hope. In the evening, I found myself sitting across the table from Mr. Grover and his buxom wife.
Her boobs were all over the place, and I couldn’t stop staring.

She was the one asking all the questions in (fl)awful English and I kept trying really hard not to laugh. She wanted to know why I wasn’t living with my parents, why I left my husband, and whether I was that types of a girls who brings bwaays to home. I told her politely that I was legally separated, didn’t wish to live with my parents because I was a grown up, and that I had both male and female friends and was likely to have them over once in a while. I cushioned the blow by talking about how religious I was and how much I liked to read and cook and clean.

She seemed to like me, despite the curtness I was unable to conceal. Mr. Grover, on the other hand, seemed really squeamish. At the end of the conversation, Mrs. Grover told me I could move in the next month, and caressed my cheek in a way that reminded me very much of Sushila auntie, who used to live next door when I was a troubled kid.

As I was about to leave, I noticed that Mr. Grover looked really uncomfortable, as though he had been holding in his pee for the longest time. He escorted me down to my (new) car only to tell me that I looked too much like the girl who stayed in this house when he was young, and how that girl died and how spooked he was. Apparently this girl was brutally murdered (in the same house) and her ghost has been spotted by people several times.

I didn’t know how to react, and I told this guy that I didn’t believe in ghosts, but the truth is, I do.

So as soon as I got home, I called the broker and asked him if he had heard anything about this. He said he hadn’t, and then went on to explain how he had heard about there having been a police raid in the house, which (he speculated) could be the reason why the rent was so low. So basically, I put two and two together and decided that the story was probably true.

I moved, two weeks later, into a haunted house with two bags full of clothes and my fancy blue-green china.

Little did I know, this was going to be the biggest adventure of my life.

Wondering what happened next?