House The Jack Built, The

I'm glad it's not one of those dark, stormy nights, Jack thought to
himself as he entered the house and imagined what it would look like
illuminated by lightning. It was creepy enough anyway and the estate
agent unsuccessfully clicked the light switch up and down several times
before he said, "Sorry about this, they must have switched the
electricity off."

"Doesn't matter," Jack said and held up his torch. "I'm prepared." He
stepped into the large hall and looked around. It was dark, but not too
dark for him to get an idea of what this house was all about. It was
old. It had a musty, vacant smell about it and Jack had a vague idea
that it had already had that smell when it was occupied. He pictured
the previous owners as nearly as old as the house, with white hair and
leaning on a walking stick. He switched on the torch and shone it
around the hall. The high ceilings were nice. He walked into the
sitting room.

The size of the room struck him. It was large enough to have a ball
in, and the parquet flooring certainly looked very inviting. Through
the large bay window he could see the front garden, which consisted
solely of tall trees and bushes nearly blocking out the light. The far
wall was almost entirely taken up by the largest marble fireplace Jack
had ever seen. The ceiling was high, like in the hall, and had a
magnificent ceiling rose in the middle. Jack could just see a crystal
chandelier hanging from it. He adored the room.

He moved on to the dining room. It was large enough to host a dinner
party for ten. Jack smiled at the thought of Helen cooking dinner for
ten guests. She was not the best cook in the world, and certainly not
very keen on it. If it were up to her, they would probably get a take
away for ten. He saw the back garden through the bay window walked over
to have a look outside. He couldn't see much, but by now wasn't sure if
he cared what the garden looked like. Just the ground floor was so full
of potential and he loved it.

He tried to calm himself down and look at it realistically. It was
old, it needed a lot of work. He pushed his car key into the window
frame and was disappointed with the ease it went in. If all the windows
had to be treated for dry rot, it would be expensive. He crouched down
on the floor and lifted the carpet up. The floorboards revealed holes
created by woodworm. He took a screwdriver out of his coat pocket and
forced it in between two floorboards, using it as a lever to lift on of
them up. Surprisingly easily it came free. Jack pulled it all the way
up and shone his torch underneath. The ground was only three feet
underneath the floorboards. He spotted the rat droppings that were
covering the ground and winced. If there was one thing he could not
stand it was rats. The light fell on a little tray full of blue
pellets. Rat poison. Whoever left the droppings must have been long
gone. He shivered. This house was freezing cold.

The estate agent looked out of the window. Jack found him unusually
quiet for an estate agent and suspected that even he could not find
anything good to say about the place. He replaced the floorboard. "How
long has this house been vacant?" he asked. The estate agent turned
around. "About three months," he said. The dust around the place
suggested otherwise and Jack was sure that he was lying. He decided not
to go into it. "It has come back onto the market quite unexpectedly,"
the estate agent continued. "The previous owner bought it as an
investment but had problems with his finances and had to pull out.
Quite sad, actually. He was very distressed."

Jack was barely listening. He checked out kitchen and breakfast room.
He could not see anything that did not need a lot of work done to it.
The conservatory looked quite new but during the recent storms a branch
from one of the trees had fallen onto the glass roof and shattered it
into thousands of pieces. Nobody had bothered to do anything about it
and the subsequent rain had spoiled the wooden flooring.

He started to go upstairs. "Mind the second step," he heard the estate
agent's warning just in time. Instead of stepping over it, he lifted
the carpet and looked at the step. It sported a hole about the size of
a foot. Jack left the carpet up and stepped over it.

The house was enormous. The six bedrooms were good sizes and each
bedroom had a fireplace. The ceilings in two of the rooms were close to
collapsing. One of the fireplaces had fallen over and the marble was
cracked in various places. Still Jack loved it. He tried to contain his
enthusiasm. "It hasn't got central heating, then?" he asked the estate
agent even though he already knew the answer. He brushed a cobweb that
was almost black with dust out of his way while he listened to the
estate agent's awkward excuses and thought about the house's potential.
He went to a window and gazed outside.

From up here the view was magnificent. The house was at the end of the
village, slightly raised on the top of a little hill, overlooking it
like a castle. Behind it were only fields and woodlands. Jack stood and
looked and wondered how he could sell this idea to his wife. Eventually
he looked around.

"I'll think about it," he said noncommitally. The estate agent nodded.
He didn't expect Jack to buy it. He couldn't imagine anybody wanting to
buy this old ruin. They shook hands and parted company. Jack was so
excited he could barely stop himself from running to his car. He forced
himself to walk slowly and made sure he did not look around as he
walked. If he wanted to get the price down he could not give the
impression that he was really bothered about buying this place.

"Honey, I swear to you, the place is perfect," Jack said for the fifth
time. Helen was still unconvinced. "I can do it up myself, it's a lot
of work, but I'm a builder, and I have a lot of friends in the trade
who can help me out cheaply. It is going well under price, and I might
get some more off if I try. Please, honey, think about it! You don't
have to live there, it's just an investment, but it will pay off big
time!" "I don't know, Jack," Helen said, but she was beginning to come
round, he heard it in her voice. "It will be so much work, and I know
you, you will spend every spare minute up there and I'll hardly ever
get to see you. And what happens if you can't sell it when it's done?
After all, it's in some tin pot village in the middle of nowhere - who
wants to live there?"

Well, I for one wouldn't mind getting out of London, Jack thought and
said, "People will kill to get that house when I'm finished with it."
Helen smiled. Jack took that as a good sign. He put his arms around her
and kissed her. "Please?" he said. She sighed and nodded. Jack was
relieved. That had gone better than expected.

The next day he phoned the estate agent. He deliberately put on a
rather bored voice and offered ?50,000 less than the asking price. He
knew that was a bit bold of him but figured if the offer was rejected
he could always up the bid. A couple of hours later the estate agent
rang back. The offer had been accepted. Jack was speechless. The house
had been cheap to begin with, but now it was almost a gift. He had
never heard of a silly offer like this one being accepted first time
and a small, niggling doubt came into his mind. Maybe the house was
worse than he had thought. He had only seen it in the dark and never
paid attention to the roof. What if it had subsidence? He bit his lip,
worried that his decision had been rushed. Then he brushed his doubts
aside. It was too cheap to expect any more than a ruin. He had always
been proud to say that he was a good builder, so here was his chance to
prove it.

Jack whistled as he climbed up onto the ladder. The gas and
electricity had still not been reconnected but Jack expected someone to
do so later that morning. He shivered and considered lighting the fire
in the big marble fireplace. Then he decided against it. Better not
light that old thing before a chimneysweep had given it the once-over.
But this house sure was cold.

The first task was to get some light into the place. He gave the dark,
heavy velvet curtains a tug and they came tumbling down, together with
the curtain rail and part of the rendering. Jack fell backward off the
ladder and landed on the wooden floor, winding himself in the process.
Not a good start, he thought as he slowly clambered to his feet again.
He swore and gave the curtains a good kick.

He worked late that night. Helen had been right, he thought, and felt
guilty. But he could not tear himself away from the house. He had made
a lot of progress in one day, and if he could just finish this...

"Jack." He looked around. "Helen?" he asked, stunned that she had made
the trip out to the house, especially at this time of day. It was
nearly dark outside, and Helen didn't like driving in the dark. He
hadn't heard her car pull up. "I'm in the master bedroom, honey!" he
called to her. When he did not hear her answer he went to the window
and looked outside. Her car was not in the drive. What the hell did she
do with the car, he thought. "Helen? Where are you? Come upstairs, will
you?"

Again he heard no answer. He was getting annoyed now. Just a few more
minutes and he would have finished for the day. He stormed down the
stairs. The front door was closed, there was no sign of Helen. "Helen?"
he shouted, now concerned. He could not find her anywhere. Just to be
sure, he dialed her number on his mobile phone. She answered instantly.
"Where are you!" he barked at her. "What do you mean, where am I?" she
asked and Jack could hear she was annoyed. "I'm in the kitchen throwing
your dinner in the rubbish bin. Where the hell are you?"

Jack was confused. "You haven't been at the house?" he asked. "No, I
haven't, and you better not be there much longer if you want to live,"
she said and hung up on him. Slowly Jack put the mobile down. He was
sure he had heard her call his name. He grinned uneasily and rubbed his
temples. He felt silly. It was probably just a floorboard creaking or
something. He went back upstairs and finished what he was doing. On his
way home he stopped at a garage and bought some flowers for Helen. It
wasn't a good idea to get on the wrong side of her on the first
day.

"Jack." He spun around. This time he was sure it wasn't Helen. She had
made it quite clear that she would not drive all the way out to the
house to see him. If he wanted to see her, he knew where she was.
Someone was in the house. A squatter, maybe. The house had been empty
for a while and it was possible that someone had moved in before him.
"Hello?" he called. "Who's there?" "Jack," he heard someone say. He
could not work out where the voice was coming from. It was a woman
calling him, an older woman, by the sound of it. "How do you know my
name?" he called. He picked up a hammer and started walking from room
to room. The woman did not answer him.

"Listen, lady, I own this house now, so you better find somewhere else
to live, okay?" He heard faint laughter. "Of course you own it, dear,"
he heard the woman say. The voice was coming from behind him and he
turned around quickly, bracing himself. There was nobody there. He
walked back into the room he had just checked. She must have managed to
sneak in when his back was turned. The room was empty.

"And what is this nonsense about living somewhere else?" The voice
came from the ground floor. How the hell had she got there that
quickly? Jack ran down the stairs. "We live here together, dear, like
we always have. Ever since you built this house." The kitchen. Jack was
paying little attention to what she was saying. She was obviously
deranged, and when he found her he would turn her out and that would be
the end of it. Nevertheless he was cautious. He pushed the kitchen door
open with his foot, holding the hammer in both hands, ready for her to
attack him with whatever weapon she might have armed herself
with.

The kitchen was empty. Jack blinked twice to make sure. He was not
entirely surprised. The old crow knew her way around the house, she
probably crept out the back door while he was tiptoeing up to the
front. The back door was ajar. Jack relaxed a little and lowered the
hammer. He crossed the kitchen quickly and bolted the door. There. That
should keep her out. Just to make sure he called out, "Hello?" When she
did not answer he felt silly. He went back upstairs and looked at the
work he had been doing. Somehow he did not feel like finishing it that
night. He tossed the hammer down. The ceiling would have to wait until
tomorrow.

The first thing he spotted as he drove up to the house was the lights.
Finally they had managed to turn the electricity back on. Jack mumbled
a couple of swear words under his breath. The lights had probably been
on all day. He got out of the car and briefly noted that the lights
were on in every room. What was the possibility that the light switch
had been left 'on' in every room? He considered the thought and came to
the conclusion that it was probably the squatter again. Not only had
she found a way back in, she had also turned all the lights on. Jack
grimaced. He really did not need this aggravation.

He tried the door. It was locked. So this was not where she had got
in. The back door was bolted from the inside, he had made sure before
he had gone home the night before. He walked around the house and found
all the windows closed. He tried them one by one. They were locked from
the inside. He cursed again. The old woman must have tricked him into
thinking she had left the house when really she had been in there all
along.

He unlocked the door and went inside. The place was freezing, much
colder than he would have expected. He slammed the door behind him.
"All right, lady, listen up! I know that you are in here, you've left
all the lights ..." Jack walked into the sitting room and stopped in
mid sentence. Someone had lit the fire. It was burning high and
generating quite a bit of heat. There were candles on the mantelpiece.
The room would have looked very cozy had it not been for the odd
circumstances. Despite the heat from the fire Jack was shivering. Damn,
this house was cold!

The curtains were drawn. Jack was sure they had been open a minute ago
when he walked around the house. She must have just closed them. A
sudden realization hit him as he stared at the curtains. Of course they
had been open before. He had taken them down two days ago to let some
light in through the windows, and he had not yet put them back. And not
only the curtains, the rails had come down as well. They had been
replaced.

Jack felt faint. He walked over to the curtains and touched them
almost shyly. They had been cleaned. More so, if he had not known
better he would have sworn they were brand new. How had she done that?
He dismissed the question. There was no way an old lady had cleaned the
heavy velvet curtain, replaced the curtain rails and hung them back up
all by herself. Somebody had helped her. There was somebody else living
here and even then this was nothing short of a miracle.

"Welcome home, Jack," she said behind him. He spun around. There was
nobody there. Had he thought before that she was old? He must have been
mistaken. Her voice was young and seductive. "Where are you, lady?"
This was getting ridiculous. "I'm not going to play games with you
again, you come out now or I call the police!" He shouted louder than
he had intended to and realized that he was a little bit afraid. He
checked the room for a tool he could use, anything he could carry that
would make him feel less vulnerable, but the room was empty. Spotless,
actually. The parquet floor looked like it had been freshly waxed. Jack
moaned involuntarily. What the hell was going on? He had heard that
squatters live in filth, but squatters that clean the house for you and
repair curtain rails?

He walked into the dining room and winced when he saw that the roof in
the conservatory was no longer leaking. The glass had been replaced, as
had the second step on the staircase. Jack walked up the stairs with
his back to the wall. He scolded himself for being childish, but at the
same time did not move away from the wall. He did not know how many
there were. Better to be safe than sorry.

When he got to the top of the stairs he was not really surprised to
see that the work he had not finished the previous night was now done.
The ceilings had been stabilized, the fallen fireplace refitted and the
rooms decorated. His tools were neatly stacked in a corner. He picked
up the hammer and after a moment's consideration took a spanner for
good measure. Despite the freezing cold, sweat was dripping off his
forehead and running into his eyes. He wiped it away with his
sleeve.

"What's going on here?" he whispered. His eyes were darting around the
rooms as he moved quietly around the first floor. He did not see
anybody. All rooms were in perfect condition. "Welcome home, Jack," he
heard the woman's voice. He screamed. The voice came from the master
bedroom. Jack had just been in there and it had been empty. Jack had
the almost overwhelming urge to run. He got to the top of the stairs
when she called him again. "Come to me, Jack! It has been so long! Come
to me, my darling!"

Jack stopped in his tracks. Her voice was so sexy, so ... longing. Who
was she? Why did she call him? Suddenly Jack had to find out what she
looked like. He turned and walked to the master bedroom. "How do you
know my name?" he asked as he opened the door. The woman was lying on
the bed, covered only by a satin sheet. Only that there was no bed and
no sheet. The illusion was wavering, like an old black and white
picture projected onto a moving cloth. The woman smiled at Jack but she
was not there, either. Jack could see the wall and the floor through
her and shivered. This room was positively freezing.

"Why, you are my husband, dear," she said, with a hint of impatience
in her voice. She stretched her arms out to him. "You built this house
for me, but then you left, and I was alone for such a long time, but
now you are back and everything will be all right. I feel so young, so
good. Come to me, my darling, make love to me now and we will be
together forever."

Jack took an involuntary step back. The look on her face changed. She
sat up in the illusory bed, clutching the satin sheet to cover herself
up. "What is it, Jack? Why don't you want me?" Jack was trembling. He
raised his tools and noticed how much his hands were shaking. "Now,
look, lady," he began, but she did not let him finish his sentence. She
floated out of the bed and toward Jack faster than he could back away.
He tripped over his toolbox and landed hard on his back. She was above
him.

"Lady?" she hissed. She raised her hands as if to grab him and Jack
frantically crawled backward to get away. "Why are you calling me that,
Jack? I am your Christine! I am your wife and I demand that you treat
me like that! Why won't you kiss me? Have you met another woman? Is
that why you have been away so long?"

With every word she seemed to age, and Jack had time to realize that
the house aged with her. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see the
ceiling sagging, the fireplace falling and breaking, and when he
reached the second step coming tumbling down the stairs head first he
found that broken, too. His hand went through the hole desperately
seeking something to hold on to as he fell all the way down, and he
screamed when a piece of wood pierced his arm. The woman was still
following him, hovering over him. She now looked ancient, and when she
opened her mouth again part of the skin covering her face ripped and
allowed Jack insight into her head. He screamed and hysterically pulled
on his arm to free it.

"What is it, Jack?" she asked. "Don't you love me anymore?" Jack
ripped his arm out of the broken wood, not caring that he cut it
further, and ran for the door, still screaming. He opened it but before
he could get out the woman's arm rushed past his face and pushed the
door shut. Jack turned and ran blindly into the kitchen. The kitchen
door was bolted and Jack struggled with the bolt, his shaking fingers
unable to undo it. He felt her presence behind him, she was as cold as
ice, breathing on his neck and shoulders as she spoke.

"Make love to me now and we will be together forever," she whispered.
Jack tore away and shoulder-charged the window, ducking his head as the
glass shattered and the rotten window frames gave way under his weight,
sending him flying into the front garden. He staggered to his feet. His
face was bleeding. He looked around but the ghost was nowhere in sight.
"She can't leave the house," he whispered to himself and laughed
uncontrollably. He tripped and fell, sending waves of pain up his
bleeding arm. He made it to the car and dropped the car keys twice
before he managed to unlock the door. When he drove off with screeching
tires he made sure not to look in the rear view mirror.

*****

The estate agent tried the light switch a couple of times. "Seems they
switched off the electricity," he said apologetically. "Never mind,"
the man said. "I think it's still bright enough to get an idea." He
looked around. "Old," he said. The estate agent agreed. "It has quite
unexpectedly come back on the market," he said. "The previous owner
bought it as an investment, but he ran into trouble with his finances
and has to sell again. Mind the second step ... I'm afraid it's
broken."