Upstairs on the third floor Sid found himself on some room. He turned on the light and realised that he was in the messiest lounge he had ever been in in his life. Even the Jacobs – the neighbours of his childhood home who’s yard looked like a garbage site – had never had such a messy room in their small house.
Sid cringed in disgust, like he was looking at a person who was drinking from a glass that someone had pissed in. He felt like leaving the room already. Almost every corner of the wall was covered in spider webs. The couches were powdered in thick dust and they were in heavy need of upholstery services. It looked like the type of room that nobody had been in for years – nobody could ever live in here. Not unless you are the worst version of the Jacobs. Sid remembered the issues his parents had with that neighbour family because the sordidness of their house affected Sid’s home with rats. Those times.
On the side wall next to the door Sid walked through, there was a wide cracked mirror. It was so dusty when Sid looked at that mirror it was like his face itself was covered with soil. Waste. Nobody could buy this, even though the frame glimmered silver.
He found the plasma TV hung on the ahead wall, was surprised that it was working when he switched it on. Hisense. Sid wiped the dust off with his gloved hand, returned the gun and torch in his pockets, removed the plug and picked up the TV. It was not heavy.
He could imagine him and the team arguing over the price to set for this plasma. But since he’s the one who found it he could set the price himself. The TV just needed to be be wiped well then it would look as good as new.
He was about to leave through the door when he noticed something on that mirror; something that made him stop; something that made him hold his breath for a moment. Some words. Big red letters smeared on the mirror over his face: “GET OUT!”
At first Sid thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, then he wondered if this was written in blood or not? Who’s blood was it? He saw another thing at the mirror: someone. He dropped the TV, pulled out the gun and swifted around with his aim, so fast in one motion. That old woman in that black dress he saw behind him on the mirror was no where now. Sid still pointed the gun around, finger on the trigger, ready to shoot. He stood like that for seconds, aimed the gun all over the room. Nothing moved. The only sound he heard was his breathing. “Calm down, Sid. Calm down,” he muttered to himself. “You are seeing things,” he felt like smiling. He had never believed in paranormal existence since he was a kid, not even once; ghost stories never scared him, horror movies were just…meh.
He supposed that what he’d just seen on the mirror were things he imagined, because when he turned around to pick up the TV there was nothing on the mirror except the big crack and the dust.