House hunting

The phone rang and I answered out of instinct, hardly even waking before realising the phone was already in my hand. “Good morning, is this Mrs. Smalls? Anthony Harrow here, I hope this is not too early to call, only I have wonderful news! I found you a house!”
The voice on the other side could not be mistaken. Such unbridled jubilation at this time of the day could only be found in the devoted denizens of the realtor industry.
“Mr. Harrow, not at all, I was absolutely already awake…” my sleepy, mumbling voice, could not have conveyed my actual state of awareness any clearer.
“Wonderful!” Honestly, the man was insufferable. I don’t usually like morning people as it is, so having to speak to one during an actual morning, was making me want to hang up without so much as an explanation. Unfortunately, I couldn’t afford to do that. My housing situation was not good. It’s been a few years since I had to leave my old house in the middle of the night to a women’s shelter with anything but my daughter and the clothes on our backs, and I had to stay in hiding for a few months while my body and mind healed, which took a while. I haven’t really been able to rebuild myself since. The terror and hurt I have suffered from the hands of my former partner finally broke me, and I ran.
“So, as I was saying, I have wonderful news! I think I found the perfect house for you! I believe you are still in the market? Shall I arrange a viewing? Is today at all possible? I don’t mean to rush you only you know how the market is nowadays, swift action is usually required with such things…”
His words finally penetrated my fuzzy brain and I became fully awake. He was right, of course, the housing crisis was getting unbearable, and if he did, in fact, find a good prospect for us I couldn’t afford to sit on it. And of course, I was terrified of what would happen if I couldn’t find a house. My daughter was only four and if I couldn’t provide adequate housing for her, she would be taken and placed in a foster home which would be safer for her than living with me in that situation. I promised myself that this will never happen.
“Wonderful! Can you tell me a little more about this house?”
“Gladly! It is a stand-alone, two beds one bath, currently found just on the outskirts of Thatcham. There is no garden, but that will not be a problem since this house can disappear and reappear anywhere in the universe! upon certain conditions met! It is quite old, but very well preserved, and! Not listed!” His two last words were shouted at me with utter delight.
Opening my calendar, I was looking at my afternoon, wondering how long it would take to get to the next village over during lunchtime … wait, what was that?
“I’m sorry? Can you just repeat that? I thought you said? I’m not sure what you said…Ha ha ha…”
“Yes, that’s right, Thatcham! I hope this isn’t too far?”
“No, no, that’s not too far only I thought you said…”
“Well, my records show you are looking for a two bedroom house? Are you not? Venus! Did you give me the wrong papers again?”
“Yes, I am!” honestly I couldn’t afford to pass on any offer right now, even if Venus made a mistake, I was not going to pass on the opportunity to view another house. Social services breathing down my neck, my ex, the debts and post-trauma I was carrying with me at all times, made
me think that if I could only find a house, everything would fall magically into place and I could finally start rebuilding my life.
“Well… That’s good to hear, really, I can’t stand wasting any time, not in this economy! Shall we say one o’clock? Venus will email you the information packet, goodbye!”
I found myself sitting up in my bed, calendar in hand, wondering if I had just been punked.
Two hours later, bathed and fed, I’d decided I misheard. Whatever it was the realtor said, I wasn’t going to miss this
appointment no matter what. I hadn’t seen a house in weeks. The address was 666 Deadman’s lane. Ok, not ominous at all.
Winding through native ancient woods, the narrow asphalt road to the house was embedded deep into the forest floor, surrounded by huge oak trees and blackberry hedges, I drove in almost darkness even though it was a lovely day. Satnav insisted on taking me through turns that didn’t
seem like a car could drive through them but I decided to trust her, in for a penny, in for a pound.
Suddenly, the house appeared. Completely enveloped by giant trees growing all around it, it was beautiful, its high roof nestled under a canopy of branches, reaching up to the light. The forest started right outside the house’s walls and the front door practically opened straight into the road. A little car was stopped by the front door that stood ajar indicating to me that Mr. Harrow had already arrived.
I parked and exited, and took a deep breath right outside my car. I almost gasped as the green-scented air settled in my lungs. The air smelled sweet, as if all the blackberries in the forest ripened all at once. Spotted rays of sun sparkled through massive tree boughs, and gave a distinct impression that if I just focused, I would see they were actually little fairies, flying happily about. My feet stood on a thick layer of leaves,
painstakingly gathered there over a millennia of autumns. I breathed deep once again, as if I had never actually breathed deep before in my life. The thoughts I had on the way about how isolated this house was flew out of my mind. Specifically about my ex-partner, Trevor, stalking me, suddenly didn’t feel that frightening. I felt like a teenager falling in love, was this what it felt like seeing the perfect house?
“Come right in, the door is open!” Mr. Harrow’s voice beckoned me inside.
I stepped in to meet Mr. Harrow in the kitchen.
He was a short man, shorter than me, but he made up for that with an impressive hairdo protruding at least fifteen inches straight up into the air above his head, boasting a silver streak through its left side, reminding me of Frankenstein’s bride hair, or Disney’s Ursula. Dark tinted eye glasses with the biggest and blackest square frame ever were hanging on to dear life at the end of his pointy nose, and he almost disappeared behind
a heavy folder etched in gold letters which he held close to his chest.
“This is the kitchen, obviously, and the reception room is just beyond. Follow me!” I had hardly a minute to take in his impressive image, let alone the kitchen which seemed to have been plucked straight out of a periodical upstairs-downstairs servant drama, complete with bronze sinks and taps, and he was gone. Hurriedly, a little afraid to be left alone in this otherworldly house, I followed.
I chased Mr. Harrow through two reception rooms, and up a creaky flight of stairs, passing by a bedroom and one bathroom with an ancient enamelled bath. Mr. Harrow was shouting room descriptions at me as we were passing each room, never stopping for a moment. He finally did stop
at the bottom of another dimly lit staircase, supposedly leading up to an attic. Mr. Harrow half turned towards me so I could finally see his face, and
he was beaming as if he had just showed me his first born son.
“Now! This is what we are really here to see, isn’t it? Pull this lever here, all the way down, and I will open the window to show you where we ended up.”
Completely frazzled, I didn’t even think to argue. I put my hand on the gilded lever sticking out of the wall and pulled as hard as I could. Something shifted, I couldn’t tell you what it was, but when Mr. Harrow turned to his left and opened the only window in the corridor we stood in, I had lost all ability to speak, or think, if I was being completely honest. Out of the window appeared before me the beautiful view of a lavender
field in full bloom. It stretched out into the horizon where at the end of it, just outside my logical comprehension, there seemed to be, glistening in the sunlight, the tiny image of what could only be the Eiffel Tower. Holding on to the window
sill for dear life, my hands were the only thing holding me up.
“Just as promised! What did I tell you? Just what you were looking for. Perfect, no? Take a minute, breath it in, I love France in the summer!” The realtor sounded so proud of himself, while I, in turn, was dumbfounded.
Leaning against the wall, the enthusiastic man went on rambling, I couldn’t interrupt him even if I tried.
“We are a serious agency, our reputation proceeds us and for a good reason!” he laughed. Mr. Harrow had a hardy laugh,
an earthy and grounding sound to it, not at all conducive with his bizarre appearance.
“You know, we can find any house we are asked for, any house! I was even able to find a Roman villa, in actual ancient Rome! Of course, that offer fell through but not through any fault of ours, how was I supposed to know that Pompeii was out of the range they were looking for?
After all, it was a part of the Roman Empire for a while… Anyway, what do you think? Do you have any more questions about the house?”
I did have questions, but not about the house. About life, about magic, perhaps even about god and the universe. I had so many questions I couldn’t ask. Mr. Harrow and his ridiculous hairdo kept looking at me, reminding me more and more of Ursula, looming over her victims with a contract, gleaming pen in hand, waiting for her victim to sign away her life.
“Errrr, as beautiful as this house is, and it is!” I spoke quickly now, watching my realtor’s spirit fall in real time,
“what else have you got on the market? I mean, it is a little isolated, wouldn’t you say?” I couldn’t help myself, what else could this man show me?
“Eh, that’s the whole point of it, isn’t it?
It can be as isolated or as central as you like! Here, let me by you and I’ll send us to the heart of Manhattan with one pull on the lever…”
“No!” I stood up quickly and positioned myself firmly in his way to the dreaded lever, “no, it’s OK, really, just take us back home and we can talk about whatever else your agency has on offer. Please?” I didn’t think I could take another trip around the world, my stomach was
threatening to abandon my body at the thought.
“Well,” Mr. Harrow, surprisingly unfazed after my disappointing reaction, opened his huge ledger and started turning pages aggressively as an answer.
“I can show you a lovely little cave at the bottom of the Mariana trench, a few Kilometres under the sea, but there is a requisite of being able to breathe under water, can you or your daughter do that?”
Uncontrollably, an unwanted memory flashed before my eyes, of my partner, the man who was supposed to love and care for me more than anyone else in this world, pushing my head under water in our tub, holding me there for what felt like the longest time, while I’m flailing and swallowing water, wondering if I will live to see my daughter one more time. Breathing in deep, counting slowly backwords from five, Just like the counselor at the shelter taught me, I entered my body again, still alive.
Slowly, I indicated we couldn’t.
Disappointed, he kept flipping pages in his gold-crested ledger.
“Oh! How about something in an active volcano? No heating needed, spectacular sights!”
I just kept shaking my head… Even though that could have been a good solution for Trevor skulking about.
“There is a house that tends to run around and needs to be hunted down every time you want to enter it, I don’t suppose that will be right for you and a young daughter…” He mumbled, clearly getting more annoyed with me by the minute. But just as he reached the back of his folder his face lit up. “You know what, here is one I! Yes, let’s look at this next one I have on my list…” Flipping happily through his folder he held it up for me to see. The page was completely blank.
“What am I looking at? The page is blank?”
“Exactly! This house doesn’t actually exist, and is only accessible through a tiny crack in reality. We’re not entirely sure where, or when, the actual building is but that doesn’t really matter much when you don’t have to pay any utilities. Honestly, it’s a bargain, can you imagine not having to pay for gas or electricity? No council tax either? A dream! Would you like to see it? The entrance is a little tricky, it’s through a crack in a wall just outside Buckingham Palace so there are definitely days in the year where access is somewhat tricky, but we shouldn’t have any problems today.”
Before I could utter another word he pulled the lever and my body left France, feeling yet again as if my stomach was left behind.
Mr. Harrow led me back down the stairs and straight out the kitchen door into a busy London street overrun by tourists. The forest and our cars, completely gone. We joined the flood of people and walked silently for a few minutes without looking at each other. I followed behind, desperately trying to keep up, tracking the black and white mop of a hair bobbing up and down in front of me. Hell, the man was exceptionally fast
for a cartoon character. Suddenly he stopped, turning towards what seemed like any other building wall we passed on the way there. He pressed his hands all over the bricks, looking very mime-like and a little crazy, until half of his arm seemed to disappear into nothing. I looked around stonished, isn’t anyone else seeing this?
“Ah! There we are! Give me your hand.”
Hesitantly I reached out and took his hand, his fingers felt abnormally warm and unfittingly strong as he pulled me hard towards him. Once again everything changed and my ears popped so hard they popped out of my head and into an atrium the size of the entire former house we were just looking at.
Everything went instantly quiet. In the sudden silence I could hear my heart beat in my ears as loud as a drum. It actually seemed to echo in the huge room I found myself standing in.
“What a space, eh?” Mr. Harrow’s voice filled the space and bounced back at us from all directions, drowning out the
sound of my heart.
“Sorry, isn’t this space great?” he was whispering now, startled by his own voice bouncing and compounding to a laud shout in the empty cavernous room, Mr. Harrow looked sheepishly at me, altogether far too proud of himself.
“I’m not actually sure how many bedrooms and baths there are, we stopped counting after fifty, they seem to be going on forever. We had a little test once, filling every room with an agent and then moving everyone to a new room, one room over, and there were always more rooms!
I guess there isn’t really a problem with space when space is infinite, hmm?”
“Hmmm…” all I could do was mumble my agreement. I had never been in a fancier room in my life. On top of it being the size of a tennis court, it was absolutely beautiful. The walls were lined with the purest of white marble, and three giant chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their crystal shards broke the light into a million little rainbows,
bathing us in a brilliant disco shine. Two spiralling staircases at each end of the hall were leading up to another floor, disappearing into the darkened ceiling. There were no doors to this hall, so how the hell did we get in?
Mr. Harrow started making his way towards one of the staircases when I stopped him.
“Mr. Harrow, I think this house might be a little bit too big for us, being just me and my daughter, but please, can you tell me again how it was that you got my number?” at this point I was sure this was all an elaborate prank. Maybe I was somehow drugged? I wouldn’t put it past Trevor to try and poison me, it was obvious at this point that he wanted me dead.
“Oh, I’m not actually sure, let me check my files…” He sounded genuinely surprised and started flipping through his ginormous folder again. “Hmmm… Didn’t you call us?”
“No, I’m pretty sure I didn’t. Where would I even find your number?”
“We are a world-renowned, highly respected agency, I assure you of that my love!” The indignation in in his voice was so
harsh, it was like shards of glass, cutting me down. He went on, obviously insulted.
“I said, are you hungry? Hi, love! Can you hear me? Hi! I think she’s out… Just leave it next to her and let’s go. Anthony! Let’s go!” Suddenly Mr. Harrow was yelling at me and I didn’t know why.
I opened my eyes, and the sun hit my eyes at an unpleasant angle. I squinted, just barely able to make out two figures walking away from me, leaving behind them a torn paper bag, smelling of processed meat and grease.
I sat up in my sleeping bag. The hustle and bustle of a London street was going about its day all around me, ignoring my insignificant figure stretched out on a dirty piece of cardboard like it did every single night since the day I lost my house.
Sheer agony hit me like a bus. It wasn’t real, and I cried out when I realised all at once that there was no house. No miraculous dwelling that can appear or disappear wherever I wanted it to in the world. Of course not. I never did find a place to take me and my daughter in, and she had been taken from me to a foster home more than a year ago. Trevor never paid for the things he did to me, broken bones, broken property, and a
broken me, to the point where I couldn’t even hold down a job, the invasive memories and dissociation happening every single day since the day I took my daughter and ran.