The realtor had raved about the 'character' of the place. It was code, Eleanor knew, for 'fixer-upper'. But she'd seen the potential, and after months of grueling renovation, it was finally *hers*. The gleaming hardwood floors, the custom kitchen, the art deco light fixtures – all a testament to her vision. She’d thrown a housewarming party last weekend, and the compliments, the envious glances, it was all so satisfying. She stood in the newly-tiled master bath, admiring her reflection. Each perfectly placed tile, a tiny victory.
A phone call disrupted her moment. It was Detective Reynolds, his voice a low monotone. Something about a history on the property, a… previous incident. Eleanor listened, her fingers tracing the smooth, cool countertop. The detective explained the house had been the scene of a murder. Decades ago, yes, but the details were… gruesome. He offered, almost apologetically, to answer any questions.
“Oh, I'm sure it’s just a historical footnote," she said, her tone light, dismissive. "A little mystery to add to the charm, wouldn't you say?" She hung up, a small smile playing on her lips. She went back to admiring the way the light caught the new brass fixtures.