The House on Aphid Street
The one good thing about a bad breakup is starting new again and learning more about yourself. So I decided to start fresh and move to Seattle where the never ending rain showers can wash away old memories and I can escape from sunny, Florida weather and clingy d*bag Miami boyfriends. Upon my new journey to escape, I must venture into the stressful world of  buying a new house. The first property I’m looking at is in the historic district of Seattle on Aphid Street.
“This house is a perfect, old victorian right in the heart of Seattle!” Kathy Kibbon, my real estate agent said as she was welcoming me into the impeccably designed foye the house offered.
“Wow, it’s amazing, hardwood flooring, brick fireplace, and a modern kitchen!”  I excitingly notice.
“Yes, and it’s only going for one-hundred and ninety five thousand!” Kathy replied.
“Holy cow, what’s the catch?!” I ask.
“It’s just been on the market for a while because of issues with the previous owners.”  Kathy answered.
“Well, I’ll take it then!” I exclaim.
Tonight is the first night I’ll be sleeping in my brand new, ultra sleek yet antique brownstone and I couldn’t be happier. Looking through the mirror of my whitewash, subway tile bathroom, my red hair looks dry, my eyes are baggier than ever, and my skin is blotchy and full of rashes. Huh. I must be allergic to something here.
“Ding dong!” the doorbell rings. The lighting of the house is poor and the stairs creak as I open up the front door I see a middle aged lady in a dusty bathrobe.
“LEAVE, LEAVE, LEAVE!” She yells.
“I’m sorry, but am I doing something wrong?” I reply. And then she is gone. “Well, that was odd, she must be senile.” I tell Marty, my adopted cat.
Upon waking up the morning after the old lady incident, I feel nauseous and my throat developed a thick coat of saliva and my skin seems a lot more jaundice than usual. I strip off my satin pink pajama set my mother gave me for my twenty ninth birthday and take a long warm shower, showers help with everything. As I step out of the shower, Marty gives out a loud, hostile howl.
“Marty, where are you hun?” When I’m downstairs, I see Marty screeching at the front door. Looking through the window, I see a tall man dressed in a dark suit and a top hat standing in my backyard staring back at me. “Can I help you?” I ask.
“Are you the new resident of this house?” the man replies.
“I am, is there a problem?” as I reply, the man shapes his mouth in an o and yells at me.
“YOU ARE IN GRAVE DANGER, YOU MUST LEAVE THIS HOUSE!” The man warns. Now I’m scared,  two people have come to my house with episodes of strange insanity directed towards me and yet people in the neighborhood walk by without seeming to notice the extremely odd and creepy threats of the maniacs. I decide it’s time for normal routine and go to work. Driving on I-90 sooths me from the earlier affairs of the day. Suddenly, I start feeling extremely weak, my head throbbing, with droplets of sweat raining off my forehead. I have to turn back home and call the office, I feel like crap.
My legs place themselves inside my house with great struggle, my knees feel weak and my fingers twitch just as soon as I drop my poorly coordinated body and mind onto the leather couch. My eyelids slowly close. I’m in another state of consciousness, nightmares of large insects like spiders, beetles, and moths terrorize my sleep. I awake only to be startled by an adolescent boy with insects crawling in and out of his eyes, nostrils, and ears.
“IF YOU DON’T LEAVE YOU’LL END UP LIKE ME AND MY PARENTS!” the boy intensely cautioned.
“AHHH! WHAT IS HAPPENING, WHO ARE YOU?!” I am about to pee my pants when just like the others, this intruder mysteriously disappears. Thump, thump, thump, my heart has never beaten faster; every breath I take feels like a war within itself. I dial 911 and try to make sense of everything.
“911, what’s your emergency?” the dispatch operator answers. I tell her I need help and within ten minutes, an ambulance arrives along with a detective for the intruder issue. I can barely move when the paramedics carry me onto the gurney and I pass out.
I wake up to voices of doctors. “She has unusual rashes, muscle reaction is low, and her heartbeat is off the charts.” one doctor says.
“We looked at her blood and we found large traces of the chemicals they use for spider killer.” Another doctor says. “The detective called us and said he recognized the house from the news a few years ago. He said the house was infested with insects, so the previous owners called an exterminator but the exterminator had accidently sprayed too much insecticide. When the residents of the house were clear to move back, they all died of poisoning.” 
The heart monitor gave out one last long beep before I flatlined. “She’s flatlining! Resuscitate her!” a nurse yells. A large group of medical interns and nurses came to my side and rhythmically pressed a defibrillator on my chest, thousands of volts of electricity shock me right before my heart gives out and I can feel my soul leaving my body.
“Time of death 12:26” At that moment I know I’m dead and my frail body looks colder than usual with goosebumps lining down my arms. I feel a tap on my shoulder and when I look behind me I see the young boy who greeted me earlier today.
“Do you understand what that house does to you, we warned you but you didn’t listen, you’re one of us now.” the boy says.
“Well what do I do now?” I ask.
“We wait until the next buyer dumb enough to buy that house moves in, then we make them burn it to the ground, agreed?” he says.
“Agreed,” I reply.