House Hunters

The young man pinched the bridge of his nose.  It had been a long day, during which the lesson had been reinforced: you just can’t please some people.  He tried to maintain an air of professional patience while his clients, an elderly couple, dithered and prevaricated.

“I don’t know,” said the old woman.

“I don’t know,” said the old man.  “It’s just not ticking the boxes.”

“No,” said the old woman.

“No,” said the old man.  “The last place you showed us was better.”

“Yes,” said the old woman.

“Yes,” said the old man.  “That place ticked a few boxes.”

The young man couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  “The lighthouse?” he gasped.  “The decommissioned lighthouse?  You hated it.  You said it was too remote.”

“It was,” said the old woman.

“It was,” said the old man.  “And we’d never get any peace.  All those waves crashing about on the rocks.”

“Ooh, no,” said the old woman.

“Ooh, no,” said the old man.

“Let me get this straight,” wailed the young man.  “You’re saying this eighteenth century coach house is worse than the decommissioned lighthouse – and you hated the lighthouse.”

“Yes,” said the old woman.

“Yes,” said the old man.

“So,” the young man could feel one of his headaches coming on, “Let’s review.  You don’t like this place, you didn’t like the lighthouse.  What about the first place I showed you?”

“Which one was that?” said the old woman.

“Which one was that?” said the old man.  “Oh, yes.  The barn conversion.”

“Ooh, no,” said the old woman.

“Ooh, no,” said the old man.  “It didn’t have the wow factor.”

Give me strength, groaned the young man.

“I think it’s your best bet.  Not too noisy, not too quiet.  You’ll get on with the other tenants.”

“Ooh, no!” cried the old woman.

“Ooh, no!” cried the old man.  “We can’t be doing with that.  We can’t be doing with sharing.”

Despite his best efforts, the young man was wilting visibly.  The old man nodded to his wife and drew the young man aside.

“Listen, sonny.  Me and the Mrs have been together all our lives.  Since primary school – before that, even.  And we’ve never spent any time apart.  It’s always been just me and her, her and me, and that’s the way it’s going to be forever and ever, amen.  They want to split us up, put her in a home.  Well, I’m not standing for that.  Oh, no!  But if you’re not up to the job, if you can’t provide the service we’re paying you for – well, we won’t waste any more of your time.”

The young man closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  “So, what’s it going to be, the lighthouse?”

“No,” said the old woman.

“No,” said the old man.  “It’s been a long day.  We’re tired.  You’re tired.  Here will do fine.”

“What, here? But you –” The young man stopped himself.  They had come to a decision at last.  Best not to question it.

“It’s fine, love,” the old woman smiled.

“It’s fine, son,” the old man smiled.  “As long as we’re together.  That’s what matters.”

“Right,” the young man clapped his hands.  “There is just the matter of my fee.”

The old man swiped his finger across his phone.  The device beeped agreeably.  “Bank transfer complete!”  He showed the young man the screen.

“Right,” said the young man.  “Brilliant.  This is it, then.”

“This is it,” said the old woman.

“This is it,” said the old man.

He reached for his wife’s gnarled hand.  The old couple closed their eyes and smiled while the young man sliced open their throats with a razor.

The old couple slumped and toppled into a pool of their commingling blood.  As they died, the young man took out his phone and checked his bank balance.


He took one last look around the coach house.  Not a bad place in which to spend the rest of eternity, he reckoned.  Especially when you get to share it with the love of your life.

At the door, he called back to the old couple, wondering if they could hear him.

“Happy haunting!”


1 Comment

Filed under Short story

One response to “House Hunters

  1. Spanish Jackie

    And who says estate agents arn’t helpful ? Great story.

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