The House On James' Park Road - 1. Chapter 1

"This area has some little gems," the realtor said as they drove through the neighbourhood. "As you can see, this part of town is in flux. There are new homes being built and some older ones being torn down. It's been like this for a couple of years now."

Ruth watched through the passenger side window as they turned onto James' Park. Gaps appeared between houses; these were empty spaces where a house once stood. A few of the lots were fenced; others were staked with bright survey ribbons fluttering in the breeze.

She glanced at the realtor. "Why so many empty lots? Was there a fire or something?"

The realtor shook her head. "No, nothing dramatic. It's just the city rezoning, and developers are buying up properties. Some owners sold, some held out. You get these pockets – one house left standing, surrounded by construction. The market is moving fast."

Ruth nodded as she absorbed the information. "So, maybe you can find me a good deal?"

"We have a few to look at, Ms. Jackson. Honestly, if you're comfortable with a bit of change around you, you can get more house for your money right now. And in a couple of years, this street will look completely different."

Ruth felt a glimmer of hope rise in her. She had not felt anything like it in months.

They stopped in front of a small two-storey house. It was older but not worn down like some of the others. A For Sale sign, a little faded, was staked in the front lawn.

"I’m honestly surprised a developer hasn’t bought this one yet." The realtor glanced at the house, then at the empty one to the left. "Places that sit empty don't usually last long around here." She smiled as she reached for the lockbox, but Ruth noticed she did not turn her back to the windows. "Would you like to look inside?"

Ruth nodded.

The house was brighter and roomier than she'd expected. The living room would hold her furniture with no problem. Upstairs, the master bedroom was large. The windows looked newer and let in the afternoon light.

In the kitchen, Ruth paused. She liked the simple layout. The sliding door opened onto a small backyard and patio.

"This would be easy to take care of," she said. "A few flowers. Maybe some tomatoes."

The realtor smiled. "That's the nice thing about these older places. The yards are manageable, and you get a bit of history. The new builds are nice, but they don't have the same character. So, what do you think?"

Ruth looked around once more, letting herself imagine the space filled with her things. "I’ve made some notes," she said, smiling. "I like this one."

"That's great." The realtor walked to the front door. "Let's go see a couple more."

***

Ruth sat across from the realtor later that day, her hands in her lap, clutching her handbag. "I'd like to put an offer in for the first one on James' Park," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

The realtor's face lit up. "Wonderful. I'll get the paperwork started right away." She turned to her computer. "You know, I think you'll be happy there. It's a good street, and you'll see – once the dust settles, it will be a real neighbourhood again."

Ruth managed a small smile. "I hope so. It's been a while since I felt at home anywhere."

The realtor glanced up, her tone softening. "Sometimes a fresh start is exactly what you need. And you'll be surprised how quickly a place can start to feel like yours."

***

The next morning, at her apartment, Ruth got ready for work. The place felt strangely still. She stood in the small bathroom, applying her makeup, and caught her eye in the mirror. "This place was ours," she said softly.

The bedroom hadn't felt right for a while now. There was too much space in the bed, but she slept in it anyway, waking more often than she used to, her hand resting on the empty pillow beside her.

She looked down at the toothbrush standing alone in the cup. Her makeup sat on the counter where Lisa's things used to be, the surrounding space too clean, too deliberate. Ruth smiled faintly, but the smile faded quickly. She was getting used to finding absence in ordinary places.

At the door, only her coat hung from the rack. Only her purse waited on the table. On the small table by the door, an envelope still addressed to Lisa sat where Ruth had left it days ago — a catalogue, or some subscription renewal neither of them had cancelled. She crossed out the address, wrote Return to Sender — No Longer at This Address along the top, and set it with the outgoing mail. Ruth looked back once, at the silent rooms, then stepped out and went to work.

The following day, her phone rang as she sat at her desk. The realtor's voice was bright. "Congratulations, Ruth! Your offer was accepted. I'll send over the next steps for you."

Ruth grinned, relief and nerves mingled. "Thank you. I can't wait to get started."

The weeks that followed blurred together with work, meetings, signatures, boxes, and finally picking up the keys. On that first afternoon in the empty house, Ruth stood in the hallway. She felt something she hadn't expected, a small sense of relief.

This would be her space.

She would fill it with things that belonged only to her.

***

Moving day arrived. The movers were efficient, and by the afternoon the apartment was empty, and the house was filled with her boxes and furniture. The men put the bed together, chatting about the neighbourhood as they worked. Once they'd gone, Ruth stood in the living room and sighed. There's no rush now.

She had organized everything so her linens, clothes, toiletries, and kitchen basics could be unpacked quickly. She used the extra time available to go to the store for groceries.

After putting things away, she set up her little bistro table and two chairs in the kitchen.

Upstairs, she made the bed in the master bedroom. She put the rest of the packed boxes in the other room to be unpacked another day.

That night, sleep was elusive. It was too quiet. She sat up and wrapped herself in her robe, listening for the ordinary sounds that had always filled her apartment: traffic beyond the window, pipes ticking in the walls, another tenant closing a door. Here, there was only the stillness of the dark. Her blackout curtains stopped the light from outdoors. Inside, the blackness felt endless, as if the walls and room had expanded while she slept.

The space felt larger.

Empty.

She refused to turn on the light.

***

Days settled into a rhythm. Ruth went to work, came home, and had a sandwich or cereal for dinner. She continued to unpack and settle in.

On the weekend, she went outside into the backyard and tidied the borders of the small patch of grass. She made flower beds and prepared the soil for plants.

"Hello!" The voice came from over the fence.

Ruth looked up, startled. A woman stood on the other side of the fence, a watering can in her hand.

"I'm Cindy. From next door. Your yard's looking better already."

Ruth smiled, a little shy. "Thank you. I'm still figuring out what to plant."

Cindy grinned. "Well, welcome. I hope you like it here. If you need anything, just knock."

"I think I will like it here." After a moment, Ruth added, "I'd better go. I've still got plenty to unpack."

"Oh, sure. Nice meeting you."

"And you." Ruth gathered her tools and went back inside. She was oddly relieved to close the door behind her.

***

The weeks settled into a routine she could manage. After work, she came home, fixed a simple meal, and spent evenings tending the house and garden. She liked the feeling of having a clean house, and the flowers she'd planted were growing. She put some in pots outside her front door. Ruth liked the bright colours and life.

She slept well most nights. When she woke in the dark, the house still felt larger than it did during the day, like lungs expanding. She would not get up or turn on the light. By morning, the feeling always passed.

That evening, she came home from work, placed her bag on the table in the front hall, and hung up her coat.

She went straight into the kitchen, already thinking about dinner, and took a plate from the cupboard.

When she turned back, she paused.

One of the chairs at the table was angled slightly away, one leg no longer tucked beneath it.

She frowned and nudged the chair back into place. The wood scraping the floor seemed loud in the quiet house. I must have knocked it this morning. Ruth went on making her sandwich and found herself aligning the plate in the centre of the table when she sat down.

*** 

One night, Ruth was asked to work late. She did so, reluctantly, and when the manager ordered sandwiches, she saved half of hers to take home.

It was fully dark by the time she turned onto James' Park. She felt a small sense of relief when the house came into view, its windows unlit. After parking, she sat for a moment and then reached for her keys.

Inside, she hung up her coat and went into the kitchen. She filled the kettle for tea, took a small plate from the cupboard, and set her sandwich down on the table.

The chair was angled away from the table again.

Ruth stopped.

She checked the sliding door. It was locked. After a moment's hesitation, she pushed the chair back into place carefully. I must have bumped into it this morning. She knew this excuse was thin and didn't truly believe it.

Later that night, when the quiz show ended and the television was turned off, she couldn’t stop thinking about the chair.

Annoyed, Ruth went back into the kitchen and crouched to line up the front leg of both chairs with a seam in the tile. She stood, took out her phone, and snapped a quick picture.

"There." She spoke aloud, like she was talking to a friend.

Before going upstairs, she checked the chair once more. Satisfied, she turned on the hall light and switched off the lamps on the first floor. It was too quiet, though, and the darkness pressed closely around her. She ran up the stairs, annoyed at herself for being afraid.

The next morning, the sun was rising. Ruth smiled as she looked down on her little garden from the bathroom window. The flowers were filling their beds.

It will be a lovely yard soon.

It was Saturday, but Ruth had arranged to go into work for a couple of hours. Her team had a project due.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she opened her phone and studied the picture she'd taken of the chair legs. They sat on the tile seams. She zoomed in until the image blurred, then pinched it smaller again. The evidence was ordinary, which somehow made it worse. After a deep breath, she stood and went downstairs.

In the kitchen, the chairs were still sitting where she'd left them. She let out a breath.

"I must have been careless before."

Satisfied, Ruth made her breakfast and prepared to leave for a few hours.

After putting on her jacket, she returned to the kitchen. She checked that the sliding door was locked, tugging it lightly to be sure, and then rested her hand on the back of each chair. Nodding, she finally let herself go to work.

***

That evening, Ruth returned later than she'd expected, having stopped in to see her sister. For most of the visit, she'd felt distracted, her thoughts tugging her back to the house. Now, standing in the doorway, she paused and listened.

The house was quiet. The steady hum of the refrigerator was familiar and oddly calming. It signalled all was well.

Normal.

She switched on the hall light, then walked through to the living room and turned on the lamps. The television followed, and its warm glow filled the room. Last, she went to the kitchen and turned on the overhead lights.

Ruth stared at the table.

The chairs were still aligned, exactly where she'd left them.

She sighed aloud. "You're being ridiculous, Ruthie." After another deep breath, she put the kettle on and took a plate from the cupboard.

That night, she slept through.

***

She woke Sunday to more bright sun and promised she'd get out to tend the garden and water the pots by the front door. After dressing, she trotted down the stairs and stepped into the kitchen.

She froze.

One chair was off its seam.

Ruth stared at it. "It was fine last night." She pulled her phone from her pocket and brought up the picture. The chair legs sat clearly on the tile seam. "It's clearly not now. What is going on?"

Ruth looked at the floor. It was clean. She checked and rechecked the lock on the sliding door. It was fine. Outside, the patio stones looked clean and unmoved— no footprints or disturbed dirt anywhere.

"This is so weird," she whispered. "Have I started sleepwalking? How do you check that?"

Everything else was where she'd left it.

Except the chair.

***

Leaving the kitchen, Ruth checked the other windows and doors around the house. "It's all fine."

In the hall closet, Ruth found her small toolbox and rooted in it until she found a roll of black electrical tape.

Squaring her shoulders, she marched into the kitchen, grabbed the offending chair and pushed it firmly back into place. Then, squatting down, she pushed and pulled on the chair until it sat precisely on the tile seam.

She tore off several pieces of tape, boxing in each leg of both chairs, on the floor. When she'd finished all eight legs, she took another picture. Checking it, she saw eight legs trapped neatly within the black outlines.

Satisfied, Ruth went about her day, though she found herself drifting into the kitchen more often than necessary. "I'm not checking. I just need a drink."

But she did check. And each time she did, neither chair had moved.

"It must be the house settling, or I'm becoming very forgetful."

***

When bedtime rolled around, Ruth refused to look in the kitchen. She ran up to turn on the upstairs light before turning off everything downstairs. Again, that night, she hurried back up the stairs.

Once she was in bed, she got up and closed the bedroom door. After climbing back in, Ruth lay awake. She rolled over from side to side, thoughts of the chair becoming obsessive in the dark.

She lay on her back, trying to think of other things, but the inky darkness pressed down on her. "I'll get up." After pulling on her robe, she stood with one hand on the bedroom door and waited, though she did not know what she expected to hear. When she finally opened it, the distance to the stairs felt wrong, longer somehow, stretched.

In the hall, she looked down.

There were no stairs. The first floor appeared to be gone, swallowed by darkness.

"It's just dark." Ruth paused and listened. There was nothing but the gentle hum of the refrigerator below.

She went back to bed. This time she was comfortable on her right side, and she slept.

***

Ruth woke refreshed. She'd slept well. It was going to be a good day. They'd done good work on Saturday, and Ruth looked forward to her boss' comments.

After dressing, she went to the kitchen. She glanced at the chairs. The legs remained in their boxes.

Something drew her eyes upward.

The light was on.

Ruth stood very still. She was certain she had turned it off.

She remained where she was, chewing the inside of her cheek, then looked out at the patio. Nothing there but her plants. The grass needed cutting, and any footprints would be seen.

She turned back to the switch, flicked it off and on. It worked normally. Bending slightly, she gazed at the chair legs. They remained where she'd put them.

Ruth released a long breath. She made tea and took it into the living room. As she drank, she thought about the house: the way it felt larger at night, the chair moving when she wasn't around, then the light this morning. She listed possible explanations in her mind and rejected none of them because rejecting them would leave her with the one explanation she would not name.

She pulled her phone from her pocket and made a call.

"Hi, it's Ruth. Listen, I'm not feeling well and won't be in for a couple of days. Could you put my presentation on hold until midweek? I want to be there. Please let me know. Thank you."

Ruth sat in the chair that hadn't moved. The kitchen was filled with light.

Her chair rocked a little. "Oh, the floor is a bit uneven here." She moved side to side. "It's an older place, too. Maybe that, along with the vibration of the fridge, has something to do with things moving."

She walked through the other rooms, touching the windows and walls, running her hands over them. "You're mine."

That evening, Ruth did not run upstairs. Instead, she turned off all the lights and sat on her chair in the kitchen. Outside there was no moon, no light. The darkness spread, and the walls seemed to retreat. She kept both feet flat on the floor and both hands folded in her lap, as if the house had asked her to sit properly.

Waiting.

Determined.

A faint click sounded.

The refrigerator compressor kicked off. The house settled, making soft sounds as the wood contracted. Across from her, one taped leg lifted and dropped back into place.

Ruth didn’t flinch or react. Instead, she watched and waited, allowing the house to make its decision. Gradually, the darkness lost its grip, and the room felt like itself again.

There was no one there. The house settled around her.

She no longer felt afraid of living with it.

She exhaled.

***

The next morning, after filling the kettle, Ruth slid open the patio door and stepped out. The breeze lifted her hair. Cindy was out, watering her garden.

"Good morning, Cindy," Ruth called out.

Cindy smiled and came over, and they talked easily. "Some of us go to the rec centre down the block to meet up and have coffee. We share the cost and some of us bring something to eat. I hope you'll come."

Ruth nodded. "I'd like that. I could drive us."

***

Later, back inside, Ruth peeled the tape from the floor. She set one chair straight on the seam and left the other slightly angled, then rested her hands on the back of it.

"That's for you."

For a moment, she stood there, listening. The house was familiar now, but familiarity was not the same as safety. The faint sounds of it settling moved through the rooms with patience that made Ruth lower her voice, though she was alone.

Ruth smiled.

The afternoon sun moved slowly across the floor.

The refrigerator hummed softly behind her. At the table, the angled chair rocked once, very gently, and settled back exactly where Ruth had left it.

She was home.