The woman hesitated, eyes flicking to her husband before she spoke. “It’s just that… there’s been talk. People say that house is haunted.” Rose blinked, lips parting. Haunted. Of course. Her grip on the doughnut box tightened as she probed, “What kind of talk, exactly?”
The wife leaned in, voice low. “The last owner—no one really knew him. He kept to himself, never came to neighborhood meetings, never gave out candy on Halloween. But there was always constant construction and noise. Hammering, drilling. Even at odd hours of the night.”