The room was empty, except for a spider skittering across the floor. It didn’t make it very far.
“Damn bugs,” McDermott growled, scraping his boot across the floor boards. He looked around the room, nodded once, then walked to the far end of it and opened the closet. Empty. The boys had done a thorough job.
The old house had been on the market for a while. Richard McDermott knew its history well, including the murders. Three separate families had been killed in this house in less than a decade.
The Richardsons were strangled in their beds. Husband, wife, two kids. Three years later, the Browns moved in. Young couple, planning to build their lives there. Young wife was found in the kitchen, decapitated. Husband disemboweled in the tub. Then came the Dukes. Big family. Died in ways so gruesome that nobody even talked about them anymore. Just tried to scrub them from memory.
Everyone said the house was haunted, or more likely, possessed by the Devil. McDermott didn’t pay much attention to any of it.
There were no ghosts or demons to worry about in this place.
There was only the thing in the basement. McDermott had no idea what it really was, where it had come from or how long it had been in the house. He just knew he didn’t want it to get out. So he kept it fed, as often as he could. Everyone knew about the three families. Nobody knew about the others, the ones McDermott brought in himself.
It had been hungry for the past few months. But that was about to change. A new family was moving in next week.
McDermott walked out of the house and locked the door behind him.
Just one more week.