“I need to kill myself in your house.”

That’s how I was introduced to Mr. Mercury Lewis. He rung my doorbell, shocking me out of an already restless sleep, at three fifteen in the morning. I answered the door and that was the first thing he said, no introduction, no slowly getting around to it, straight to the matter at hand, pointing a pistol in my general direction.

“I’m not going to kill you, if you cooperate.” He walked in and motioned me toward the kitchen.

“Hey man, it’ll get better,” I poorly advised.

“No, it won’t, unless I do this. And I’m sorry for this, but the spirit wants you to watch.”

“Spirit?” Now I knew that this man had lost his mind. “What’s your name?”

“Mercury Lewis. I bought this house twenty years ago. A woman appeared on our doorstep. She introduced herself as Mary Williams. She insisted on coming inside to talk about life insurance. We told her we weren’t interested, but she begged, saying she was being watched and that she would get a nominal fee for at least getting in the house. My wife saw no harm in it, so we let her inside. She talked about life insurance for a little bit but it became apparent she had no clue what she was talking about. She asked if she could go get a drink of water. We told her where she could get a glass. She walked back to the kitchen. My boys came back in from playing outside with the neighbors. Mary Williams calmly walked back to the living room, stood in front of my family and shoved a butcher knife into her neck as hard she could, pushing it all the way through to the back side of her head. She fell back to the floor, writhing in pain, contorting this way and that, kicking our coffee table and knocking my wife’s snow globes on the floor. My boys saw everything. They were only ten and twelve. I don’t think they ever really recovered. How could they? I didn’t. My wife didn’t either. She took her own life.

He paused and looked down at the floor.

“We called the ambulance, but by the time they got there she had bled out and died. I tried to grab some towels and stop the bleeding. I didn’t know if I should pull out the knife or not. I won’t tell you what happened next, but you’ll see. And now it’s my turn. It’s a bargain. I do it and the spirit leaves my sons alone. You see sir… by the way, what’s your name?”

“Jeff,” I answered. “Listen we can get you help. There’s no spirit. Please, let me help you Mercury,” I pleaded, but he ignored me and continued talking.

“Well Jeff, you seem like a nice young man but the spirit in this house will never let you go. You belong to it now, unless you end it. I hope you don’t have family. I hope you don’t have kids or a wife. I didn’t want to be deceitful like little Ms. Mary. I’m here to end it. I walked here from my house. Left my car. I didn’t want anyone to trace my presence back to this fucking house. Take my advice, no matter how much you hate this house after this, don’t sell. No matter what you see, make believe you didn’t see it. Persist in your ignorance. If you act like nothing happened, then it will leave you alone, but if you leave, you’ll have hell to pay.” And with that last sentence Mercury Lewis put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

The top of Mercury’s head exploded, painting my kitchen window and ceiling dark red, textured with brain and bone, like a nightmarish Van Gogh creation. I didn’t have time to make my case. He made his explanation and did his deed without any indecision. I was in shock. I went to call the police, when all of the sudden the basement door violently flew open, banging against the chair molding. I heard footsteps, but didn’t see anyone. Mercury’s ankles lifted into the air and his body started moving towards the basement door as if being dragged. His body moved past me and I could feel a deep chill envelop my soul. Mercury’s head left a trail of blood on the kitchen floor. When his body cleared the basement door, it slammed shut. I could hear his head banging against the treads as he was dragged downstairs.

I was confused. Should I call the police or not? How would I explain his body being downstairs? Even if I cleaned the blood trail, they would be able to detect it, they would know I wasn’t being completely honest. Yet, I decided it was the right thing to do. I couldn’t explain everything, but neither could I live with not calling the police. I walked over to the kitchen cabinet where my cell phone was charging. As I went to grab it, the basement door opened again. A cool breeze began to flow. I was shivering with fear and a steady drop in body temperature. Something smashed the phone and shoved it off of the cabinet. It fell to the floor, and shattered the screen. The basement door slammed shut. My body grew warm and the environment was a little more comfortable.

I didn’t call the police. I never reported the incident. I did see on the local news that Mr. Mercury Lewis had went missing. His sons were putting together a group of volunteers to look for him, but I could tell they were disingenuous. They knew what he had done and where he had done it. They were playing out the last act of the play, putting the whole affair behind them. They would search about two more weeks and call it quits after that. I took Mercury's advice and tried to act like nothing had happened, but what worried me most was that he wasn’t the one who sold the house to me. How many more times will I have to endure this? How many more late night visits are scheduled and what the hell is in my basement?