It wasn’t the house itself that held the reputation. The tenants were those that attracted the most attention.

The house was spotless, at least what one could see from the streets; the wood was shiny and clean, the roof was intact, the gutters were cleaned, the lawn was mowed and the garden, composed solely of roses, was kept neat, orderly and alive. The house, from what one could see, looked perfectly respectable.

Odd, the windows, as spotless as they were, were shrouded by deep crimson curtains, and no one was able to see anything of the inside. The occasional ruffle of curtain attracted much attention from the rest of the neighborhood, but the most anyone had ever seen was the flash of a pale hand.

But as soon as the attention would be draw to the house, it faded away again.

And, once again, Its just the wind was what the adults would tell the children that perceived cries coming from BelleHaven house in the darkness of the night.

………………………………………

She didn’t like it.

Too prissy, clean and well-groomed. Everything she wasn’t.

Ilithya bit her lip nervously. She was standing, clad in jeans, a black hoodie and a pair of combat boots, at the corner of Lovely road and Chestnut drive. The street that she was staring at was anything but welcoming to those like her; each house was identical, a huge, pristine white mansion, with perfectly groomed lawns and lovely flower beds. The sidewalk was as clean and white as the houses were.

She thought back to her yoga classes, closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath.

Om.

She opened her eyes again. The street was still there.

Ah well. She sighed, groaned and picked up the backpack she had rested on the sidewalk. She stood up straight, fixed a strand of brown hair behind her ear, took another deep breath and began walking into the street.

“Why hello there!”

Ilithya jumped. She didn’t notice anyone outside. But in front of the first white house was an old woman, with snow white hair and little creases in her cheeks when she smiled. She was busy watering a rosebush of pink roses.

“I’ve never seen you around here before,” the friendly woman continued. “Are you looking for someone?”

“Um, yes I am. I was sent here to help…” Ilithya pulled an old piece of paper out of her pocket, and skimmed over the name for the upteenth time. “Ms. Page… at Bellehaven house.”

The woman’s expression darkened.

“Its number 58,” she gestured vaguely to her right. “You cant miss it, dear.”

“Thank you.” Ilithya resumed her walking.

“By the way, if ever you need anything, you can come see me.” She smiled at her. Ilithya mumbled a vague response, and kept walking.

50, 52, 54, 56…

“fifty eight.” She whispered to herself as she stopped in front of the house.

The woman was right. You couldn’t miss it.

The house was as big as the other houses, if not bigger. The wood wasn’t painted white, and was dried and rotting away. The roof was falling apart, the windows were dirty and broken, the flowers were dead and the grass was dry. It looked like no one had lived in the house for at least a century. It stuck out like a sore thumb with all the flawless houses around it.

Ilithya stared for a moment. She definitely belonged here.

She took a few steps up the front steps to get to the door, the wood dangerously creaking under her feet. She stopped in front of the door, and paused for a moment before lightly tapping on the old wood. When no one answered, she knocked louder.

Finally, the door creaked open, and a woman appeared.

“Can I help you?” she spoke slowly and quietly. She was old, with wrinkles scattered all over her face and shriveled hands. She had thin, cracked lips, white hair peppered with grey that was pulled in a loose bun, and was dressed in an old black velvet dress. Her eyes were so pale that Ilithya couldn’t see the colour.

“Um, hi, I’m Ilithya, I was sent by my mother, your grand-niece, to help you around the house…” Ilithya’s voice drifted off at the end, while the woman examined her.

“Of course” she smiled weakly. “My lovely great-grand-niece Ilithya. Your mother always has liked strange names…” She took a step back and opened the door wider. “Come in, child.”

The inside of the house was old, as old as the outside seemed to be. As Ilithya was lead through the house and up the stairs, she tried to get a look at the rooms she was standing in, but it was too dark to see.

“Um, Ms. Page?”

“Please dear, call me aunt Vivian. Or just Vivian.”

“Um, aunt Vivian, why are all the curtains closed? Its so dark, you can barely see…”

The woman didn’t answer, and the only sound for a long time was her soft footsteps, and Ilithya’s loud ones.

“It doesn’t matter really.” She said quietly. Ilithya stayed confused, then she realized.

“Oh, I’m sorry… I didn’t realize…” She fumbled with her words, but Vivian stopped and smiled at her.

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t think We’ve seen the inside of this house in decades…”

“We?”

“Your great-uncle. He’s resting, I’ll introduce you later. Your mother always was his favorite…”She walked another little while until she arrived at the end of a hallway.

“This is your room dear.” Vivian opened a heavy wooden door, and stepped inside. Ilithya stayed in the hallway, examining the wall. On it was a big pane of glass, with a heavy antique copper frame incrusted with black stones. She ran her finger across the surface, and examined her dirty finger, and then the glass.

“Aunt Vivian, this is a beautiful mirror..."

“A mirror?” Vivian laughed silently. “Don’t be silly, Ilithya. We've never had any mirrors in this house. Blind men don’t need mirrors…”