Tanner
Jose and the rest of the crew have been sitting around kicking rocks for days. That’s just how things go, but this house has been the bane of my existence all summer. Once we clear this inspection, work can start up again, but it’s taken weeks to even get to this point.
I scan the behemoth of a house, finally able to see the shape taking form. It’ll be beautiful when it’s done, sure. I’ll make certain of that. While I’m not a fan of modern homes, I’ll leave my mark on this one as best I can. It’ll be the best damn modern home in all of Hahnville.
Storm clouds funnel overhead as I walk around the house, checking the work we’ve done. It’s fully framed now, thank god. I’ve replaced every single fucking tool since we started building the foundation in the spring.
Jake is finally off my ass about the schedule. It sounds like his wife is changing her tune about living here, which means he’s more involved in making this a home rather than a shell made of white and gray walls to sell when we’re done.
He wants it done right and done well. I can do that.
As long as whatever demon who hates power tools stops fucking with my jobsite.
I quit smoking years ago, but the scent of menthol makes my skin prickle with a sudden desire to take a drag as I walk into the backyard, which is nothing more than raw earth with a huge hole where a swimming pool will be in the coming weeks.
“We got the inspector coming any minute now,” I say to the man leaning against the framed back porch. His back is to me as I come to a stop, tucking my hands in the front pockets of my jeans.
His body is cast in shadow as the clouds take on a greenish shade, threatening a downpour that will push this inspection back… again.
“If you’re gonna smoke, go to the tree line. The last thing I need is the inspector thinking I let ya’ll smoke and drink on the job while using power tools.”
A soft, distant chuckle rings through my ears. It sends a chill down my spin as I turn my gaze from the tree line to the man standing near the porch, but…
“Hello?” I call out. “Hey!”
A warm, wet breeze rushes through the trees, disturbing the birds taking shelter from the incoming storm in the shadow of the marsh.
The breeze carries the smell of cigarette smoke, and I feel my stomach curl with a sensation of fear and disgust.
Fucking ghosts. My crew already thinks this place is haunted, and the more time I spend here, the more I think they’re right.
“Hey, boss!” someone calls from the front of the house. “Inspector’s here for ya!”
I scan the backyard, the treeline, and allow my gaze to graze over the distant, shadow cloaked marsh. The cemetery gleams in the green-hued light.
But there’s no one out there.
The guy I saw in the shadows was probably just one of my guys, nothing more. Nothing sinister, like my body seems to think.
I know better, honestly. I grew up just outside of Hahnville in one of the many small towns along the river. I just roamed the wetlands as a boy, disregarding my mother’s warnings and sordid stories about the creatures that called the marshes on the banks of the Mississippi home.
That’s all it was, though. Stories. Tall tales. Fairy tales. The stuff of childhood dreams.
But there’s something about this place that I don’t like. I can feel it everytime I’m here, and now that Bailey’s working at the Wilson place next door, I know she feels it too.
Thankfully, it’s Friday. I’ll have the whole weekend at home, and Bailey will be by my side.
I skirt around the house, making a last minute sweep of the work we’ve done, before coming face to fact with the inspector.
“Mornin’,” I say to Randy Ellsworth, a rat-faced man from New Orleans with a chip on his shoulder almost as big as the clipboard in his meaty hands.
“Looking like a fine morning at that,” he says sarcastically as he glances up at the dark clouds choking the sky.
“I say we have about fifteen minutes before it starts to rain, so let’s get this over with.” I huff, waving him along as I walk up the front porch.
Randy follows me like the little dog he is, and I begin my grand tour.
“You do some good work, Tanner,” Randy says ten minutes later as he looks up into the second and third floor rafters. “I’m guessing the OSHA inspector has been here a few times, based on harnesses and other safety apparatuses you got lying around.”
“I don’t fuck with OSHA, and I especially don’t fuck with workers comp.”
Randy chuckles, nodding. “Fine work. You passed, but I’m guessing you already knew that would happen.”
“This is just the formality I needed to get out of the way before the next phase of work begins.”
Randy and I walk back through the first floor of the house. He pauses in what will one day be the kitchen just as rain starts to patter against the concrete beneath our feet. “Thick foundation, I’ll tell you what.”
“I had the foundation reinforced as best we could, given this place seems to be sinking into the wetlands.”
“That wasn’t a bad call. I’ve failed a few inspections further down the river because of sinking foundations. All those old houses are falling into the marshes, getting swallowed whole, like the wetlands want to erase them from history.”
“You talk like the wetlands are a living thing.”
“Oh, they are! You don’t think so?”
“I don’t mess with it,” I tell him, thinking of Robert Wilson’s ill-fated walk through the marshes.
Randy eyes the framing throughout the kitchen as he says, “You’ve heard the old stories about this place, I assume?”
“Bits and pieces.”
“Ah, well… I had the pleasure of sitting in on a meeting of Hahnville’s historical society recently, just last week. They’re debating your client’s request to have the old graves in that cemetery dug up and moved to the cemetery at Hahnville Baptist, you know. And boy… some folks were beside themselves about the sanctity of it, calling it a crime against the dead to those bodies dug up from their eternal rest. But a few mentioned all the deaths here, all the supposed murders over the decades.”
I chuckle. “Murders? What, ole Miss Penny was out here luring folks to her big house and killing them from her bed?”
Randy gives me a narrowed look. “No, Tanner. Murders spanning the last century or more. Lots of weird things that can’t be explained, at least from what I heard. It sounds like the society was more than willing to let this place go to a private seller when she died instead of having to take care of it themselves. One guy mentioned not wanting to set foot here, and another echoed that, saying the place was the most haunted property in all of Hahnville.”
“Yeah, so what? Does this mean I can expect a crew out here to start taking apart the cemetery while my men are working on the house?”
“Possibly. Honestly, it’s likely. I know your client has been wanting to have the marsh drained to the property line to expand his backyard, and that boundary is just past the cemetery itself. So, nothing’s getting done on that front until the state and feds decide if he can mess with the wetlands, you know.”
I nod, reaching up to adjust my baseball cap so the rain stops hitting me in the face. “Are we good here, then?”
“Yeah. Like I said, you passed.” He starts to walk out but places a hand on the wall in the hallway where the studs are still a little farther apart than usual. I thought we’d fixed that “This is a little odd though. These studs are an usual width apart. You got a plan, here?”
I make an excuse. “Client wants some sort of closet here. We’re still working on it.”
Randy nods but chuckles, “Well, shit. You could hide a body back here pretty easily.”
I stare at him. “That a common thing you see during inspections?”
“You’d be surprised, Tanner,” he replies, exhaling deeply. “I have the most interesting job in the world here in Louisiana. You’d be shocked by what I’ve seen. But, I’ve been in the game long enough to not be surprised about anything more.”
Thunder booms overhead.
He nods to himself. “I’ll have the inspection report sent in, and y’all can get back to work Monday morning. You enjoy your weekend now.”
“You too,” I tell him, watching him walk away without so much as a glance back in my direction.
I make my way out to my crew just as the storm rolls over the top of the house. Everyone is gathering their tools.
“Just take your stuff home for the weekend,” I tell them, nodding to the array of trucks and cars scattered around the driveway. “We’ll start back up on Tuesday. I gotta get Jake here on Monday for a walk through before we start drywallin’ this place up.”
Jose sticks around while the rest of the crew leaves. I walk over to him, ignoring the lightning rippling overhead.
“Hey, I got a question,” I say, and he straightens up, slugging his tool bag over his shoulder.
“Yeah, boss?”
“Were all the guys out here with you when Randy showed up?”
“Uh, yeah. We were all hanging out on the front porch.”
“Everyone? Nobody was out back smoking?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
I nod, but an uncomfortable, twisting feeling settles in my gut. “All right. Take it easy this weekend. I’m gonna have you show up for a few hours on Monday while Jake’s here. We need to have a plan going forward when it comes to doing the finish work, and you’re the foreman for that.”
“You got it, boss.” Jose slaps me on the shoulder before walking out to his truck. I trust Jose. I’ve been working with him for years. He took over his dad’s finish work company a few years ago, and I’ve kept him on as a contractor since then.
He’s an expert in pretty much everything, so he’s been here, at this job site, more than I have recently. If anything weird were going on, besides the problems with the tools, he’d know. And, more importantly, he’d tell me.
I get in my truck and leave the property, but as I get out to close the gate behind me at the very end of the driveway, I look back down the winding, cracked road. It’s a tunnel, basically. Cypress trees hug either side, blocking out the sky.
It’s so dark. So… endless. Like once you start driving down that driveway, you’re driving into another realm entirely.
Just a few more months of this, I tell myself, and climb back into my truck.
When I get home, Bailey is waiting for me with a smile on her beautiful face and a hug that immediately makes me feel safe and comforted.
“How was the inspection?” she asks, resting her hands on my shoulders.
“We passed,” I tell her, brushing my lips over hers. She tastes like chocolate and the diet sodas she likes so much. “Wanna go out to eat tonight?”
“You know I do,” she smiles, leaning in as I kiss her fully. “Where?”
“Let’s get out of Hahnville. I know a place in New Orleans you’ll love.”
“You really want to drive in this storm?”
“It’s not that bad. I can handle a little rain.”