I was meeting my wife at the house.

It was the perfect one, at least what we saw of it online. It was older, and it had all of the character that we’d been looking for. The last three houses we’d seen were in cookie cutter, new construction subdivisions, and neither of us felt great about the options. Though, I did like the amount of room the modern houses left for a new television.

I pulled up, and I soon realized that I was the only one there. I put the car in park, and started checking my phone.

I just happened to look up, and see my wife’s dark green sports car pulling up behind me. I winced when I realized how close she got to my bumper. We both exited our vehicles, in order to wait for the real estate agent on the sidewalk.

“Where’s Sam?” I asked.

“He called and said he’s be running late again,” my wife said.

“Figures.”

My wife looked over my shoulder, and I heard someone coming up behind us. I turned to see a slim man, rushing down the sidewalk. He was wearing a suit, but it was slightly rumpled, as though he’d slept in it.

“Hi,” he said, “I’m Kyle. are you looking at the house?”

“Yes,” I said, “did Sam send you?”

He hesitated longer than he should have, but I didn’t think about it at the time.

“Yes, yes, Sam. He called and said he couldn’t make it. If you’ll follow me, we’ll go take a look.”

He lead us up the walkway. His briefcase kept making strange noises; it sounded like metal scraping and scratching.

“What do you keep in that?” I gestured to the briefcase.

“Oh, just a few tools. These old houses are pretty unpredictable. I like to be prepared.”

The briefcase jangled all the way up the walkway to the old Victorian two-story we were looking at.

“How long has the house been on the market?” my wife asked. She knew most of the questions to ask. I was there mostly to nod and agree. And, to try to not look bored.

“Uh…two months,” he said. My wife gave me a questioning look.

“When was the house built?” she asked.

Kyle turned his head slightly. He glowered at her. He nearly bared his teeth. My wife couldn’t see, but I caught the reflection in a picture frame. I chalked it up to being annoying but, there was something that sent a cold trickle down my spine.

“1890,” he said.

My wife shot me another look. He must have gotten the answer wrong.

He set the brief down. It was starting to make me nervous. It sounded like metal, but not dull scraping of tools. My dad carried tool bags his whole life, and they didn’t sound like that. Something about it just seemed off.

“Why don’t we take a look around,” he said, “do you want to start in the basement?’

There was no way I was going in the basement with him.

“Why don’t we start up stairs first?’ I suggested.

“Ok,” Kyle said. He didn’t make a face at me. But I could tell has annoyed.

We looked through bedrooms, and the bathrooms. The house seemed to be in good shape. The were some cosmetic changes that needed to be made, but for the most part, I thought we’d make an offer on it.

Though, and it was hard to tell, I kept feeling like Kyle was staring at me. We descended the stairs and while Kyle showed my wife the kitchen, I took the opportunity to check the briefcase. It was in the foyer, an old, worn, brown leather briefcase. But, there were disturbing stains splashed on it. They were dark brown, with a reddish tinge. I double checked to make sure he wasn’t looking, and I undid the snaps. I prayed to find a hammer and crowbar.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

There were knives of various size. There was a length of chain, and a plastic drop cloth, and gloves. It was a murder kit. And the creep was in the kitchen with my wife. I sprinted around the corner, and charged the two of them. My wife was facing me, and the look on her face made Kyle turn. I gave him and hard, two handed shove, and sent the smaller man flying into the dining room table.

“Michael? What are…” but I didn’t let her finish. I grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards the door. On our way out, I showed her the briefcase. She nearly screamed, but I had her follow me out of the house. There, we saw Sam waiting on the sidewalk.

“Ha, couldn’t wait to get in the house huh? You’re not really supposed to — ”

“Who’s the freak you sent us?”

“What?” he asked.

“That creep in there with the murder kit. Where’s he from?”

“I didn’t send anybody. I was just running late. I called you.”

“You didn’t send Kyle?” she asked.

“I don’t know anyone named Kyle,” Sam said.

Just then, I looked at the window. I say Kyle staring at us. His eyes were small and nearly black. He was smiling. But, it was a harsh, evil smile. I swear his teeth were pointed. He disappeared from the window.

We called the police. They searched the house, and the neighborhood.

But, they never found Kyle.