We went there to clean, okay? The old lady died. The family wanted an estate sale. Routine job. The place was a fucking mess, right? She must have really let herself go before she finally bit it. The walls were covered with sharpie scrawls, as though toddlers and not an 80-year-old lived there. Same goes for the piles of trash. It smelt of piss and shit. Unwashed bodies. How many times do I have to go over this? I don’t know where Junior is. He’s cleaning one moment, screaming the next. Then… nothing. Gone. Vanished. His clothes were all we found, lying there on that awful bathroom tile as though he had come home drunk and stumbled into the shower. No sign of him. No blood. No nothing. Just the clothes. The mirror all fogged up too, though it was cold as hell in there. I would be lying if I told you I did not hear anything…. I thought something was tapping from the inside of that mirror. Tap tap tap on glass, echoing out of that endless slate of grey. Try and find him if you want. I’m not going anywhere near that fucking house again.
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