My approach to the prompt is admittedly a bit cliche, but hopefully there's enough of a twist to keep you engaged. This was fun. It's my first ghost story.
After dinner, our host, who was then renting the place, told us that the house was both conceived and constructed entirely by the hands of its original owner.
I listened with intrigue, not so much for his architectural insight, but rather because these were the first words the man had uttered all night. Since our arrival, conversation had been scarce. What little had been said was limited to the obligatory greetings and few brief discourses between my fiancé and the fragile apparition who introduced herself as Mrs. Clairmont.
Upon learning of our business with the property and our request to visit for a brief inspection, Mrs. Clairmont had insisted we stay for dinner. I was reluctant, fearing an awkward situation. Yet she seemed resigned to the loss of the lease and gave no visible sign of protest. Midway through dinner, and without a word, her husband joined us at the dinner table. He did not eat. In fact, I wondered why he had bothered to join us at all. He just sat motionless, his face locked in consternation.
It was only when his wife hovered to the kitchen to make coffee that he finally spoke. "It took ten years to build this place. Just one man." He looked up at me. "Ten years to build. Lived here for thirty. Say, let me show you around."
He stood, and I followed. My fiancé questioned me with her eyes.
"It's alright," I reassured her. "I'll return shortly."
I followed the old man from the dining room into the main hallway and then to what might have once been the study. In the distance, I heard my fiancé greet Mrs. Clairmont upon her return to the dining room.
"Mr. Clairmont," I inquired, "How is it exactly that you have such knowledge of the construction of this property?"
"Ten years to build it," he repeated. "Can't just walk away from that."
"Excuse me?" I interrupted. But he continued without acknowledging the question.
"It was all because of her. Couldn't just walk away. Not from ten years, not from thirty. Could you imagine that?"
I stared at the man in confusion. He reached out to touch the walls, caressing the door frames and the trim work. I myself couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship, the intricacy of the molding, the ornamental ceilings. The property truly was everything I had hoped it would be, a tremendous investment.
"She's a beauty," he continued. "Love of a lifetime." I was ready to voice my consent when I noticed the man was holding a picture frame. As I approached, I could see it was a picture of Mrs. Clairmont.
"She loves this place." He traced the outline of her face in the photograph.
"Dear?" My fiancé's voice echoed down the empty corridor.
"Yes, darling," I answered. "I'll be right there."
I turned back to Mr. Clairmont only to discover the old man had left me to myself without notice.
I returned to the dining room where the women were saying their good-byes. Mrs. Clairmont took my hand in hers. They were cold. "Sir, does the property meet your expectations?" she queried.
"It does indeed. I was just admiring the craftsmanship with your husband."
The old woman furrowed her brow, then she brightened with understanding.
"Ah, you mean the craftsmanship OF my husband. Yes, he was quite the carpenter, my Charles. He so loved this house. After his death, I just couldn't keep it up. Had to sell it. But the owners were nice enough to let me haunt these halls for a few more years. I know you two will be so happy here."
Read other responses to the October 2010 writing prompt or submit your own response.