The rain trickled softly on the roof like a light finger tapping.

George, the previous owner, was down in the basement, digging into the foundation,

deep into the earth with dress of pickaxe and shovel.

Covered in mud and his own vomit, George Clawl at his head, pulling out large chunks of his own hair.

He was practically bald for a man in his 30s who had once had such vibrant, luscious hair.

His fingernails were bloody, rubbed raw down to the stumps.

This was the normal, George.

In the past few weeks, George had lost a great deal of weight, barely

over 100 pounds. His skin was pulled tight, burned red from head to toe. Through the

mock of vomit and diarrhea, George, despite his weakened state, continued

to dig. He reported to his friends and family in the previous weeks of increased headaches,

bouts of dizziness, and constantly nauseous.

At one point he stopped answering their calls.

Despite their pleas for him to seek medical attention, his friends and family figured

he needed some time alone after his breakup

allowing him some time to get situated in his new house. When the authorities

found his decayed corpse lying in a vast hole in the basement.

The mystery and conspiracy theories came in full swing.

God, I wish I knew all about George before I bought the house,

before everything had changed.

I purchased the house that autumn. It was only listed on the market for a few weeks before I put an offer in.

I visited the house a few times with the realtor,

...