Empty Houses

The day was glorious, not a cloud in the sky, or a chill in the air. It was perfect.
Putting put his hands on his hips James stretched his back, getting ready to start his morning rounds. James was a warden in charge of a small group of bungalows that catered for a number of retired residents. In other words, he watched over the geriatrics making sure they behaved themselves.
He smiled at his joke, laughing at his pet name for them. It wasn’t a bad job really, considering everything. He worked seven days a week granted, but it was easy work, just fixing things here and there, general up-keeping of the bungalows really. He had early mornings, but plenty of breaks in between, and as for the residents, they were almost like friends. Most of them were happy to invite him in for tea or to stop and gossip with him so all in all his job was pretty easy.
This morning in particular was going to be especially easy, hence James’ bright mood. Today, all the residents were off on a day trip, one of these organised travel company’s that came round mini buses and took them out, which meant that James had the whole day to himself. Normally, when the residents were all in, his daily round took a good three hours or so, what with stopping to chat and such. But on a day like today he could zip around the houses and be done before lunch. If he planned it right, he might even be finished for good before three then he would have the rest of the day free until they came back.
Grinning to himself, James turned and left his bungalow, pausing to grab his keys and a biscuit off the side counter. Pulling his collar straight James looked around the garden as he walked down the stone path. The first house on his list was Mrs. Staffs. She was a right one, her. Every other week she forgot something, or left it behind somewhere. A few weeks ago it was her bankcard; she was convinced it was stolen. She had me ring up every shop she’d been to, just to see if anyone had handed it in and she still never found it. Her latest saga was a missing brooch made of gold and sapphires. James remembered that day particularly vividly, as she had woken him up at half six, shrieking down the phone about it.
‘I can’t find it’ she kept wailing, her voice growing more and more hysterical.
‘Just calm down Mrs. Staffs, I’m sure it’ll turn up-’
‘But you don’t understand it’s gone missing! It was my mother’s brooch. It’s been in the family for years, I can’t have lost it. It’s been taken.’
It hasn’t really, thought James as walked up to her house; she’s just put it down somewhere and can’t remember where. She’ll find it again in a day or two and deny she ever panicked. But James liked the fact that she came to him; he would help her, he would find it, don’t you worry about it. Unlocking the front door, James walked in, flicking the light on. He had keys to all the bungalows, to every door and window, every lock in their house apart from their own personal safe; it was part of his job description, part of his responsibility and secretly he rather liked it, it made him feel important.
He also liked letting himself in to the houses. There was a degree of calm, he thought, when you walked into an empty house that wasn’t yours. Something about the stillness in the air, like the house is holding its breath, waiting to be lived in.
Walking around, James checked the lights and the fuse box, making sure everything was fine. He felt a faint breeze suddenly and he turned around, seeing the patio door left open.
‘Really’ said James, going over to shut it. ‘And she wonders why her heating bills are so high.’
The next couple of houses passed without much alarm. A few loose screws here, an oiled hinge there; it was all bog-standard, but with no distractions James was whizzing through his list; he might even be done by lunch at this rate.
At Mr. Bank’s house, he strode up to the front door, his eyes catching on a rosebush in full bloom. How Banks did it, James never knew. He could never get his roses to bloom like that no matter what he did; they always wilted or dropped off. Preoccupied with the rosebush, James didn’t notice that the front door was already unlocked. It wasn’t until his key missed the lock and pushed the door open did James turn around abruptly to stare at the door with surprise. It was a good job they all had James keeping an eye on the place he thought, letting himself in, who knows what would happen otherwise. Putting his keys in his pocket he stopped hearing a floorboard creak in the bedroom to his right. That’s odd, thought James, standing frozen for a second, Mr. Banks didn’t have a cat so what was making the floorboards creak? Casting his eyes suspiciously over the room, James stopped, spotting a flash of blue on the floor. Bending down, he saw to his amazement that it was Mrs. Staff’s brooch.
‘How did it get in here?’ murmured James in awe. Pocketing it, he left the bedroom, shutting the door behind him, laughing quietly.
His smile lasted the rest of the morning as he looked for the blown bulb Mr. Banks had reported. He checked the bathroom, the sitting room; he even checked the utility room. But while he was looking, he had the oddest sense that something was out of place.
Mr. Banks must be getting on a bit now, thought James as he looked around. It happened after you’d been here a while, you start to notice when the signs of dementia getting slowly worse. They’d forget a name one day and wear miss-matching clothes without realising it the next. Looking around the bungalow now, James felt sad, seeing the usually tidy rooms fall into a scattered decline. Mr. Banks was usually a devil for detail, with everything having its proper place, but it was beginning to slip. The cushions were in the wrong places, the piles of books were uneven and separated, almost as if Banks had lost something and was trying to find it. Everything had a feeling of confusion and turmoil to it.
Sighing, James pulled himself together and found the blown bulb in the kitchen. Climbing up on a stool, he took out the bulb and left it on the side, standing it up against the breadbin. He left the house to fetch his tools, returning five minutes later. It wasn’t until he screwed in the fresh bulb did he notice the old bulb was lying on the counter, away from the breadbin.
‘Now that’s odd’ said James to himself, screwing in the fresh bulb slowly. ‘I could have sworn I-’
Trailing off, James shook his head again, checking the light worked. He was getting as bad as Mr. Banks he thought as he returned the stool back to its place. Hearing the wooden legs of the stool scraping against the stone floor, James stopped, hearing something else in the bungalow; a tap was running, the water gurgling as it ran down the drain. Frowning, James walked to the bathroom, where he saw that a tap was left running.
‘Now what did that?’ asked James, turning off the tap. He’d been around the house already, he’d checked in here and the tap wasn’t on before, or was it? No, no it can’t have been. James shook his head and left, shutting the door firmly behind him, walking back to the kitchen. But to his surprise, he saw that the bedroom door was left ajar despite him closing it earlier. What’s more, the light was left on, the curtains had been pulled down and the bed covers were thrown back. Now this was getting ridiculous, what the hell was going on? Storming over to the bed, he pulled the covers back, tidying up. He must need his eyes checking thought James; how could he have missed this the first time round?
Shaking his head, James straightened the bedcovers and left, turning the light off. He gathered his tools and walked from the bungalow, shutting the door behind him. He wasn’t seen as he walked back to his office; ghosts rarely are in the bright summer sunshine. In the distance, the new, younger porter was doing his rounds, tidying up the place and fixing things. James threw a dark look at the porter as he followed the path back to his office, watching him tend to Mr. Banks’ rosebush.
‘He won’t last,’ thought James jealously. ‘He’ll never live up to me.’