A sleek black car crawls lazily down the street before finally pulling up in front of a modest house with a “For Sale” sign out front. Two guys step out of the vehicle.
“Orest, what are we even doing here?”
“What do you think? We’re selling a house. Didn’t you see the sign on the gate?” the young man replies with a nod.
“Let me guess, another little ‘project’ from your old man?”
“Who else?” Orest grumbles, clearly annoyed. “He just won’t let up! This time, get this, he’s got me playing real estate agent.”
“You? A realtor?” Tim bursts out laughing, aiming his phone camera at Orest. “Hey, don’t squirm, man. This pic’s just for the family album,” he snickers again.
Orest swiftly snatches the phone out of Tim’s hand with a practiced move.
“Easy for you to say. Your folks don’t ride you like this. My dad’s on me every single day, parroting the same crap about how I’m his successor and soon I’ll be running the family business. Says I’ve gotta prove I’m worthy of the honor.”
“Bro, running the family business doesn’t sound half bad. I’d take that deal if someone offered it to me.”
“When I’m the big boss, I won’t forget you. I’ll hook you up with a gig at the front desk. You can bring me coffee,” Orest chuckles, giving Tim a playful shove on the shoulder. In retaliation, Tim tries to splash him with water.
After messing around for a bit, the two remember why they’re actually here.
“Let’s get inside. Clients are showing up soon.”
“And how exactly are you planning to pull this off? You don’t know squat about real estate.”
“That’s why I’ve got you here, isn’t it? Figured we’d brainstorm something together.”
“Then we’re totally screwed,” Tim sums up with a smirk.
The guys approach the house. It’s in a picturesque neighborhood, surrounded by trees and shrubs.
The facade is made of white brick, showing a few small cracks here and there. A cozy little terrace out front catches the eye, and the porch is dotted with colorful flowers.
Orest fumbles with the front door, which refuses to budge. He twists the key again, gives it a nudge with his foot.
“Finally,” he mutters as the door creaks open, and they step inside.
Orest glances around lazily. It’s just an average, middle-class home, tiny compared to the sprawling mansion he calls home.
The friends head straight to the bright living room. Orest flops onto a leather couch while Tim pokes around the shelves.
“Who lived here anyway?” Tim asks, curious.
“How should I know?” Orest snaps, irritation creeping into his voice. He’s already fed up with being here, annoyed by this dumb errand his dad saddled him with. He just wants to get out and deal with his own stuff. “I overheard something about a family—mom, dad, and a cute daughter.”
“How do you know she’s cute?” Tim presses, not letting up.
“Tim, dude,” Orest shoots him a frustrated look, “I don’t care if she’s cute or ugly as sin. Don’t overthink it.”
“Fine, then let’s check out the rooms. How are you gonna show this place to people if you don’t even know what’s in it?”
“Too late, man,” Orest says, peering out the window. “The buyers are already at the door. We’re just gonna have to wing it…”
A moment later, there’s a light knock at the door. Orest hurries to open it. Standing there is an older couple, clearly past retirement age. The woman is dressed elegantly in a long lace-trimmed dress and a hat, while her husband wears a crisp shirt, suspenders, and classic dark slacks. For a split second, Orest finds it hilarious how some people dress in the 21st century, but he just flashes a friendly smile.
“Good afternoon,” the woman speaks first. “We had an appointment, but perhaps we’ve made a mistake,” she says, eyeing the young man in ripped jeans, a dark T-shirt, and what she considers a ridiculous baseball cap.
“Not at all! You’re in the right place. I’m Orest, your realtor, and this is my assistant, Timothy.”
“You seem awfully young,” the woman remarks, slipping on her glasses to get a better look.
“Youth doesn’t stand in the way of professionalism. Welcome to this lovely home. Please, come on in,” Orest says, offering his arm to the woman and leading her into the living room.
“Well, the listing mentioned the house comes furnished. Why didn’t the previous owners take their things?”
“Isn’t it obvious? They upgraded to new stuff. You know how trends change. Let’s keep going,” Orest urges, “we’ve got everything here: kitchen, bathroom, bedroom…”
He trails off, realizing he has no clue what else is actually in the house.
“Even a balcony,” Tim jumps in to save the day, “and a basement, where you can hide your little secrets from the wife. You know what I mean?” He winks at the man.
“What kind of secrets?”
“Like a bottle of wine, for instance. My grandpa always did that,” Tim whispers in his ear.
“I don’t drink, young man, and I wouldn’t advise you or your grandfather to either.”
The conversation isn’t going anywhere. The couple looks around critically. The husband taps on a wall.
“These walls seem awfully thin…”
“That’s just your imagination, but even if they are, trust me, that’s a huge plus,” Orest emphasizes.
“And how’s that?”
“You can hear each other without even trying. No need to go looking for one another.”
“And the windows are too small. I’d prefer larger ones,” the woman adds, clearly unimpressed.
“That’s a unique design feature! You don’t want nosy neighbors peeking in all the time, do you?” Orest blurts out.
After touring most of the rooms, they reach the last one they haven’t seen yet.
On the door is a sticker that reads, “Don’t come in, or you’re dead.” Orest just smirks. “Whoever owned this room had a decent sense of humor,” he thinks to himself.
It’s a bright, cozy room with a large bed. The vibrant, multicolored walls immediately catch the eye, creating a cool mosaic effect. A magnetic board for jotting down ideas hangs on one wall. Near the window stands a spacious wardrobe with a mirror. Scrawled across the mirror in red lipstick are the words: “Life sucks.”
“What a message for the new owners,” Orest chuckles internally, though he keeps quiet.
“Young man, do you find this writing amusing? Your generation is utterly lost. No manners, no upbringing…”
“Whatever you say, ma’am, but at least our generation isn’t boring.”
Orest is fed up with pretending to be someone he’s not. His patience is wearing thin. One more jab, and he’s gonna tell this snooty lady exactly what he thinks of her.
The woman just huffs, takes her husband by the arm, and slowly exits the room. Orest lingers behind. Tim steps in, taking the couple downstairs to check out the basement.
Orest opens the window, pulls out a cigarette, and takes a few drags. He flicks the butt away and heads for the door. Suddenly, his foot catches on something, and he nearly faceplants right in the middle of the room.
“Damn it, what the hell?!” He rubs the sore spot, squinting to see what tripped him.
Turns out, one of the floorboards is sticking up, and that’s what he stumbled over. He tries to push it back into place but notices something odd—there’s a small hollow space under the floor. And something’s inside it. Carefully, he pulls out what looks like a notebook. Flipping through a few pages, he realizes it’s someone’s personal diary. A photo slips out and falls to the floor. Orest picks it up, studying it with curiosity.
It’s a picture of a pretty girl with long chestnut hair. After a few seconds, he tucks the photo back into the diary.
Footsteps and voices echo nearby, so he quickly stuffs the find into his backpack and slips out of the room.