District E-94 was a modern locality with infrastructural designs that matched its fame.

However, in the centre of this technologically advanced neighbourhood stood a grand mansion of traditional architecture.

Although the summer sun was already high in the sky, the temperature in one of its numerous rooms dropped drastically.

And because of the classic blackout curtains, the entire place was pitch black.

CLACK!

Majestic double doors burst open.

A faint glow appeared in the distance, disrupting the darkness.

Soon after, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed in the grand space, bouncing off the walls and reverberating through the rest of the quiet mansion.

The faint light grew stronger with each step heard.

It illuminated the enormous figure ahead as well as the area around them, revealing a majestic surrounding.

"That b*stard has surely retained the lesson this time around. There's no way he would dare bring in any more of those pests into our home, what do you think?"

The voice belonged to the source of the bluish light that followed closely behind the footsteps.

It's proprietor was a semi-translucent being that floated above the ground.

Its features were fuzzy but its silhouette was undoubtedly that of a humanoid. Even its voice, albeit somewhat chilling, seemed to be that of a bubbly young female.

The footsteps stopped abruptly. A deep, animalistic growl filled the room.

The inhumane sound rattled the windows and caused the walls and ground to vibrate.

Crashing glasses and falling wood could be heard all around.

It seemed that the noise was powerful enough to cause irreparable damage to decorations in some of the nearby rooms as well.

"Scram!"

The command came out in a threatening tone.

Although seemingly shocked at first, the translucent being hovering almost over him didn't take much time to regain her initial disposition.

Leaning over the burly creature's broad shoulder, she whispered with a chuckle,

"Always so fussy about personal boundaries, aren't you, Draggie Bear."

Pulling back, she summersaulted in the air and landed straight into her favourite armchair.

Drag's eyebrows drew closer together. His muzzle wrinkled in disgust.

The deceptively genuine whimper she'd let out while feigning fear seconds prior hadn't failed to irk him.

Luckily, he had his back to her. He didn't want to give her the pleasure of knowing she was successful in one of her countless attempts at annoying him.

With his face back to its original expressionless but naturally menacing state, Drag turned to her.

The hazy glow blurring her features was no longer there.

Even though Drag towered over her from his standing position, settled in the upholstered chair with her back straight and chin up, Micaela looked like a queen looking down at a measly bug.

Her face was stern, her features sharp.

"Don't call me that," he warned through clenched teeth.

Her cold eyes didn't avert Drag's, as she rested her slightly titled head on her long, manicured fingers.

"If he refuses to get the hint after yesternight, should we turn to more drastic measures?"

Micaela's voice no longer contained the playfulness from earlier.

The childish innocence had also vanished.

It now sounded mature and beautiful, but it also contained an eerie undertone he could only associate to that of his siren acquaintances.

Drag had guessed this bothersome housemate of his wouldn't find satisfaction in the previous night's events. She surely had a couple of plans in mind to get rid of Mitch Declan—the legal owner of this place—once and for all.

The words she'd just spoken only served to reinforce his conviction on the matter.

Drag was a monster. He was born as one. He was raised as one. And he had lived as one for most of his life.

As such, he couldn't say he hadn't killed his fair share of non-monster beings in the many centuries he'd walked this land.

However, he also couldn't say that he didn't know what Micaela was capable of.

His instincts had told him on their first meeting that she'd killed before and that she wouldn't hesitate to kill again if she felt like it.

And they hadn't been wrong.

In fact, the years they'd spent under the same roof had taught him that killing—for Micaela—was a thrilling source of distraction.

The ghost, even if she'd been human at some point, was a predator. The sort that took pleasure it toying with its prey.

She would fill them with fear and despair, after which she would allow them some hope, letting them believe they'd reached safety. She would lead them to think they might just survive the nightmare she put them in. And then, she would ruthlessly snatch this shred of hope away, before slowly killing them off.

Drag had watched it happen countless times already.

Of course, he wasn't a willing spectator.

He would be perfectly comfortable in his side of the house, enjoying the serenity of solitude—away from the troubles of this wretched world—when those treacherous creatures would trespass into his territory.

Drag couldn't have cared less about their fate.

However, the moment they became aware of his existence, he could no longer allow them to escape.

Since Micaela was once human and, as such, as untrustworthy as any other non-monster humanoid being, he had to personally dispose of anyone who'd seen him. He couldn't risk his secret coming out in the open just because some annoying ghost didn't feel like finishing her tasteless "game" all of a sudden.

After all, she'd let so many of her toys leave relatively (physically) unscathed from her playground. She'd say that she'd "gotten bored of playing with them." He couldn't possibly trust that she'd take care of things properly.

Her murderous side might have gotten tamer during their years together, but that didn't mean she hadn't lost the essence of what made her who she was.

Yestereve proved just that.

Fed up of the current legal mansion owner's stubbornness to keep on moving new tenants into their home, Micaela sent one of them through the glass doors leading onto the balcony. And this time around, she did it in front of the sunny-head shloorg.

Since having the past ones running away while claiming the place was haunted didn't seem reason enough for that greedy shloorg to stop renting the place, Micaela decided to give the stubborn little human a first-hand experience of what it was like to live in a haunted residence.

To be honest, Drag doubted the efficacy of her plan.

The mansion was passed down as a legacy in the Declan family.

While the past owners had all given up on living in it or ranting it out within a few months, this new owner, Mitch Declan, had kept at it for over 5 years since he inherited it from his deceased uncle.

As expected from a non-monster creature, he'd pulled in every unknowing person he could find.

With the last family, the shloorg had even gone as far as to make them sign an agreement that'd force them to pay a hefty sum if they ever decided to annul the contract and move out.

So Micaela made the necessary arrangements to have him witness her decades of hard work with his own eyes.

She'd also called in local authorities in addition to some extras that would serve as witness to spread the word for the swindled family.

Micaela made it out as though she was concerned for the safety of the inhabitants. She even gave him a speech. It was supposedly meant to show her determination in upholding morality and helping the hand of justice punish evil.

Drag yielded 6 hours into her unceasing, nonsensical chatter.

This resulted in him being bestowed upon the (undesirable) "honour" of being in charge of "making the necessary arrangements" to "uphold justice" by "helping the law to punish sinners and save the innocents from evil."

Beneath all that flowery talk, Drag only knew how much she wanted to see that shloorg suffer. She wanted to see him shamed by all and needing to cough up money he didn't have.

It was more than certain she didn't even care whether the money went to the tenants that managed to survive the mansion or not, as long is it no longer was in his possession.

How many time had she screamed her desire to watch that shloorg crawl on the floor, writhing at her feet, before dying in absolute misery?

Just recalling the shrill curses gave him a headache.

This entire situation was annoying.

Even he, who never left the confined space of the mansion, knew that the world outside had changed.

Who would openly claim there were ghosts haunting a residential area in this new, advanced era?

If there still existed such people, how many would actually believe in their words?

But there was no way Micaela would leave him alone if he refused to entertain her.

So, looking into her bloodthirsty eyes, the now sleepy Drag reluctantly forced the words out:

"That shloorg might not set foot again in this residence for the rest of this lifetime."

Micaela's crimson lips stretched into a smile too large for any human face.

"But there's no guarantee he'll leave this place alone...."

He paused.

"...even if everyone in the area should soon be aware of what's transpired within these walls throughout the years."

Micaela's sharp nails dug into the cushioned armrest. More holes were added into the scratch-riddled fabric.

Her eyes glinted with murderous intent.

In front of her, the sleep-deprived monster felt his headache intensify.

Even though the corpses of some of the people Micaela had killed years ago had been found by the authorities, the mansion had neither been sealed nor demolished.

Some of the victims' deaths had been blamed on an unknown serial killer, who'd most likely passed away a long time ago-according to the average species' life expectancy-while the rest were ruled either accidental or natural.

Although it became one of the primary subject of conversion for a few months, all talks about the events of that night gradually left place to more recent incidents and fresher gossips.

Needless to say, the rumours pertaining to the haunting of the Declan Mansion didn't last long either.

In the end, the belief that there were murderous ghosts haunting it returned to what it'd been for a few decades already:

An urban legend.

Two and a half years later, the owner had still not set foot into the Declan Mansion.

Even the metal boxes that routinely came for clean-up whenever the mansion was vacant didn't show up.

While one could have found some semblance of satisfaction in the fact that the residence hadn't been rented out since that fateful night, Micaela was not one to find solace in such meagre consolation.

As expected, the ghost had always been more concerned in the shloorg's fate than in the noisy invaders'.

"The moment I get my claws on that bastard, I'm going to tear all of his balls out and feed them to him on a fork. I'll cut off his tongue and empty a jar on salt in his mouth. I'll pull his teeth out one by one and make a necklace from them!"

She circled the room in the air while enumerating the endless list of things she would subject the landowner to if she ever managed to get her claws on him-which she never once doubted would happen, as opposed to the sceptical Drag.

"I'll cut his limbs off and have him eat them bit by bit."

The childlike voice she used as she giggled while picturing every scene vividly made the threats all the more chilling.

Seated at the study table, with books and papers scattered all around and shelves fallen over, Drag's attention never strayed from the thick book in front of him.

He was visibly more concerned about the difficulties in turning its pages with his big hands than about the ghost circling around above his head, spouting promises of inflicting (forced) self-cannibalism unto others.

"What if you went out and searched for him?"

A hazy head suddenly popped out of the table and through his book.

Micaela's features were twisted in perverted eagerness.

Drag cast her a brief look of contempt.

"I am aware that would be asking a little too much, but can't you act like a normal individual and QUIETLY pray that he's long died in a ditch somewhere?"

Drag slammed a fist on her head.

Of course, his hand passed through and landed straight onto the pages stained by time. His breathing accelerated.

Luckily, he'd controlled his strength this time around. The table didn't break.

But the ghost didn't move. She merely stared him at him with her lips pursed.

"I don't understand how anyone can be so boring."

With that, her head disappeared into the table.

In the blink of an eye, she appeared behind him.

"Do you want help turning the page, Draggie Bear?" she asked innocently.

Drag didn't move.

"I'll help you read all the books you want. But first, bring me that b*stard."

Her hair flew upward as if fluttering in a wind blowing from below. Her eyes turned pure black and began to shed dark blood.

Drag stood from his seat.

He only managed to grab onto the sides of the book after multiple failed attempts.

"Why don't you try and be happy the sunny-head shloorg isn't sending any more pests our way," he grumbled under his breath.

After manoeuvring through the pile of papers strewn on the floor, he pulled a shelf from the ground with ease and placed the book where he recalled seeing it in the past.

Drag hated messiness.

However, he hated the idea of engaging in a dispute on the matter with the loudmouthed ghost even more.

Since getting her to be a decent housemate was not an option, and getting her to haunt somewhere else was impossible, the most he could do was silently tolerate her presence.

So he kept any comments about Micaela's way of releasing her frustrations to himself, choosing to once again silently bemoan the loss of the deformed cleaning boxes instead.

"Put everything back the way it was before you leave. If you make a mess, you clean the mess."

He walked out of the study after throwing that final command behind.

Micaela gritted her teeth.

It wasn't enough.

The desire to get that money-hungry b*stard right where she wanted was so enticing.

Ah, if only she could get her hands on all of the remaining members of the Declan family...

Sure, there'd been some waste with some of the past deaths, but she would make sure to make up for those losses with the live ones.

Just the thought gave her the tingles.

Drag's footsteps were getting further and further away.

Micaela tiled her head to the side.

Her eyes were back to their original state, only the blood streaks remained. Her long platinum blonde hair cascaded over her curvy frame.

"Having those tenants around was enjoyable on particularly boring days," she mumbled.

It would be such a shame if Mitch Declan actually stopped sending new victims her way.

As the thought crossed her mind, neither she nor the monster she lived with could have guessed that the man in question was on the verge of bringing some drastic changes to their respective lives.

***

On an islet a few hundred kilometres away.

A blond man with long unkempt hair sat alone at a table in an outdoor restaurant.

He looked haggard and his clothes were so big he appeared to be drowning in them.

The young man's naturally handsome face was no where to be seen. His eyes were sunken, with dark circles underneath.

He looked older than his age and appeared to not have been sleeping properly for some time now.

His dull eyes darted around nervously as he gripped the communication device in his lap tightly.

There was a knot in his stomach.

He couldn't even bear to look at the drink he'd ordered, let alone touch it.

That damned uncle of his and his equally damned mansion!

He clenched his teeth.

Shortly after, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Today was special.

He had to remain calm.

He couldn't allow anything to disrupt his plans.

Not when he was about to finalize a deal he could only think of as the light at the end of the hellish tunnel those demons had thrown him into nearly three years ago.

Mitch jumped in surprise when the device buzzed.

He accidentally knocked over the cup on the table before him with the sudden movement.

This resulted in most of the cup's content to spill on himself.

But he didn't seem affected by his soaked pants in the least.

Instead, he clumsily reached for the expensive earplugs in his pockets and quickly pulled up the screen and accepted the incoming dual media message.

A virtual contract appeared.

At the same time, a polite voice spoke:

"This is Kroya Brentz speaking."

A team of bots quietly wiped the floor, table and chair clean. Some of them specifically came for his clothes.

"As discussed, changes have been made to some of the terms of the contract provided by Mr. Mitch Declan."

Since personal communication devices didn't send identity confirmation messages when used by their respective owners, the person on the other line didn't waste time on unnecessary formalities.

"Feel free to go over them with your lawyer. My employer would like to have an answer b—"

Mitch didn't give the other party the time to finish.

"I agree!"

Realizing his obvious eagerness would certainly come off as suspicious, he quickly forced himself to reign in his emotions.

"My wife and I really needed the money. Thank you so, so much. Please thank your boss for us as well. Thank you for saving our child's life. You don't know how much this means to us."

Satisfied with his acting, Mitch pretended to take a deep breath to calm himself down.

Meanwhile, the bots finished removing the stains from his pants with a special device designed for such instances.

Once they were done, they retreated back to their stations without saying a word.

"I agree to your conditions."

While they'd been busy wiping, Mitch had been busy going over the parts of the contract he was most interested in.

"I'm sorry for rushing things but...as long as I sign this, I'll get the money within 42 hours, right?"

Since most of his drink had been left untouched when it spilled, a grog waiter placed a new one before him for free.

Mitch watched as the green gnome waddled away with an empty tray on his comically short hands.

Mitch's eyes shone with ridicule.

He'd always found their species entertaining to look at; the grogs came in all colours of the rainbow, had the skin texture of toads, the height of ten-year old human children, sounded like talking ducks and moved like handicapped penguins.

He didn't know why such ugly things would even exist if not for others to laugh at.

"Be sure to vacate the premises before the deadline."

When the grog disappeared into the inner part of the restaurant, Mitch turned his attention to the fresh cup of juice.

"Don't worry, don't worry. My little Mickey's health isn't so good. Even after the surgeries..."

He sniffled.

"We want to be sure there'll always be someone by his side until his completely recovery. We decided the better option would be to move in with my wife's family, so we've been there ever since."

The secretary didn't seem interested in him at all. If he continued going on and on about his fictitious family members, he was afraid he'd end up shooting himself in the foot.

So, Mitch stayed silent a moment, pretending to be emotional.

At the same time, he took a sip from the straw.

The coldness was refreshing under the scorching sun.

Using the same emotionless voice, the secretary continued, "The contract states all furnishings, decor—"

"Yes, yes, yes. Everything will be sold with the house. Nothing will be missing."

Mitch quickly flipped through the holographic document to the signature page and scanned his hand and fingerprints.

"You can send a bot over any time to assess the house and tidy up."

Mitch was not pious, but he found himself thanking all the Gods he'd ever heard of that the big boss that decided to buy that cursed place was strange and stupid.

The idiot refused to reveal their identity and insisted on having bots review the mansion instead of living beings.

Frankly, Mitch didn't care whether the "Boss" was a criminal or an important figure. The only thing that mattered was that the amount they proposed exceeding his expectations by far.

Before they appeared, he'd been trying in vain to make amends with the fact that he would have to make do with a measly amount because of those dumb rumours.

But things were different thanks to them.

He invented himself a desperate situation to explain the hurry and resilience to sell the mansion way below its market value, and the fool jumped right into it. They even went as far as offering more than what the damned place was actually worth.

Right now Mitch still believed he had no reason to care too much about the requested assessment.

Whatever demon haunted that place only attacked people with a heartbeat. The cleaning bots he'd sent there after each runaway tenant had never been attacked and their recording features never caught anything out of the ordinary on their built-in cameras.

"I'm sending the signed contract now."

He pressed a button on the holographic screen and a virtual envelope appeared.

The contract slid in, the envelope closed on its own and flew upward.

Ting!

A notification sounded in his earplugs.

A message appeared on his screen:

Sending Successful

"It's been received."

The secretary seemed to be verifying whether everything was in order with his signature.

They now had permission to enter the house and do whatever they wished inside.

"By the way, like I said back then, the last tenants were violent people. They destroyed quite a few things during their parties and couple fights. Even their children were full of...vitality—adorable troublemakers. Because of my personal matters, I haven't been to the mansion since their eviction two years ago, I'm afraid..."

His voice slowly down died.

Awkwardness and embarrassment laced his tone.

"A team will arrive at the site within 24 hours. We hope you'll help them enter and leave its premises without delay. As for the status of my boss's purchase, the full sum will be delivered to your account only upon confirmation that everything is in order with the property."

As expected, the detached secretary didn't care.

"...I understand."

The call disconnected without so much as a goodbye.

Even though Mitch had paid off the family of the dying officer in charge of the case, with the condition that she provides a legal affirmation that nothing suspicious was taking place in that godforsaken place, Mitch took extra precautions to ensure any suckers that found interest in the house wouldn't find any faults with it.

He'd lost quite a bit from lawsuits and paying off people to close the case.

Then he lost some more to erase and bury all detailed articles about the incident of that f*cked up day, in addition to other similar occurrences related to that place's history.

He also ended up forking out a good amount to spread rumours about the falsified police reports he ensured stated most of the victims had passed away from accidents or natural causes.

Lastly, he made sure every one who newly heard of the ghost stories would think that the idea of Declan Mansion being haunted stemmed from its unmodernized style and prejudices.

After shooting so much of his inheritance and pay down the drain, it was time for him to get back what he was due.

As if the Gods were all in his favour—if Gods did exist (which he'd begun to find a little harder to doubt now that he knew invisible, murderous demons might not be in stories only)—a rich boss crossed his path just when he'd started to lose hope.

Mitch was more than eager to toss that hot potato to whomever was willingly to take it.

And although he had a few back-up buyers in line, this Boss's offer was the most attractive of the lot. So he refused to allow this golden-leaf tree to escape from him.

Mitch, on the other hand, would leave with his well deserved compensation.

Still, he couldn't be completely at ease until he had his hand on the money.

For the first time in his life, Mitch joined his hands together in prayer.

"May those demonic creatures stay quiet until the end of the home assessment, please. I promise they'll have a fresh family to feast upon soon enough."