To whom it may concern

"It's just there as a focal point," Chrissy said, stepping over the burnt and blackened outline of a human body twisted in agony. "Think how nice it would be on a cold November evening, curled up around the glowing embers of a fire."

She smiled at them, her teeth straight and white and far too numerous for anything even vaguely human.

"Perfect for romantic nights in, or scary movie marathons with friends."

Marshall looked at her with even more suspicion than the soul-eating realtor usually warranted.

"Have you been watching us?" he demanded.

Her smile widened.

"No," she lied, blatantly.


Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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Dash puts a cross through the circled apartment listing.

"So your old man's cash machine is now warning people away from slum lords?" he said. "So what?"

"He did always like helping people," said Simon. "It sounds like the perfect job for him."

"You guys are missing the point," said Marshall. "This isn't a program. Nobody's telling him to do this. The letting agent unplugged the TV and everything and he just kept going."

"So he's self-employed," said Dash.

"Or a vigilante!" said Simon.

"Or a literal ghost in the machine," said Marshall.

"Who helped us dodge a crummy rental!"

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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The brochure for Hadean Heights promised access to an exclusive, residents-only golf course, which in Marshall's opinion was reason enough to cross it off the list of potential rentals. Dash's take on it was that where there was a golf course, there were golfers, and an array of wallets begging to be lifted from a variety of plaid patterned pockets.

Simon was mostly ambivalent on golf, although since his father had once smashed the screen of the family television with a club while his mother was watching her soap operas, he'd decided to side with Marshall.

Besides, there was the matter of the pictures. Gently rolling hills carefully marked by little flags were to be expected, but all the photographs had been coloured a kind of reddish-black, as though the golfers were playing through eighteen holes in a particularly meaty part of Hell. One image showed a golf cart fallen on it's side, the burning skeleton within still screaming even after all the flesh was seared from it's bones.

"It's out of our price range anyway," said Marshall, decisively.

He crumpled the leaflet and tossed it towards the trash can, where it screamed with rage and burst into sulphurous flames.

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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Within the continental US, where should I move next? Weird small towns welcome.

— rachel kiley (@rachelkiley) December 16, 2018

Eerie, Indiana

— Brandi (@BrandiHillier) December 17, 2018

Oops, just realised I forgot to post this yesterday, sorry! Anyway, this is for Day 12 of the 31daysoffandom October challenge. The prompt I used for this one was "costume"

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( Read the rest of the Trusted Associates verse here )