Some people swore that the house was haunted. But that didn’t matter much to Christine Winfrey, since didn’t believe in God, the devil, or anything in between. All that mattered to her was that the house looked good, and the rent was cheap. She and “The Girls” had just moved into town, and they had searched all over Atlanta for a house that they could use as an office for their operation. 1624 Maple Lane was perfect.
Christine hated when people called her girls prostitutes, because it sounded cheap. These were savvy business women that charged $200.00 per hour. More if you wanted something kinky. None of them had started out looking for that kind of life, but times were tough, and they were realist. There was money to be made here.
For protection, she found a big guy who could not only drive the girls to and from their jobs (no clients were allowed at the house), but could also break some skulls if the situation called for it. He was a mountain of a man, an ex-cop called “Biscuit”. With his size and experience, he would definitely do.
And at first, everything went as planned. But about 2 weeks after moving in, some of the girls started to complain that they had seen and heard strange things. Biscuit said that the house felt creepy, and wondered out loud if maybe it really was haunted. Christine jokingly accused them all of being high, and told them to hallucinate on their own time.
Then one day, she started to wonder too.
Early one morning before Biscuit arrived with the girls; Christine went into the kitchen to make coffee. Being late October, it had been cool outside the night before. Christine had noticed that condensation would sometimes form like sheets of glaze on the insides of the warm windows, because of the temperature difference. And on this morning, someone had written something in the moisture glaze of the kitchen window, as children might write “Wash Me” on a dirty truck.
“Heaven and Hell have witnessed against you.
I set before you life and death. Choose life. Leave.”
Since she was alone at the time, Christine asked Biscuit and the girls about the writing when they arrived. Had someone come in early to play a joke? They all denied it.
That incident repeated again every morning for the next five days, and the girls were terrified. Two quit, refusing to come back to the house. The others, including Christine, thought about the money and just decided to stay a little closer to Biscuit while they were there.
Then, early on what would have been the 7th morning; Christine arrived in the kitchen to find absolutely nothing written in the moisture of the window. At first she was relieved. But just as she was about to make some coffee, she looked through the kitchen window into the backyard. There, still parked in the garage from last night, was Biscuit’s black Oldsmobile.
After taking a minute to gather her courage, Christine slowly walked out to the car. The hairs on the back of her neck stood completely on end when she finally stopped at the front bumper. There was no need to go any further. She could see that Biscuit and 3 of the girls were sitting in the car, eyes wide open, with their throats cut from ear to ear. Across their foreheads, written in blood, were two words that sent shivers up Christine’s spine.
Christine had to make a decision, and fast. Nothing was ever the same again after that.
Copyrighted © 2010 by Que Scott. All rights reserved.