On a typical sleepy Sunday morning in Glendale, California, Kyle and his wife, Noelle, were setting up lawn chairs for their garage sale. A small playing card table was situated between them with a pitcher of ice tea and two cups. A sign on a makeshift sandwich board read: GARAGE SALE. ALL SALES ARE FINAL. This was the second attempt as the previous day a steady drizzle had kept only but a handful of the bargain hunters away.

Noelle sat in her chair and took a sip of her iced tea. Needs a bit more sugar, she surmised. I hope this doesn’t take all day. I can’t fathom another endless afternoon of playing Skip-Bo and running to the bathroom every forty-five minutes to pee out all the damn iced tea. When Kyle finally looked up from his cell phone, she asked: “Did this really work for your uncle?”

Kyle shoved his phone back in his shorts pocket. “Oh, yeah. He made out like a bandit at his sale. But then again, all his suits are strait jackets now. He thinks he’s a giant rutabaga these days. So there’s that…” He trailed off, considering his own statement. Something caught his eye and he turned to Noelle and jutted a thumb down their driveway. “Don’t look now, my dear, but I believe we’ve got a prospect on the line. Shall we reel her in?”

A pompous middle-aged woman wearing a bedazzled shirt which read ‘Diamonds Are So Last Year’ approached and looked at a coffee mug and a plastic sun visor. “How much for the mug and the hat?” she called up towards the garage.

Noelle made her way to where the woman was standing. “Hmm… For both of them together? Fifty bucks.”

The woman set the sun visor back down onto the ping pong table and scoffed. “Fifty bucks? You’re kidding. I can get ten of each of these for that price.”

Kyle strode up to join the conversation. “How about we throw in these two gold wedding rings?”

The woman carefully picked up the two rings from the table and examined them. “Uh…wait. Are these real gold?”

“You betcha, sister,” Noelle replied and smiled.

The woman’s expression suddenly softened. “I think we can swing that. Let me ask my husband.” She turned and called down the driveway: “Hank? Hank! Here! Now!”

A pompous middle aged man, wearing an epically disheveled Hawaiian shirt with buttons that weren’t line up correctly, abruptly ended a phone call and walked up the driveway.

“What’s up, honey?” he asked, mildly interested. “Any good deals?”

The woman held up the rings for him to see. “They were just offering me these gold wedding rings for fifty dollars?”

The man held up the rings to his face. “Well, they certainly look and feel like real gold.”

Kyle was suddenly next to the man. “How’s it going, friend? I’m Kyle.” He offered the man his hand to shake.

The man shook his hand and said: “Hi, there. I’m Hank.”

Kyle unspooled his pitch. “Hi, Hank. Nice to meet you. Now, I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that you’re the kind of guy who’s mildly obsessed with the occult, am I right?”

A goofy acknowledging grin spread across Hank’s face. “Well, yeah, actually. Ever since we had our second little bundle of joy, my wife, Phoebe over there, just has no interest in, uh, making the beast with two backs, if you know what I mean. So I needed a new hobby. And one as far away from kid-friendly cartoon crap as possible.”

Kyle couldn’t help but smile. “Oh, I hear you, Hank. Loud and clear. That’s how it starts, my friend. One minute you’re in madly love, then the next minute you’re bitter, desperate, and begging for hand jobs from the devil himself.”

They both laughed knowingly.

Fifteen feet away, Noelle was working her own pitch on the woman. “Hi, I’m Noelle.”

“Phoebe,” the woman said as they shook each other’s hands. “You and Kyle really seem to make a great team.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Noelle replied curtly. “When he’s not begging for hand jobs at three a.m. like a man possessed.”

They both laughed knowingly.

Minutes later, Kyle finished up telling his tale and held up a dog-eared leather book. “And then our names magically appeared in this creepy, ancient journal. Pretty cool, right?”

“That’s awesome,” Hank uttered, taking it all in. He walked over to the old grandfather clock near the garage. “So is this the clock that bleeds whenever Noelle starts her menstrual cycle?”

Almost there, Kyle’s mind raced. Just gotta get them into position. He walked up next to Kyle at the grandfather clock. “The very same, Hank. Do me a favor and turn around for me.”

Hank dutifully turned and faced the garage. A strong warm breeze ruffled his hair. “No way!” Hank gasped in awe. “The garage that eats small woodland creatures is still here? You didn’t have it demolished?”

Kyle laughed nervously. “There you go assuming we have free will again, Hank.”

Phoebe squealed with joy ten feet behind them. She quickly signed the deed for the house and did a little dance in the driveway. “Hank, honey! I just signed the deed for fifty bucks! The house is ours! We’re finally homeowners, baby! Can you believe it?”

Hank was briefly mystified. “You did what now, babe?”

Kyle slapped Hank on the back. “Congratulations, Hank. My wife drives a hard bargain. Your wife must be a hell of a negotiator.”

It was all happening too fast for Hank. “But we just put a deposit down on a condo in Marina del Rey last month. I don’t understand what just happened.”

“Fate just happened, sugar buns,” Phoebe giggled and kissed him tenderly on the cheek. “Right place at the right time.”

Noelle took out her cell phone and held it up. “Hey, let’s get a picture of you two in front of the garage…of your new home.”

“Yes, please,” Phoebe offered, and squeezed Hank’s arm.

Kyle used his remote to open the garage door. A foul breeze blew back his hair and he immediately walked backwards down the driveway.

Noelle also took several steps backwards and waved for Phoebe and Hank to move closer to the garage. “Back up, back up, back up… Perfect! Stop there. Now, say ‘Feast of souls!”

A befuddled Hank and an exuberant Phoebe both uttered: “Feast of souls!”

The ravenous darkness suddenly sucked them into the garage and the door slammed closed. The garage burped and then was silent.

Kyle raced over towards the ping pong table where Noelle was holding open the ancient journal. “Well? Are the names gone? Say something!”

A smile spread over Noelle’s face. “Fading, fading… and…gone!” She sighed loudly and tossed the journal onto her lawn chair. “Finally…”

Kyle took a deep breath and looked around the driveway. “Huh. That’s weird. I honestly don’t really feel much better. Like, something’s missing now.”

Noelle took another drink of her iced tea. “I know. Now, that we’ve satisfied the demon and I’m not possessed anymore, I just feel…empty.”

Kyle put his hands in his pockets and scanned the street again. “Yeah, me, too. And no offense, babe, but if we don’t find another place with creepy dolls in the wine cellar, our sex life’s never gonna recover.”

An eager joy animated Noelle to stand up. She fished her car keys from her nearby purse. “I think the realtor’s office is still open…”

“That’s my girl.” Kyle hugged his wife. “Race you to the car!”

Seconds later, the car peeled out down the street.

From inside the garage, Hank began pounding on the door. “Please let us out! It smells like dirty diapers, stale Indian food, and shame!”

Phoebe’s voice was hoarse from screaming. But she could finally put her misery into words. “Help! This creepy doll is stabbing me with a plastic spork! This is gonna take forever to kill us… I can’t believe I’m trapped inside a hellish garage,” she cried. “In Glendale…”

————

Eric Lawson is the author of the forthcoming short story collection Circus Head (Sybaritic Press) as well as the forthcoming poetry collection Backseat Emperor (2nd Avenue Press). He wrote the “Holly Hatchet” segment of the Body Count horror anthology film. Now in its fourth season, he hosts the Make Your Own Fun podcast on YouTube.