For the hair

The new house was fantastic. It was an old farmhouse, and looked the part. There were barns and fields, acres and acres of field. My wife, Carrie, and I were looking for a good place to start a family, and this house could not have been more perfect. It was a 10 minute drive to the village, with a school and supermarket and anything you could ever need. Not forgetting the price, the price was astonishing! For all the land that comes with the house, it was an absolute bargain. Therein lay the only problem. Yes, the house did need a bit of work done on it, but apart from that, there was nothing to deter a buyer. Carrie joked that it was probably a murder house, but we laughed it off. Then I started to think about it. I looked into the property and there was nothing. No news articles about vicious slaughter, or tales of any mad men that once lived there. Not even any listings on any estate agent websites. It was as if the house, my house, had never existed. I had heard about it from a friend who had just moved to the village. He knew we were looking for a place and when he saw it, he told us and we went straight there. The seller had moved to England, so when we phoned the number on the sign, he discussed prices over the phone with me and we settled. That was when I assumed that the only reason the house was so cheap was that he had been waiting a long time for a buyer and got fed up. The paperwork was sorted, and me and Carrie began our long journey to the countryside to move into our new home. We hired moving vans and did all of the transporting with our friends that lived in the village. We stayed with them until we were all settled in. The village was a lovely place. The people were nice, the scenery was nice, the shelves were stacked. An older couple on their mid fifties took an interest in us. Frances and George owned the local pub. We went in one night and got to talking. They seemed like a very nice couple. They had children who had since moved away. They had not asked us where we were moving to. 'So is it the house on Monteith Place?' enquired George. 'Oh that is a fabulous property.' Added Frances. 'Oh no, we bought that fantastic farmhouse down the road. We want to start a family, and all the space we have there is perfect for kids. We are thinking of selling off some of the further afield land.' I said proudly. The colour had left their faces like a cloud covers a blue sky. George tried to say something, but his words caught in his throat, and he began stuttering at us. 'Have you slept in the house?' Frances asked. Her lips were pursed in an almost angry manor. 'What?', was all I could muster after seeing their reactions. Frances' face went from pink to white to red in a space of 30 seconds. 'Have you slept in the fucking house? Answer me.' There was no denying the anger now. 'No, we've been staying at our friends while we get settled. Why, what are you two doing?' Carrie replied, giving me a scared look. 'If you come back in here again, your welcome won't be so warm...' George's eyes moved to the gun above the bar. It appeared he had found his voice again. We were utterly dumbstruck. These two people who had been on the way to being our good friends not a minute before, were actually threatening us with a gun. Even if the gun didn't work, I think we'd heed their warning, we obviously weren't welcome. We paid for our drinks and left, every eye in the pub watching us walk away. We headed back toward our friends house in complete silence until I spoke. 'What in the fuck was that?' I stopped to look at my wife. She looked more sad than angry. 'I don't know. Did we say something? We must have said something offensive.' she said. I could see the tears welling in her eyes. I moved in to hug her. I racked my brain to think of everything that had happened in the pub. It was the house. Something about the house. It could be something petty and silly, but I literally could not think of any reason why this would happen. When we got back to our friend Tom's house, we told him what happened. He looked just as shocked as us,