August 20, 2025 • 10 mins
A promise made to the dying draws one man back to an abandoned house, where he finds strange comfort.
Ed Ahern resumed writing after forty odd years in foreign intelligence and international sales. He’s had 550 stories and poems published so far, and twelve books. Ed works the other side of writing at Bewildering Stories where he manages a posse of six review editors, and as lead editor at Scribes Micro.
You can read "Empty House" at https://www.kaidankaistories.com.
Other stories by Ed Ahern:
The Care Dog
Raikou and the Shi-ten Doji
Penance
Website: kaidankaistories.com
Please feel free to contact me through the website contact form.
Follow us on:
Instagram
Facebook
Bluesky
Substack
Ed Ahern resumed writing after forty odd years in foreign intelligence and international sales. He’s had 550 stories and poems published so far, and twelve books. Ed works the other side of writing at Bewildering Stories where he manages a posse of six review editors, and as lead editor at Scribes Micro.
You can read "Empty House" at https://www.kaidankaistories.com.
Other stories by Ed Ahern:
The Care Dog
Raikou and the Shi-ten Doji
Penance
Website: kaidankaistories.com
Please feel free to contact me through the website contact form.
Follow us on:
Bluesky
Substack
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:10):
Welcome to the kaititon Kai podcast, where every story takes
you one step deeper into the world of the strange,
the eerie, and the unknown. I'm your host Linda Gould
and tonight's story is The Empty House by ed Ahearn.
Before the death of his friend, a man makes two promises,
(00:32):
to be executor of the man's estate and to care
for Agatha, even though he has no idea what that
means or how it will affect his life. Ed Ahearn
resumed writing after forty odd years in the foreign intelligence
and international sales. He's had five hundred and fifty stories
(00:52):
and poems published so far and twelve books. Ed works
the other side of writing at Bewildering Stories, where he
manages a posse of six review editors, and as a
lead editor at scribes micro. Now dim the lights, settle in,
and prepare yourself for The Empty House by ed Ahern
(01:14):
and Joy. The little house was empty for two months.
Charles had lived alone there, and he died there as well.
Softly gasping in a morphine coma, he roused just enough
to see me and whisper take care of Agatha. I
(01:35):
tried to ask who she was, but he had lapsed
back into a stupor. I'd agreed, despite misgivings, to be
his executor. I'd already gathered the necessary information on financial assets,
real estate, and personal property, but the estate proceeds were
being contested, and all I could do was watch from
(01:56):
the sidelines while relatives and charities bickered. Meanwhile, I visited
the house every other day to recover stray mail and
check that the gas, electricity, and water still flowed without
interruption or leak. A house without people develops an echoed
loneliness that's hard to describe but easy to sense. Its
(02:18):
mission thwarted, it gently degenerates, dust settling into patna. The food,
long disposed of the important records extracted like teeth. The purposeless,
worn furniture was left behind. In Memorial one breezy spring afternoon,
I was rechecking financial and tax records in the second
(02:40):
bedroom Charles used as an office. The unused house's grime
and slowly flaking paint were imperceptibly worse, but I got
a vague apprehension that someone had been or still was
in the house. I checked all the outside doors and rooms,
but nothing was missed, unlocked or moved and no intruder appeared,
(03:04):
and yet it felt like someone had disturbed the emptiness.
Bright sunlight streamed through dirty windows into rooms in bad
need of use or emptying. The dust motes swirled only
when I moved, but I felt not alone. It wasn't
(03:25):
the specter of Charles. That curmudgeonly bachelor had a much
different tone while living, and presumably kept it while dead.
It felt different, lighter, and yet more melancholy than Charles
had been. I perched in the office chair without focus,
diverting myself with misgivings about the greedy living. After five minutes,
(03:49):
feeling like an idiot, I stood up to leave, and
in the doorway dust motes swirled, the moats glinting in
the sun. Jittered over to a small love seat and paused.
The frumpy room seemed to hold a presence. I stifled
the flip, urged to introduce myself, and kept waiting. In
(04:10):
that passive, receptive state, I smelled Guardina's impossible, of course,
because the unwatered house plants had been dead for weeks.
I felt that awkward social pause of two strangers waiting
for the other to speak. I gave in to momentary insanity.
(04:31):
Charles has been dead for a while. You may as
well move on. The motes danced in some undetected waft
of air. There was no real shape to them, but
I visualized a middle aged woman worn down until her
essence was exposed. A stray thought wandered in Agatha. The
(04:54):
dust particles bounced more vigorously. Okay, Agatha, I wondered if
I'd been somehow drugged, but continued, he's gone, Agatha. You'll
need to move along as well. You probably won't like
the new occupants, whoever they'll be. The faint cloud shimmered
(05:15):
in the light. There felt like a pause, like a
willing listener waiting for me to unburden myself. I'd tried
to spare Beth, my wife of lots of years, from
the acrimony surrounding the inheritances. I was being offered a
chance to do so, even if just to myself. I'm guessing,
(05:35):
you know, Charles no immediate family, but several grasping relatives
whom he disliked and ignored while he was alive. The
motes settled into a rhythm, like breaths or beech waves.
The Guardina scent was stronger, almost overwhelming. The funky, stale
clothes smell of the house. They want to rip apart.
(05:57):
His will ignore his specific directions and divvy up the pile,
and I'm the ignorant champion of a dead man. In
the angled afternoon light, the swirl seemed to tighten and intensify.
I blathered on for another ten minutes, and when I stopped,
I felt better. The resonance of my harsh words had
(06:19):
calmed me, and I left to go home. I returned
that next morning, but the light was wrong and I
couldn't discern any air movement. I came back that same
afternoon to discover that it hadn't been a fluke. The
dust particles were perceptibly swaying. I shifted into my anxieties
(06:41):
about being an executor, and when finished, felt relieved again,
revealing my concerns to a mother confessor who didn't require penance.
From then on, I visited the house almost daily, gradually
switching from Charles's situation to my own, revealing my personal
angers and fears. The experience was cathartic. Beth became concerned,
(07:05):
asking if I wasn't fixating on the house and poor
dead Charles. I tried unsuccessfully to assure her that I
was diligently working on estate matters, but she merely nodded
and allowed me the aberration. After almost a year of
wrangle and judicial pronouncements, the cousins left frustrated and Charles's
(07:27):
wishes were confirmed. I was able to schedule to sell
off of the assets and brace myself to say goodbye.
The last early spring afternoon, I went to Charles's house.
Agatha was waiting. I blurted it out as soon as
I sat down. I have bad news this house. Your
(07:50):
home was sold for a good price, but the company
that bought it will tear the house down and put
it in a zero lot line. Minnie mc mansion, you'll
be homeless. I'm so sorry. The moats appeared to tighten
(08:13):
into cordage, and then like an exhale, wafted toward me.
I felt I thought, I felt a light touch on
my hand, as if it were being padded. Then the
dust dissipated and drifted away. I looked up and went home.
(08:34):
Beth was already there. Are you finally done with that house?
Maybe now we can spend some time together. As I
plopped into my recliner and picked up the remote. I
glimpsed a swirl of air disturbing plant leaves in the
corner and smelled Guardina. Maybe I said, what I love
(09:03):
about this story is how it isn't about fear. It's
about making promises to people you care about, even if
you don't want to or you don't understand the significance
of the promise. There's a tenderness to this story that's
as soft and gentle as the dust modes in the light.
(09:24):
And Agatha is a ghost who listens, a confidante, a
witness to grief and frustration. And it's somehow a story
that feels both old fashioned and modern modern because in
a world where it's hard to establish connection, the idea
of a presence, even a spectral one that stays to
(09:45):
listen to you, is pretty comforting. So thank you ed
Ahearn for such a sweet story. The Kaiton Kit features
so many fascinating stories across every genre, and this is
just one of them. Be sure to subscribe to the
podcast and visit the substack to read author insights about
(10:07):
their inspiration. I also share art that I love many
different kinds on social media, so pick your poison and
follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Blue Sky, or Substack. You'll
find all the links in the episode description. Thank you
so much for listening to Day and I'll see you
next week.
Welcome to the kaititon Kai podcast, where every story takes
you one step deeper into the world of the strange,
the eerie, and the unknown. I'm your host Linda Gould
and tonight's story is The Empty House by ed Ahearn.
Before the death of his friend, a man makes two promises,
(00:32):
to be executor of the man's estate and to care
for Agatha, even though he has no idea what that
means or how it will affect his life. Ed Ahearn
resumed writing after forty odd years in the foreign intelligence
and international sales. He's had five hundred and fifty stories
(00:52):
and poems published so far and twelve books. Ed works
the other side of writing at Bewildering Stories, where he
manages a posse of six review editors, and as a
lead editor at scribes micro. Now dim the lights, settle in,
and prepare yourself for The Empty House by ed Ahern
(01:14):
and Joy. The little house was empty for two months.
Charles had lived alone there, and he died there as well.
Softly gasping in a morphine coma, he roused just enough
to see me and whisper take care of Agatha. I
(01:35):
tried to ask who she was, but he had lapsed
back into a stupor. I'd agreed, despite misgivings, to be
his executor. I'd already gathered the necessary information on financial assets,
real estate, and personal property, but the estate proceeds were
being contested, and all I could do was watch from
(01:56):
the sidelines while relatives and charities bickered. Meanwhile, I visited
the house every other day to recover stray mail and
check that the gas, electricity, and water still flowed without
interruption or leak. A house without people develops an echoed
loneliness that's hard to describe but easy to sense. Its
(02:18):
mission thwarted, it gently degenerates, dust settling into patna. The food,
long disposed of the important records extracted like teeth. The purposeless,
worn furniture was left behind. In Memorial one breezy spring afternoon,
I was rechecking financial and tax records in the second
(02:40):
bedroom Charles used as an office. The unused house's grime
and slowly flaking paint were imperceptibly worse, but I got
a vague apprehension that someone had been or still was
in the house. I checked all the outside doors and rooms,
but nothing was missed, unlocked or moved and no intruder appeared,
(03:04):
and yet it felt like someone had disturbed the emptiness.
Bright sunlight streamed through dirty windows into rooms in bad
need of use or emptying. The dust motes swirled only
when I moved, but I felt not alone. It wasn't
(03:25):
the specter of Charles. That curmudgeonly bachelor had a much
different tone while living, and presumably kept it while dead.
It felt different, lighter, and yet more melancholy than Charles
had been. I perched in the office chair without focus,
diverting myself with misgivings about the greedy living. After five minutes,
(03:49):
feeling like an idiot, I stood up to leave, and
in the doorway dust motes swirled, the moats glinting in
the sun. Jittered over to a small love seat and paused.
The frumpy room seemed to hold a presence. I stifled
the flip, urged to introduce myself, and kept waiting. In
(04:10):
that passive, receptive state, I smelled Guardina's impossible, of course,
because the unwatered house plants had been dead for weeks.
I felt that awkward social pause of two strangers waiting
for the other to speak. I gave in to momentary insanity.
(04:31):
Charles has been dead for a while. You may as
well move on. The motes danced in some undetected waft
of air. There was no real shape to them, but
I visualized a middle aged woman worn down until her
essence was exposed. A stray thought wandered in Agatha. The
(04:54):
dust particles bounced more vigorously. Okay, Agatha, I wondered if
I'd been somehow drugged, but continued, he's gone, Agatha. You'll
need to move along as well. You probably won't like
the new occupants, whoever they'll be. The faint cloud shimmered
(05:15):
in the light. There felt like a pause, like a
willing listener waiting for me to unburden myself. I'd tried
to spare Beth, my wife of lots of years, from
the acrimony surrounding the inheritances. I was being offered a
chance to do so, even if just to myself. I'm guessing,
(05:35):
you know, Charles no immediate family, but several grasping relatives
whom he disliked and ignored while he was alive. The
motes settled into a rhythm, like breaths or beech waves.
The Guardina scent was stronger, almost overwhelming. The funky, stale
clothes smell of the house. They want to rip apart.
(05:57):
His will ignore his specific directions and divvy up the pile,
and I'm the ignorant champion of a dead man. In
the angled afternoon light, the swirl seemed to tighten and intensify.
I blathered on for another ten minutes, and when I stopped,
I felt better. The resonance of my harsh words had
(06:19):
calmed me, and I left to go home. I returned
that next morning, but the light was wrong and I
couldn't discern any air movement. I came back that same
afternoon to discover that it hadn't been a fluke. The
dust particles were perceptibly swaying. I shifted into my anxieties
(06:41):
about being an executor, and when finished, felt relieved again,
revealing my concerns to a mother confessor who didn't require penance.
From then on, I visited the house almost daily, gradually
switching from Charles's situation to my own, revealing my personal
angers and fears. The experience was cathartic. Beth became concerned,
(07:05):
asking if I wasn't fixating on the house and poor
dead Charles. I tried unsuccessfully to assure her that I
was diligently working on estate matters, but she merely nodded
and allowed me the aberration. After almost a year of
wrangle and judicial pronouncements, the cousins left frustrated and Charles's
(07:27):
wishes were confirmed. I was able to schedule to sell
off of the assets and brace myself to say goodbye.
The last early spring afternoon, I went to Charles's house.
Agatha was waiting. I blurted it out as soon as
I sat down. I have bad news this house. Your
(07:50):
home was sold for a good price, but the company
that bought it will tear the house down and put
it in a zero lot line. Minnie mc mansion, you'll
be homeless. I'm so sorry. The moats appeared to tighten
(08:13):
into cordage, and then like an exhale, wafted toward me.
I felt I thought, I felt a light touch on
my hand, as if it were being padded. Then the
dust dissipated and drifted away. I looked up and went home.
(08:34):
Beth was already there. Are you finally done with that house?
Maybe now we can spend some time together. As I
plopped into my recliner and picked up the remote. I
glimpsed a swirl of air disturbing plant leaves in the
corner and smelled Guardina. Maybe I said, what I love
(09:03):
about this story is how it isn't about fear. It's
about making promises to people you care about, even if
you don't want to or you don't understand the significance
of the promise. There's a tenderness to this story that's
as soft and gentle as the dust modes in the light.
(09:24):
And Agatha is a ghost who listens, a confidante, a
witness to grief and frustration. And it's somehow a story
that feels both old fashioned and modern modern because in
a world where it's hard to establish connection, the idea
of a presence, even a spectral one that stays to
(09:45):
listen to you, is pretty comforting. So thank you ed
Ahearn for such a sweet story. The Kaiton Kit features
so many fascinating stories across every genre, and this is
just one of them. Be sure to subscribe to the
podcast and visit the substack to read author insights about
(10:07):
their inspiration. I also share art that I love many
different kinds on social media, so pick your poison and
follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Blue Sky, or Substack. You'll
find all the links in the episode description. Thank you
so much for listening to Day and I'll see you
next week.
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