I’ve always prided myself on my negotiation skills. Back when I was in college, I loved haggling at flea markets, I still do. The back and forth, the techniques we both use, it’s a blast.
 

 

One of the most powerful techniques you can use is to simply repeat their offer, and be quiet. Don’t make any comment, not with your words not with your body language, not with your facial expressions.
 
 

If they’re selling you a car, and they say that $24,897 is the best they can do, you simply do this: Repeat the figure then look down at whatever document they want you to sign. And don’t move a frikking muscle. Especially if it’s a salesperson who works on commission. Because if they don’t make a sale, they won’t make any money.
 

 

Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever been in sales before, but most folks, guys and girls, also have huge egos. So when you’re sitting there, not giving them any indication of whether they’re close to your price or not, whether you are close to signing or close to standing up and leaving, what are they thinking?
 

 

Two very important thoughts.
 
 

If I don’t make this sale, I will have wasted all this time for nothing.
 
 

And:
 
 

If I don’t make this sale, all my coworkers will give me a hard time.
 

 

This is why this technique works so well. I used it recently in fact. To buy a house. It was the worst fucking mistake I’ve made in my entire life. Let me explain.
 

 

I’d been renting a small apartment (trying to save money) outside of Atlanta. Then I read in the news that there was this horrible, absolutely awful serial killing. Maybe you read about it? Guy picked up these teenage runaways. Kept them down in his basement. Who knows what he did with them (but we can all probably guess). But eventually he killed them. I’m not going to go into how, but he did. Slowly and methodically. One by one, while the other girls watched.
 

 

I guess he was trying to drive them slowly insane, before he killed them. Anyhow, one of them almost escaped, but he caught her, dragged her back down stairs, and gave her the what-for. But one of the neighbor’s suspected something, called the cops, and it was all over.
 
 

He plead guilty to avoid the needle. Or however they kill people these days.
 
 

So, what do I do? Do I say a prayer for those poor girls? Do I worry about how fucking horrible our society has become? No, I do not.
 

 

Yes, I know. I’m a fucking bastard. And I deserve everything that’s coming to me. Came to me. Whatever. See, because my first thought was this:
 
 

“I’ll bet that house is going to be hard to sell!”
 
 

So I waited. Waited until the trial was over. Until the real estate company finally got the house back from the cops. And I waited until it was on the market for at least six months. Then I made a call. Said I might be interested.
 

 

Of course, the agent had to tell me everything up front. About the murders. The torture. How mangled the skeletons were when they found them. Then I did something stupid. I told her I was “sensitive” to spirits.
 
 

Made up a bunch of stuff about how I could feel when there were angry spirits, and happy spirits. I asked to see the basement, where it all went down. I could tell she was pretty nervous about going down there.
 
 

But the house had been on the market for six months. It was fully half of what other houses were going for in the neighborhood. So when we get to the basement, I asked how much the house was going for, and she told me.
 

 

And I gave her the silent treatment. Just like a seasoned used car sleezebag. I closed my eyes, and slowly allowed a terrified look on my face. As if I could hear them screraming. Now, this lady was about to pee her pants, I’m sure.
 
 

So I open my eyes, apologized, and then used another sales trick. Here’s how it works. If the car salesman says they’ll sell you the car for $25,000, you say this:
 
 

“Hmm. So ideally you’d like $25,000, yeah?”
 
 

And of course they agree. Which basically means they’ll take something a little less. So I pulled that. “So you’d ideally like half of what’s currently being sold for,” I said. She nodded. And I knew she’d take less. A lot less.
 

 

So here’s what I did. While we were both standing in that basement, (which didn’t have any electricity) I carefully kicked the door closed while she wasn’t looking. I was kind of walking around, so she was in front of me, and the door was to my left. As soon as she looked away, I quickly moved over, slammed the door.
 

 

And then I screamed.
 
 

“They’re here!” I said softly, in a whisper, after I heard her start to sob. We both ran upstairs. And outside. I told her that nobody would buy this place. And that I had experiences dealing with spirits. And that I’d give her fifty percent of asking price. (Which was 25% of other houses in the neighborhood).
 
 

She agreed, and I thought I’d made the deal of the century. We closed two weeks later, and it was all mine. My plan was to tear it down. Get a bunch of priests and monks and whoever else wanted to participate and have some kind of cleansing ceremony. So everybody would know the spirits had been chased out.
 
 

That the evil was gone. Then I was going to have another house built, and then sell it at current market price. I figured I’d double my money in the process.
 

 

But I never got that far. Every contractor that came over, every demolition outfit said the same thing. That they’d felt a presence in the house. And that presence had given them one very clear signal.
 

 

Keep the fuck out.
 
 

That’s when the voices started. At first, they were whispers. Indecipherable. Then I started to understand then. Then I started to actually see them.
 

 

Yes, I shit you not.

The girls are still there. Still here, I mean. Because I think I’ve figured out why they won’t let me leave. See, I’ve tried. I’ve tried to find rentals. Apartments. But nothing ever works. Something always falls through.
 
 

I even tried being homeless, but the cops won’t leave me alone. I don’t know how they know, but whenever I get picked up for vagrancy, they take me right back.
 
 

Because here’s what happened. That guy that killed them? He really did drive them insane. Angry insane. They think that I’m him.
 
 

And they are content for me to stay in that house, while I live out my natural life, and pass on into the next world. One I never even believed in.
 
 

See, they’ve told me their plans.
 
 

They are going to get their revenge. Torture me to death again and again.
 

 

For all eternity.
 
 

That’s what I have to look forward. And some nights, I wake up in a cold sweat. And they are standing around my bed.
 

 

Laughing.
 
 

And waiting.