Not Evaluated

My name is Chen Fang. I'm a Level Three home inspector, and for five years I've specialized in inspecting houses where someone has died.

Foreclosed properties, houses paid out by insurance, and those that real estate agents can't sell for two years: they all end up with me. I have a 73-point checklist that I wrote myself, one item at a time. Number 41: Open every cupboard door.

A cupboard is the only place in a house where someone can stand out of sight.

In five years, I've written 437 reports, each with the same four-character conclusion: "Fit for sale." Those words mean the house can go back on the market, while the person in the cupboard is erased from the records forever. No name, no identity. If they leave, nobody will ever know.

So my mentor taught me one thing. After inspecting a house, stand in the doorway, look back inside, and say:

"There is no one in this house."

I've said it more than 400 times, and nothing ever happened.

Until the fifteenth of last month, when the house answered me:

"There is someone."

Then I found a report in the System that I had never signed. The date was the day I went back to my hometown to burn incense for my younger brother. The employee number on the signature was mine. The report had two final fields: one for the conclusion, and one for remarks.

The conclusion has only three options: Fit for sale, Temporarily suspend sale, or Do not assess.

The remarks field accepts only one thing: a name.

Get it right, and he leaves.

Get it wrong, and he stays, and remembers you.

That night, I wrote my mentor's name.

The next day, my front door opened.