The Immortal Gazette: The Curse of Zombie Foreclosures
The fire crackled in the great hall, casting long shadows across the room. Alice twirled a lock of her hair between her fingers, her boots propped on the table as she leaned in toward Loki, who seemed far too pleased with himself tonight.
Across from them, Rumplestiltskin wasn’t fooled. His golden eyes narrowed as he watched Alice—too flirty, too happy—and Loki, too content, humming even. Something was off, but he’d figure it out later. Right now, there was a curse to discuss.
"Alright," Alice said, tapping her goblet. "This zombie foreclosure thing—it better be as horrifying as it sounds."
Loki grinned. "Oh, my dear, it’s worse. It’s not just a curse. It’s many curses rolled into one. The curse of bad luck. The curse of greed. The curse of bureaucracy."
Rumplestiltskin smirked. "And, most importantly, the curse of the Outerworld’s ridiculous system of money and property."
Alice huffed. "Fine, educate me. Tell me why houses are being abandoned like haunted mansions in ghost stories."
How the Curse of Zombie Foreclosures Begins
Rumplestiltskin leaned forward. "Picture this: a family buys a home. They’re happy. Then suddenly—boom—the mortgage payment skyrockets because insurance costs tripled overnight. Or maybe taxes jumped because the city decided their neighborhood is suddenly worth more."
Loki sighed dramatically. "Or perhaps an evil force—also known as an investor—bought it, realized they can’t make a quick fortune off of it, and just walked away."
Alice’s jaw dropped. "Wait. Investors are just abandoning houses?"
Rumplestiltskin nodded. "Oh, all the time. They think they can flip it, the market shifts, and instead of dealing with it—poof—they vanish. They don’t want to pay property taxes, maintenance, or insurance, so they let it rot."
Loki smirked. "It’s the true dark magic—capitalism."
Why Do People Walk Away From Their Homes?
Alice counted on her fingers. "Okay, so people leave because:
- The bank screwed them.
- Insurance betrayed them.
- Property taxes turned into a demon overnight.
- Investors got greedy and left a mess.
- Family drama from some estate nonsense?"
Rumplestiltskin raised his goblet. "Bingo. Imagine inheriting a house from dear Aunt Mildred, only to find out she had decades of unpaid taxes. Now you’re stuck with it."
Alice groaned. "That is cursed."
Loki laughed. "And that’s before the bank decides to start the foreclosure process—then never finishes it."
Alice narrowed her eyes. "Wait. How does that happen?"
The True Horror—The Bank’s Incomplete Spell
Rumplestiltskin grinned wickedly. "Ah, the greatest trick of them all. The bank starts foreclosure, but then—surprise!—they decide the house isn’t worth it. So they just… stop. And never tell the owner."
Alice looked horrified. "They can do that?"
Loki smirked. "Oh, they do. And guess what? That means the previous owner still technically owns it. The city keeps charging property taxes. The insurance company wants its money. And if something happens—say, a squatter sets it on fire—the legal owner is still responsible."
Alice sat back. "That’s the zombie part. The house is dead, but it’s still haunting them."
Rumplestiltskin raised a finger. "And don’t forget: some of these houses sit empty for years. Whole neighborhoods full of abandoned, overgrown homes. The perfect setting for crime, decay, and ghost stories."
Loki chuckled. "It’s so bad that some places pass laws trying to force banks to finish foreclosures—or at least make them take responsibility for these abandoned houses."
Alice shook her head. "So you’re telling me this entire problem exists because banks, cities, and investors just… leave things half-done?"
Rumplestiltskin smirked. "You’re catching on, dear."
How Do You Break the Curse?
Alice crossed her arms. "Alright, tricksters. How do you stop a zombie foreclosure?"
Loki sighed dramatically. "If it’s your house, never assume it’s gone until you have legal proof. And if you inherit one of these cursed properties—sell it fast."
Rumplestiltskin nodded. "Or demand the city or bank take official ownership. And if all else fails, get a very good lawyer and set the house on fire."
Alice gasped. "Rumple!"
Loki smirked. "Figuratively, of course! Never really do that!."
Rumplestiltskin shrugged. "Mostly."
The REAL REASON Some People Leave Their Homes
Alice took a deep breath. "Okay, but what about the people who don’t just walk away out of greed? The ones who wanted to stay?"
The room went quiet for a moment.
Rumplestiltskin sighed. "Ah. The true tragedies."
Loki’s playful grin faded. "Sometimes, life hits people so hard, they have to let go of their home."
Alice nodded. "A spouse becomes disabled. Medical bills pile up. A child needs care, and suddenly the mortgage isn’t the priority anymore."
Rumplestiltskin traced a finger along his goblet. "Or the worst—someone passes away. The surviving spouse is left trying to pay the bills alone, and it’s just too much."
Loki poked at the fire, his expression uncharacteristically somber. "Then there’s the slow kind of drowning. Not just one big disaster, but a thousand little ones. Groceries cost more. Utility bills spike. Insurance climbs. And one day, there’s just… nothing left to give."
Alice sighed. "And that’s how it happens. Not just greed. Not just bad luck. But real life, making choices for people."
Rumplestiltskin raised his goblet once more. "To those who lost their homes. And to those still fighting to keep them."
Alice and Loki lifted theirs as well. "To the ones who never gave up—even when they had no choice."
Outside, the wind howled again—not as a curse, but as a whisper of all the voices, all the lives, all the stories behind the empty houses. They weren’t just abandoned buildings. They were once homes.
The Takeaway—Before You Start Taking Legal Advice from Tricksters
Alice smirked and leaned back in her chair, twirling her goblet between her fingers. "Alright, darlings, before you go making life decisions based on our little fireside chat—let’s get something straight."
Loki grinned, stretching his legs out and looking far too pleased with himself. "If you’ve listened to anything I’ve said tonight and thought, Hmm, maybe I should follow that advice—stop. Right now. I am literally Loki. Trickster, deceiver, god of chaos. Would you take legal advice from me? No. No, you would not."
Rumplestiltskin snorted, swirling the wine in his goblet. "And let’s not forget Alice. A Day Walker, a lunatic, and like Sybil she has three personalities and is a professional chaos gremlin. Her idea of financial planning is betting a kingdom’s fortune on whether or not she can make someone fall in love with a hat."
Alice gasped dramatically. "How dare you. That was one time and you look more like a freaking gremlin that I do!"
Loki raised a brow. "It was four times."
Rumple chuckled. "And then there's me. Rumplestiltskin. Do I look like a financial planner to you? Do I look like someone who gives ethical advice? My entire existence revolves around bad deals and trickery. If I tell you to do something - do the opposite."
Alice rolled her eyes. "Basically, if you’re dealing with a zombie foreclosure, don’t go setting things on fire, don’t try to curse a bank, and for the love of all things immortal, talk to an actual lawyer, not us."
Loki smirked. "Unless, of course, you do want a little chaos in your life. In which case…" He spread his hands. "You know where to find me."
Rumplestiltskin groaned. "Do not listen to him."
Alice grinned, raising her goblet. "So, dear mortals, take this tale for what it is—a grand story of mischief, mayhem, and real-world horrors. But when it comes to actual houses, money, and curses? Maybe—just maybe—consult someone who isn’t a trickster god, a mad Day Walker, or the literal Dark One."
The fire crackled, and outside, the wind carried a whisper of laughter—because somewhere out there, someone was definitely about to make a very bad decision.
And it definitely wasn’t their fault.
Right? 🍷🔥📜
🖋️✨📜💀
