Rhytalle County is a unique area located in the north central of America, even competing against Los Angeles County population-wise with almost 9.5 million residents in 2000. The county is known for its beautiful suburban neighborhoods and pleasant weather year round, despite nearby counties possessing brutal tornadoes and other storms. However, what really attracted people to Rhytalle were the courteous real estate agents who advertise their dream homes. 

It’s virtually impossible not to befriend whichever agent a customer met. Each one was polite, humorous, and in all removed the stress of purchasing a new house. And awfully good-looking too. Nobody ever really knew how the county found these agents, they would just show up out of who knows where. There were no complaints and only minimal questions as to who exactly they were or where they came from. Some theorize the agents originated from some secret program run by the Rhytalle commission. Others would call them crazy. And only a small few are convinced these agents are not all they seem to be.

Joanne O’Haley, a resident of Rhytalle County, was determined to prove the world this fact. Just two years ago, in 1998, she purchased a one-story house on Brazet Street. Homes were selling left and right, and the agents were ecstatic. Joanne thought nothing of it, it’s not unusual to be happy after such success. But what she did take notice of was the strange trill in her real-estate agent’s voice. It wasn’t like a sore throat, caught flem, or anything excusable. It was predatory. Dangerous.

“THere’S neWly iNstaLLed plUmbIng And eLectRical WIring frOm nuMeRous truStworTHy comPanIes! No nEed to woRry abouT thoSE sOrts. WE woUld ONly offEr the bEst OF tHe beSt!”

And the more eccentric he got, the more obvious it was that the agent was not entirely normal. The menacing glare in his eyes only confirmed it once Joanne agreed to purchase the property. As she drove away to her apartment after the tour, Joanne glanced back one more time at the house. The real-estate agent was standing in the driveway, staring at the car’s quickly retreating form. The signature Rhytalle agent smile nowhere to be seen. 

Joanne slammed her apartment door open, swiftly turning to lock it shut. 

“Hm,” called a voice from within the room, “Bad luck?” Joanne spun to face the owner of the voice. Michael Thomson, her old friend from college, was splayed across a worn-down leather recliner, his nose buried in some tabloid and oblivious to Joanne’s terrible distress. Joanne marched over to the short man, ripping the tabloid away from his face.

“Hey! I was reading that-” He was cut off as Joanne gripped him by the shoulders tightly, horror painted across her face.

“Mikey. I need you to listen to me. You were right. Dangit, you were right! Those-those agents, they’re not real. Not like we are. There’s something going on and I don’t know what. And I’m sorry for making fun of you when you said so but please hear me out. Something isn’t right.”

Michael stood still, unmoving for only a few seconds before a small grin broke out.

“Really? Are you serious?” He shrugged Joanne’s hand off of him, grin stretching wider and wider. “A-and do you have proof? Video recording? Photos? Anything?” She shook her head. Michael turned away and began to pace around the room, mumbling underneath his breath. “They’re real. They’re real. Oh my God they’re real!”

As her friend chanted in his excited haze, Joanne’s sight drifted to the forgotten tabloid spewed across the carpet. The face of a beautiful woman greeting her back.

“Celebrities and Their Dark Secrets: The Truth is Finally Revealed!”