“Come on, don’t be a wuss.” Jack laughed, putting an elbow into Cydni’s side. “It’s just a house.”

“It’s a creepy house,” Cydni pushed Jack away, “you go in, if you’re that brave then.”

Jack and Cydni walked side by side toward the end of the street of the cul-de-sac. The part of town no one really went anymore, unless you were up to something you would rather not have your parents find out about. The house at the end of the street had been boarded up for as long as they could remember, even when such things as their parents permission had concerned them. They came here often to gawk at the rickety old chateau together late at night. Even now, as they were both set to start college in separate towns, they found themselves both drawn to the thing. There, at the end of the road, it stood there alone with its off-white peeling paint and its sun-bleached shingles which Cydni had once decided must had once been a cool sky blue color. The houses that once stood beside the wretched thing once were all torn down through the years and wildly unkempt weeds had grown to take the space. Cydni watched her steps as she made her way down the weed-pocked sidewalks toward the building.

“It’s just a house.” Jack insisted.

“Right, and that’s why its still standing here when everything else is gone, demolished.” Cydni rolled her eyes, “I get bad vibes.”

“Ever superstitious.”

And he was right, Cydni was always the superstitious type. Perhaps not religious, no, she never really took to any religion, to the chagrin of her parents. But she had believed in life after death, in spirits, in quirks of luck and misfortune. Something Jack had always loved to tease her about by spilling salt in front of her with a sarcastic ‘oops’ to see if she would toss the spill behind her back.

They came to a halt in front of the abandoned building and stood in silence before it, just as they had countless nights before. Cydni pulled her tan cardigan tight around her, guarding her skin against the chill of mid-October. She had opted for a red crop top and jean short in a failed read of the forecast. Jack ran his hands through his head of black hair before shoving his fists into the pockets of his baggy black jeans. “Alright, $100, final offer.” Jack said at last.

“How many times do we have to go through this, I’m not doing it. I don’t even know why you brought me out here again. “

Jack looked at her knowingly. “When is your flight?”

Cydni met his gaze. “Tomorrow evening. I depart from Cleveland Airport and then—“

“Life in the big city begins.” Jack laughed.

“I’m going to miss you, asshole.” Cydni punched him in the arm.

Jack rubbed the soreness away and chuckled, “I brought you here because, I don’t know, call me sentimental.”

Cydni smiled at him and turned back to the house. Years and years they’ve come out here. Faced the punishment of staying up past curfew and laughed, just to come out to this nothing of a house. This blemish on the cul-de-sac. And never stepped inside. She was drawn to it, but she could never put her finger on why. Or the deep emptiness she felt as she looked upon it. And now, with the single street lamp overhead, flickering on and off, illuminating the two friends…

“Well?” Jack motioned toward the lawn.

Cydni studied it for a moment, the tall grass that would swallow her up to her shoulders. The sharp bits of rusted iron which must have once served as a gate poked through the weeds. The sidewalk sat cracked and crooked leading up to a rotten and splintered porch with cracked white pillars. Whether it was marble or just some sort of plastic to make the place look fancy, Cydni couldn’t place. She looked back at Jack, and he could see the fear creeping into her eyes.

“After all this time, you’re still scared of the place?” Jack crossed his arms.

“You’ve heard the stories…and you’re not?”

Jack shook his head, “they’re just stories, Cydni.”

And there were many of them, too. Stories of children wandering through the tall grass and disappearing—nowhere to be found. Tales of those who wandered in and didn’t come out the same as before, if they came back out at all. Sighting of ghosts in the windows were common as well, and it is said that authorities came and blew out the windows and replaced them from boards not to keep people from going in—no, in fact no one dared go in anymore—but rather to keep things from looking out. Each time they came, Cydni would tell Jack a new story she had heard about happenings at the House at the end of Culberson Circle, but he would always laugh them off as flights of fantasy from people with too much time on their hands.

“And if they’re not?” Cydni said critically, pursing her lips.

“I’ll go with you.” Jack insisted.

“You say that every time and then when I’m half way to that gate, I turn back and you haven’t budged.”

“I mean it this time.”

Cydni laughed, “yeah, okay.”

But she caught his eye. He looked…sincere. “I mean it. I’ll go with you.”

Cydni paused and studied her long time friend. He didn’t betray what was behind his smile. She let out a sigh. “Fine…but I swear, Jack, if I get to the door and find you sprinting to the street, I’ll kill you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved his hand in dismissal. Cydni turned back to the house which seemed to loom before her. The world seemed more silent than she’d remembered it being. She could feel her heart beginning to thud in her chest. “Ladies, first.” Jack extended his arm past her, ushering her to take the first steps.

“Asshole,” Cydni spat and started toward the house.

It was dark beyond the dim, flickering light of the street lamp. Colors and shapes started to swirl in her vision as she watched her steps on the cracked and uneven sidewalk. She made her way past the gated barrier, the gate door sitting unceremously on the sidewalk. She stepped over it carefully and found herself at the steps leading up to the extended porch. She could see the splintering, old wood of the door in front of her. It was painted in a similar off-white as the rest of the house. But the wood was fractured at sharp angles near the edges of the door frame. The handle looked rusted with age and weather. She felt her heart leap into her throat when she thought about the haunting sound the hinges might make when pried open.

“Wow, I’m impressed.” Jack whispered from behind her. “I didn’t actually think you’d do it.”

“Shhh!” Cydni urged him, as if something or someone was waiting in the wings to strike at the first sound of fresh blood on the doorstep of its house.

“Well, we made it this far, might as well go in.”

Cydni turned on her heel toward Jack. “I’m not doing that—you’ve had your fun.”

“Just open the door—just for a second—and we can go back to your place and drink ourselves silly one last time.”

Cydni glared at him and sighed, “fine,” she said, turning back to the darkened doorway. “Just open it.”

She reached a shaking hand forward, suddenly keenly aware of every sound, every creek of wood, every whistle of wind against the many splintered holes of the old house. Her hand grasped around the cold, rusted metal of the doorknob and she turned it slowly, ever so slowly. She pushed the door inward to a heart stopping shriek from the belabored hinges and when the door swung upon fully she felt the shove. She was sent forth from behind, stumbling forward through the precipice of the house. She swung back around to curse at Jack. But he was not there. In fact, the door wasn’t open at all. It was closed behind her already. And what had just a moment before been splintered and worse-for-wear, was now pristine, painted a homey off white. The handle was a polished gold.

Cydni turned back to the hallway before her and where she expected to see a dim, splintered mess of wood and dust, she found a clean hallway of cream colored walls. A lavish red carpet with gold trimmings led down a long hallway. A chandelier hung over her head and sparkled with the light. On her right, a painting sat on the wall of a handsome, well groomed man, and a gorgeous, bodacious woman in a red sequin dress. Two kids stood in front of them in matching overalls—a girl and a boy. Cydni rubbed her eyes, she felt her head spinning. She must have fainted—that was it—she was unconscious. Jack must be getting her help right now. She must be laying on the porch struck down by fear and she was having some sort of weird dream.

But she could feel the warmth of the house, replacing the chill of the October air. The hallway was gorgeous—nothing so resembling an abandoned house. And she could hear voices—the chatter of a man and children further inside.

Then she came into view. She recognized her from the painting. And she was wearing that red dress as she stepped into the hallway at the other end. Cydni could almost swear the woman was looking right at her. The woman started toward Cydni. She was looking at her. “Dear,” the woman said in a rich voice, “it seems we have a new guest this evening.”

Cydni backed up against the door, turned and pulled at the handle. But it did not budge.

“It’s okay, dear, its been so long since we had guests. Such a very long time. You are going to stay as long as you like, my dear. As long as you’d like.”