Summer nights in town were brutal, and not just because of the heat. Most of Elliot’s friends went back to their own home towns, each more interesting than his, and he stayed with his parents until school began again. The downside of having a desirable college in your home town, and getting into that college . . . He spent most days alone, inside, reading or eating or sleeping.

Each morning, he looked out at the boarded up house from his window. His room faced it directly. For as long as he could remember, nobody had ever lived there. When they moved into this house, his parents had asked about it, and the realtor told them it was going to be renovated soon. That was seventeen years ago.

There was something eerie about it. Not just because it was empty, surrounded by lively houses. The wood wasn’t rotted, the grass was trimmed in the front and back yard, as far as Elliot could see. Somebody was taking care of it. Yet, there were never any cars in the driveway or any noises from inside.

After one particularly boring day, Elliot decided to have some fun.

He crossed the street and knocked on the boarded up door. He knew this neighborhood; he knew that old Madam Lorris would be watching from her window, her husband would be on the back porch smoking. He had many eyes on him from behind, but as he looked into the peephole and saw nothing, he felt eyes on him there, too. A shudder ran down his spine. He had been reading too much horror . . .

He turned to leave. A piece of wood dropped from the door, revealing the knob. With a shaking hand, he turned it . . .

In that boarded up house, Elliot found his childhood. Smiles, fun, play toys, pets that were now deceased, and his grandparents all greeted him with smiles. The inside smelled of fresh baked pies, cookies, and other sweets. He had never felt so happy.

When the police found his body days later, though, they were not smiling.