The House

The House

“Let’s go look at that place!” Ray said, running toward the broken down house, hidden off the road.

“Wait...” Jeff called, but Ray was too far. When he finally caught up with, him he grabbed his arm.

“Stop! This place is cursed.”

“Pfff! Cursed! What does that even mean? That’s what the sissies say!” up on the porch he marched and banged open the front door, which, oddly enough was not locked.

Jeff didn’t know what else to do but follow him. The house could be dangerous, he couldn’t let Ray go in by himself. Apologizing to the house, or the curse, or the ghosts, or the woods, he wasn’t sure which, he followed Ray in.

Inside was dim and dusty and pretty empty. He could see exactly where Ray had gone by the footprints in the dust on the floor even though he couldn’t hear anything now except the wind whistling through the broken windows. He followed them quietly.

Toward the back was a large room with a large window looking out over what likely was a beautiful backyard once. Now a tangle of open places, and trees and vines. The room was almost empty save one old dusty sofa facing a huge fireplace. Ray was sitting there.

“Ray? Are you OK?” Jeff asked quietly.

Ray turned, looking calm, and a bit dazed, “Yeah, fine. You ready to go?” and he got up and walked out. They never spoke of the incident again.

Jeff however found himself drawn back. Being a writer, he began making up stories about the house and it’s residents and eventually became quite famous, buying the house fixing it all up, and living there till a ripe old age.

After he passed, he stayed, and helped find them all find their new owner.