Masked

The Big Black House atop the Hill

I stared up the small, but steep hill. A dirt path headed straight for the top. I strolled up moving farther and farther from the jolliness of town. This wasn't my first time walking up the hill, everyone went through a phase usually in middle school, where you or one of your friends was dared to touch the gate. At least one person a year would make it to the top and no one would ever do it again. I only made it half way, but I did not enjoy reliving the feeling of safety slowly falling out of my grasp as the hairs on every part of my body stood up. Every step made it worse as my brain reminded me of everyone's warning, you could ask my parents, my friends, any other person in the town, and they would tell you never to go up this hill and most definitely never to cross the fence at the top.

The same metal fence that currently filled my view. The paint was chipped and the metal rusted. It was twice my height and surrounded the entire yard. The gate sat in the very middle. It felt as if it was leaning over me, breathing down my neck in short puffs, a final warning. "Do not enter." The message that'd been shoved down my throat since I was in diapers. Past the gate, the long dirt path switched to greying, cracked brick which turned to wooden steps as it reached the porch. The yard was over grown with grass that reached up to my hip. Enough dandelions and prickle weeds to work as a last ditch defense against intruders. The house looked like a feral dog who'd been on the streets for years. Some of the windows were broken and parts of the paneling were falling off, but it didn't assuage the dangerous atmosphere like seeing someone pushed past their breaking point, nothing holding them back and you as their prey.

My hand pressed against the freezing gate and pulled. It wasn't locked, but I struggled to open it after the decades of neglect it'd gone though. It let out an ear splitting cry. The gate clawed at the dirt as it was dragged across the ground. I stopped before the gate was even a quarter of the way open just enough that I could slide through without having to worry about my body touching the metal. My foot moved onto the brick and as the sole of my shoe pressed down I felt it. A heavy weight hit every side of my body, but I felt nothing. Eyes watching my every move, but I saw nothing. Whispers laughing at my foolishness, but I heard nothing. My body stopped without me telling it to, my brain was telling me that'd I'd only put one foot on the property maybe I could still turn back, but I couldn't, not really, so I pulled my left foot out of the paralysis it'd been forced into and set both my feet upon the brick path. I spared one more glance at the house. And began my trudge to the porch.

Every step felt heavy, like something was clinging to my limbs, begging me to turn around and stop, to stop and think, heed the warnings, not to throw away my life, for whatever dare I was doing, my pride wasn't worth my life. My breath was labored if I'd ever doubted the stories, I never would again. There was no way any of this was natural something was trying to keep me out. I guess it not wanting to see me hurt was sweet, but if I ended up having to crawl to the entrance I would not be happy.

The whisper moved to yelling, their eyes bore into me, hands grasping and pulling me back. The closer I got the more desperate it got. We stayed in an almost endless tug-a-war, but slowly I made progress, when I was only 3 feet from the steps it got angry, trying to pull pieces of me back, if all of me wouldn't come it'd pick me up piece by piece until I was only a pile by it's side.

I was on my knees clinging to the wood of the steps before I knew it. I couldn't move, but I would not fall back, for serval agonizing moments I thought I might be like that forever. Curled up hanging from the stairs until my body started rotting, I don't remember the next few minutes, or how long it took, but judging by my scraped and splinter arms i managed to pull myself to the door.

When my breath slowed I was laying on a red rug next to the open door of the house. I rested until a bit of strength returned to my body and then I stood and surveyed my surroundings. I was standing at the end of a long hallway, the floor was a deep cherry wood with a grey rug following the walls which were covered in a light blue wallpaper with a squiggly pattern on it. It looked nice, but felt like the whole thing was bathed in darkness, the feeling of something about to pounce. It was hunting before you even entered, watching, waiting for you to fall into its trap just like it knew you would. The house was warning me to stay quiet, I wouldn't live, but maybe I could at least annoy it a little.

I crept down the hall as my killer looked for me, the hallway was long, but the were five doors attached to it, I'd had enough sense to study the layout of the house, before attempting this so I know my option: the living room to my right, the dining room to my left, the bathroom next to the living room, the stairwell to the upstairs across from that, or the ladder to the basement at the end. I could feel the darkness strengthen as I thought, I was a sitting duck and I needed to move quickly and quietly. All it took was one creak of the stairs to spur me to act. I ducked into the living room, but before I could turn and shut the door I saw it. The empty holes in its mask stared back at me, a wooden sheet covering its face with two holes carved into the top half and a long too wide smile carved half way through the bottom of the wood. A thick leather strap curved around its head to hold the mask in place. I could see some short black hair peeking over the top. It sat innocently on a rug in the center of the living room criss-cross apple sauce looking up at me with a titled head liked it had been waiting. It wore a green long sleeve shirt and faded jeans, both bloodied. My body froze and this time no matter what I tried it wouldn't move. I'd fallen directly into its trap as soon as I stepped foot in its house. As it stood my breath stopped my brain couldn't even form thoughts anymore. All that was left was fear. My body knew it was dead and I couldn't convince it otherwise.

It took silent steps towards me until it was right in front of me. I couldn't even move my head down to look it in the face, if I was lucky this would be my last moment on earth. The stories of what it did if it didn't kill you were much worse. Its paper white hands touch mine they were colder then the gate as it pulled my hand up before letting it fall back to my side and it turned and walked back to the rug sitting with its back to me. I stayed there waiting for whatever hell storm would be released on me, but when it continued to sit there I gained enough sense to run out the door and down the path. Though the gate and down the hill. I ran and I didn't stop to think until I was all the way home and in my room, only once I got there did I notice the object in my hand. A small wooden coin with words burned into either side of it.

One said bravery and the other stupidity.

I almost didn't notice the small, "I survived the Big Black House ™️," scribbled across side.

AN: let me know if you think I should continue this. Also if you have any criticism I'd really appreciate it. You can be as mean as you want, I wont get my feeling hurt.