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Chapter 003: The Morrow House
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After the acceptance of the dare, the Scooby Gang left to go into the "haunted" house.
That meant making a pit stop at Sasha's and Quinn's houses—Sasha so she could change out of her crop top and plaid skirt into a more practical striped long-sleeved shirt and acid-washed jeans and get the camcorder the four of them would use in their plan, and a second in case the first died, and her bag, and Quinn's so they could get flashlights. Sure, Emmy knew they could have grabbed a flashlight from their places, but Quinn's parents always had loads of tools in their shed, including flashlights. And besides, with Quinn's house... her folks hardly cared if Quinn smelled like beer and weed. Emmy's and Ben's folks and, to some extent, Sasha's, Quinn's on the other hand...
Flashlights were easier to get at Quinn's.
With what they needed—and Emmy glad her trusty denim jacket, long-sleeved, turtlenecked grey shirt, faded dark denim jeans, and her black Converse had been both a good party and haunted house outfit, Ben's jacket and sweater and jeans combo and Quinn's striped shirt, brown sherpa jacket and jeans also practical for a haunted house so they didn't need an outfit change—they got in Sasha's car and made the short drive to Ashwood Drive and to where the Morrow House was, already grinning and joking about the ghosts they would see, that the camcorder would probably record only time-rotted furniture, peeling walls and a lot of dust instead of any so-called ghosts haunting Morrow House.
If she was being honest, Emmy was actually looking quite forward to it, something in her that wasn't weed buzzing at the idea of being in Morrow House. Maybe it was her love of creepy things that had shifted into her love of forensics and wanting a career in it. Maybe it was the teenage thrill of being in something so creepy and so infamous. Maybe it was some other third thing. Maybe it was all three. Emmy didn't know, and she didn't particularly care. She was just excited for this—and by the energy of her friends, it was mutual.
When they got there, Sasha parked the car and turned it off just as they walked out—and saw the Morrow House.
Before time and abandonment dug its claws into it, Morrow House had once been quite nice—a grand two storeys with white pillars supporting the overhang of its first roof, dark paint on its walls and white trimmings, and a presence that screamed it was grand. But now, Morrow House showed its abandonment, as no one wanted to live in a house where two murders had happened in it. The paint was peeling and weathered, and in some places showing bare wood, the white trimmings were chipped and discoloured, the windows boarded up, and the pillars had fine cracks in them. Plants crawled up the pillars, pushed through the porch steps and the wooden planks of the porch, and draped across the first roof and dangling down. Even the house's presence had changed—it felt abandoned, but more than that, there was something about it that felt ominous, that had shivers skittering across Emmy's skin and goosebumps prickling on the back of her neck, like Emmy should be turning the other way and running until she was back in the safety of her home. Like something strange and dangerous did lurk within its dilapidated halls.
