"Ah, shit" Stan looked down at his now coffee-stained shirt in disgust while maintaining his generous pressure on his brake pedal. "I hate the traffic in this hell hole." Stan looked at what his quick reflexes had accomplished for him before grabbing napkins from out of his glove box. This was only a small dot on the list of things he'd accomplished for himself. He accomplished such amazing, original nicknames such as "faggot, geek, loser," and, his personal favorite, "queer bait" at school. He'd accomplished losing his first girlfriend to a dumb as rocks football player. He even accomplished being kicked off of teams he paid to be on.
And now he'd accomplished a huge brown stain on his chest.
A horn blared as a red van pulled up behind him, carrying the pride and joy players of the school football team. "C'MON ASSHOLES! MOVE"
Stan sighed and shook his head. These were the players that were the apple of the eye of everyone in his school. The ones who got away with everything, without a care in the world, because god forbid they lose a football game for discipline. Stan usually tried to avoid them. He averaged a .010, which is ironically his batting stat in his last season of baseball.
"Five more minutes. Five more minutes and I wouldn't have had to put up with this"
The horn resumed its insistent honking. "I AINT GOT ALL DAY! MOVE ALREADY"
Try as they might, the traffic jam didn't seem to clear any faster, much to the dismay of the players and Stan. Stan looked down the road and saw the highway exit, which would take him away from this jam and to school. But his mind wasn't on the jam, nor was it on school. Just past that exit was a small dirt trail, which lead to a complex series of dirt roads, houses, and other small trails. But there was one in particular he needed to check before school.
The plan was simple. He'd rehearsed it a million times. The Ouija board was under his seat. The strange book from his parents supposedly bought from an Egyptian Fortune teller. Maybe none of this was real. But at this point, he'd try anything, ANYTHING, to finally be left alone. To not deal with the people around him to become invisible to become someone who everyone didn't step on, to become-
Stan took a deep breath. He was too excited to see if the house would be there today, the first day he had the courage to commit to his plan. He felt more nervous with every car length that he closed between him and the exit.
He finally got off the highway and immediately turned towards the path. He started thinking about the wonderful turn of events that had led to this day, to this opportunity. He lived alone, as his parents came into a lot of money through the lottery. With hundreds of millions in their bank account, they wanted to spend a few years traveling the world. They called often enough, but what Stan most appreciated was the money (most of which was spent on games) and items that they sent back while on their various journeys. The last gift he had received from them along with their last postcard was the spell book. He had managed to spill coffee on the postcard too.
He came over the last hill, and could see the opening ahead of him where the house sometimes resides, and could hardly hold the excitement in as he turned into the tall grass infested driveway. He had to stop and see it before school.
The place was a rundown 2 story wooden dump. It was obviously a very dark colored wood before the decaying started, but now most spots were downright black. It seemed to have a bit of a lean, as if It started to come forward to investigate Stan and his blue S10 pickup. Its shadow engulfed the ground around them as Stan stepped out of the truck and took a few steps towards the porch. Whispers and secrets seemed to leak from the old place, almost as softly and terrifying as the rumors surrounding it.
Many years ago, a miner driven mad from coal dust and old age owned a shack on the very same grounds this behemoth stood on. The man would stumble to town (reportedly drunk) screaming of haunts and other terrifying figures surrounding and intruding his shack. He managed to convince a relatively new local to come investigate with him but when they arrived, only the sound of the crickets and owls could be heard. Not a single sound or sight was strange. Or if it was, the person never said anything.
The shack was torn down to build a house for a family around 1953. The family was kind and was quickly accepted by the people of the town. They stayed for 4 years, only for the father to be relocated to a position in Arizona. After that, no one seemed interested in the house.
A decade later, a local troublemaker found an old article in his attic about the crazy old miner and decided he wanted to mess with it. According to a friend he brought with him, he no more than touched the front door and the house exploded. The friend ran without a second thought, leaving unscathed. When he could finally get over the fear and turn around to see his friend, the scene brought him to his knees. The young man was propelled by the power of the heavy metal door flying away from the house. He was burned near unrecognizable, and was barely moving. He managed to make it 10 yards before his mind caught shock from the sight of his broken limbs. 10 yards on sheer willpower and a leg fractured in 2 places. He was rushed to the hospital and survived. During investigation, the fire department found a leak in the gas, but were unable to determine what had happened to cause the ignition of the fumes.
All these thoughts flooded Stan's head, as he began pondering exactly why he was worried it wouldn't be here. If the rumors were true, it was always ready to help.
Like the last time anyone reported seeing it.
After the place was destroyed, another local student decided to mess around at the place and scare his companion for the night. The only story anyone ever got came from her. She explained the house was there and they went inside. She was covered in his blood, and they found him lying in front of the ruins, stabbed multiple times. She was admitted to a mental institution the next day.
Stan shivered, contemplating how well thought out this plan was. Thoughts of whether just crazy people were attracted to the site because it was so cut off, was it really haunted? Was he in danger of either one?
Stan looked away and rubbed his head before climbing back into his truck. "whatever it is," he thought," tonight's going to be interesting.
"I DECLARE I DON'T CARE NO MORE"
Stan jolted up as his phone exploded in loud punk music. He was safe at home, waiting for nightfall after a long day at school. He checked the caller ID to find his mom was the culprit of this particular intrusion.
"Hello?"
"SWEETHEART! How ARE you?" His mother's voice blared through the speaker so loudly he had to hold the phone away from himself for a moment to regain his hearing.
"I'm great ma. What about you guys?"
"Oh we are having the BEST time in Cairo"
