Ryder

Chapter 1

I didn't choose to find her, let me make that clear. I never wanted to find a strange girl in an odd place, let alone bring her to MY place.  

But I am unconsciously glad I did.

My name is Ryan Pohler. I was pretty average for a 14-year-old. I was a B+ average student.  I didn't have many friends.  Or any.  Just some people who were in my life.  Who ate lunch with me, though silently.  Accquiantences.  But even in their presence, I always felt weirdly empty and alone.

I guess I liked school. I mean, it's not great. I'm picked on, but it really could be worse. At least I'm not Robert Jameson, who gets his head shoved in a toilet every week.  I didn't like a lot of people in the school, but I liked having an organized course in life, or at least for 7 hours.  I always felt most at home in my journalism room, A-76. We wrote the website and newspaper, and had a new column due every week.  Writing is one of my strong suits, because my mind wanders way too much and I need an outlet for all that crap.  I was the only one in the class who actually did any work, though.  I never really cared. 

One of these columns is "Curb Appeal: New Houses For Sale". As if anyone would look at our paper for open houses.  I was assigned to the topic that week, much to my dismay.  Apparently, I need to "expand my horizons".  But I didn't see the point in them, and, therefore, didn't particularly enjoy writing one.   

But after her, I loved them. In fact, it was how I found her.  

••••••••••••••• 

I tore through the streets of my small town, the puddles from the pouring rain splashing everywhere. The old-fashioned, chuncky black camera bounced around on my chest, and a few random papers flew from my arms. My eyes darted from left to right, trying to spot the place I had to review.  I hated how much I procrastinated on this one.  I don't usually do this, I swear.  I'm actually a really good kid who is really fantastic at sorting out my priorities.  Yet, I managed to leave this until the last second, and, at the last second, the clouds decided to have a mental breakdown.  I didn't like rain, let alone this kind of bullets-shooting-through-the-sky kind of weather.  I didn't know it then, but that scene, and everything that had to do with it, would change my life.

Ah, here we were....227 Lincoln Street.

Well, as soon as I saw it, I immediately realized why the house had never been bought. A "For Sale" sign had been hastily shoved into the front lawn--if you can even call it that. The grass area was patchy, mud-covered, overgrown in some spots, and undergrown in others. The windows were broken, and duct tape covered the cracks. Shingles on the roof stuck out at odd angles.  The building itself was made of dull, brown bricks, which I figured could calapse at any second.  The rain did nothing to improve the place's "charm".  It was, by far, the ugliest, creepiest place I had ever seen in the neighbourhood.

Due to the reviewing rules at school, I had to go inside to inspect the interior. It was a fight-or-flight moment: stay in the pouring rain, or walk into the creepy house where a serial killer could be waiting, prepared to gut me out and keep my entrails in jars?

The inside of the house was musty and dark.  

But there was more to this place....as if a spirit were constantly lingering over my shoulder. I noticed odd things: drawers in the kitchen pulled open, objects like scissors, paperclips, and cigarettes scattered the floor.  The floor was a muddy tiled design, thick with dust.  Except....there were thin areas of the dust.  Chills ran down my spine.  Footsteps.  There were deep scratches in the table and counter. With a start, I realized they were words: 

She's Gone.... 

She's Gone..... 

IT WAS HER.

Now, I was totally freaking out. My head pounded, and my body shook.  This....this wasn't normal. Forget the review. I had to leave, now. I would not come back.  This house was straight out of a horror film.  I would not have any part in a haunted house.  This place was getting to me. I was becoming paranoid. I'd get an E on my column, and I'd carry on like nothing happened.

That, alas, was not the case.

I was about to bolt to the door, but something stopped me. It was as if something was calling me.... 

Drawing me closer.... 

But no. I was hearing things, I assured myself. It must've been the weird fumes in the house. I'm allergic to that stuff, whatever it is.  I was only paranoid, after all.  There was no one here; I was all alone in the house.

But I heard it again, a voice no louder than a whisper....

"Who's there? Daddy? Are you back?"

I was frozen in my spot, my feet planted on the floor. I had a big imagination, but I couldn't possibly think up this.  Thousands of thoughts darted across my mind in a sprint.  I tried to move, but I was paralyzed.  

"Daddy?"

Scratch that previous thought.

I was not alone.