The House

Chapter 2: The Games Begin

I slowly peel myself off the dashboard, afraid that if I move too fast, something will break. There's a sharp, throbbing pain in my left hand, and I wince.

Damn, I crashed my truck, my truck that I worked so hard on. Smoke spews out from underneath the hood that is bent like a crushed soda can. There's no way I can fix that.

A groan sounds next to me, and my eyes widen with remembrance. Beth.

"Beth?" I ask, coughing, "are you okay?"

Rain is pouring in through the broken windshield. Beth isn't in her seat. Then small hands come under my arm pits and someone starts pulling me out. "Slowly," I cry out, "do it slowly."

"Okay, sorry. You're really heavy," Beth helps me out of the wrecked car, "can you walk?"

"Yeah, yeah, are you hurt?" I ask dizzily. My head is spinning.

"No, but you are. Your hand is broken." Looking at me with concerned brown eyes, she helps me under the cover of the trees. I slump to the ground, and she tears off the underside of my shirt and wraps it around my hand.

"Thanks," I murmur. The pain in my hand is terrible. I feel like throwing up.

"You must've crushed it against the door when you swerved," her fingers as they wrap up my hand, are trembling. Her face is pale as a sheet, and from the way she's biting her lip, she's in shock.

"I'm so sorry, Beth. This is my fault." I feel awful for doing this to her. If she hadn't been in my truck, this wouldn't have happened to her.

She takes a deep breath, exhaling loudly. She does this a few more times. "It wasn't your fault. I saw the girl. If you hadn't turned we would've hit her."

"I guess you're right." Wait, the girl. "Where is she?" I crane my head to look, "Can she call for help?"

Beth looks back. "I don't think so. There's no one there. I think she ran off."

I grimace. "Well that's fantastic."

Since we're underneath some trees, the rain isn't hitting us as hard, but we're still soaked to the bone. My teeth are starting to chatter. I try my phone, and curse. "No reception. The rain must be blacking out everything."

Beth is shivering too. Her hair is dripping wet. "W-what about your truck? Can we drive to a hospital?"

"I destroyed the engine. It won't start."

"We n-need to find somewhere n-not so c-cold," She chatters, wrapping her arms around herself, "and with reception."

"There aren't any houses around here. We're miles away from the neighborhoods."

Beth stares into the darkness, the trees around us. "But there's a house right there," she scrambles to her feet, switching on the flashlight of her phone. Sure enough, there's the house again, warm orange light pulsing out of the windows. Again, there's the smell of food, something like bread this time.

"We can get help there," says Beth excitedly. "Come on. I'll help you up."

Together, we cross the road and soon we're on the doorstep. Beth reaches her hand up again to knock on the door, but like the first time, it swings open of its own accord. The house is lit with soft rosy light, like candles. When we follow the light, we see it's from a fireplace. A fire is leaping merrily behind the grate. It smells like burning wood in here.

We limp inside. "Hello?" Beth calls. She glances around. "Well, this is different." She gawks at all the photographs, the piles and piles of things, "what is this place?"