Faces in the Dark
We arrived at the new house on the eighth day in July. It was excruciatingly hot in Texas. So hot, in fact, that I was sweating, and I never sweat, not even when I work out. Actually everyone was sweating, even our realtor, who was still sitting in her car with the air conditioning blasting.
The house was old, just another perk of having a crazy mom who has a strange obsession with Texas and its old homes. It stood two stories tall with pillars in the front. The house was ugly, really. Plants were overgrown on its sides, it was covered in rotting wood, and the windows were cracked and dirty.
“Well, it’s certainly a fixer-upper, but I’m sure with a little hard work it’ll be a beauty!” our realtor told us, a fake smile plastered on her face.
“Right,” I replied to her outrageous idea and walked past my mom rolling my eyes.
My brother still held on to her hand, sucking his thumb. New things always scared him and since this was a new, but old, house that just looked creepy he was probably absolutely terrified. He was only six.
The front door creaked all the way open and I walked inside. Unfortunately, I walked right in to a cloud of dust, which sent me into a coughing fit. I finally stopped coughing after ten minutes of horrible throat pain. The foyer was large, but as ugly as the outside of the house.
The wood was dark, but boards were missing and two sets of sweeping staircases, with missing steps, were on each side of the room. A typical haunted house. But I wasn’t planning on it being haunted, because, while murderers may exist, ghosts didn’t.
“Amber, will you do me a favor and take your brother upstairs to find his room?” my mom said from behind me.
I sighed and turned around. “Come on, Michael, let’s go upstairs.”
He left my mother’s side reluctantly and followed me up one of the staircases. The upstairs consisted of a narrow hallway with three doors on each the left and right side and one at the end of the hallway. Michael talked for the first time since arriving at the house.
“Let’s go in that one first,” he said, pointing to the door at the end of the hallway.
I looked at it. There was nothing interesting about its stature, other than then the fact that it was at the end of the hallway.
“We’ll get there, Michael. Let’s check these out first.”
I opened the first door on the left and walked in. There were two relatively old-looking washing machines rusting away on the far wall. The second room on the left was a bathroom with a huge mirror, shower, and tub. It didn’t fit in the house, so it must have been remodeled. The third room was a study, but it only had three bookshelves and a desk sitting in the middle of the room.
I sighed. Again. “Michael, this house sucks.”
I turned around. Michael, who had been standing behind me just two minutes ago, was gone. “MICHAEL!”
I ran out of the room. He was standing in front of the door at the end of the hallway. His hands were clasped around the doorknob and he was twisting and pulling and pushing with as much might as a six year old can muster.
