The Cane house—the stuff of small-town legends. A wreck that had been condemned long before all but the town’s oldest residents had been born. Misguided souls sometimes attempted to arrange a petition to have the site preserved; but they were always mocked out of possibility, and their efforts faded to be recycled when the town of Ethanton grew bored again.
Everyone knew some version of the story behind the ruin. Joyce’s favorite was that one of the house’s residents had been courting the Devil, and was murdered by her supernatural lover when she’d finally rejected him and rejoiced in God instead.
The most popular rumors were far blander. Some were sure a jilted lover had killed the wife and husband of the house when the former had refused to leave her spouse for the affair. Others swore the husband had crossed his business partner, who then accidentally killed both the man and his wife when he went to take his revenge.
Only one thing was for certain—time had creased, faded, and dusted the memory to the point where no one was actually sure anymore who had lived there, who had died, and who had allegedly done the killing.
It was good for a conversation, especially with gawking newcomers—but not a place Joyce had any desire to become acquainted with further than the occasional drive by.
Unfortunately, the night had unfolded in such a way to deliver the girl directly into the waiting arms of Ethanton’s very own haunted house.
“Can’t we just say our parents wouldn’t let us go or something?”
Her friend shot her a pitying look. “That’s be a shitty excuse. It’d just make us look like pussies. And you don’t think that’d make the teasing worse?”
Joyce couldn’t imagine the teasing getting much worse than it already was; but she only shrugged. “I really don’t think this is worth it.”
Paige’s voice squeaked into hysterics. “Do you want us to keep getting tormented?!”
Joyce suppressed an exasperated sigh, the noise escaping as a faint hiss. “No,” she grumbled. “But I also don’t wanna get hurt.”
“Oh, come on.” A bit of confidence entered Paige’s tone, though it ground out more jagged than anything. “It’s an old-ass house. There isn’t some murderer waiting around to off us. And we’re not gonna touch anything that looks like it’s gonna fall apart.”
But what if we step on a rusty nail? Or what if something falls on us? Joyce ground her teeth. “Can’t we just say we went in?”
Paige flapped her hand in a hapless wave. “Dominique needs something from the house. Where else are we gonna get something old enough to pass?”
Joyce could raid her parents’ closet. Maybe she wouldn’t find anything as old as this place; but how would Dominique know the difference?
“Besides…” Paige glanced around. “You never know if she has people looking.”
Joyce snorted. What was she, a mafia boss? “I just think we should—” A swallow jumped unwittingly down the girl’s throat. “…think this through.”
Paige glared at Joyce. “You just wanna bail. Which is incredibly shitty, considering this is at least partially—if not wholly—your fault.”
Joyce flushed hot enough to feel the stings of sweat underneath her coat and hat. “Sorry,” she mumbled into the collar of her jacket. “How was I not supposed to talk to her in a way that didn’t look mean?”
“You mean him?” Paige scoffed.
Joyce winced. She understood the joke, she just…didn’t see how it needed to be said.
So Alice Cosnan had chopped her hair into a bowl cut, wore her brother’s flannel, and twisted her face sourly if she had to don the softer, dressier clothes the other girls her age favored for town dances and Sunday services. So she stood out like a neon light in a town where girls wore sundresses, slim jeans, and blouses; and men lounged around in their t-shirts and scuffed boots, talking about things their wives and daughters and sisters wouldn’t understand.
Joyce didn’t exactly get where Alice was coming from; but the girl had never been anything but kind to her. For someone who had always found it difficult to make friends, kindness was something Joyce clung to greedily. Even if it came from the weird girl who didn’t giggle at boys or effortlessly take command in youth group.
After ensuring Paige’s attention was fixed firmly upon the house, Joyce rolled her eyes. “Yeah…him.”
Paige smirked. “Well, you chose him over me. Sorry, but that’s not my fault. Now the only way Dominique won’t make our lives a living hell is by proving we have the balls to go in there—” She dipped her chin at the dilapidated structure. “—and get something for her.”
It seemed like it would take a lot more balls in this town not to listen to Dominique. But Paige definitely wouldn’t be ready to hear that…not today, nor probably ever.
Not that Joyce had much more courage to muster herself. The thought of being mean to Alice twisted sharply in her chest, and she was glad their challenge hadn’t involved any bullying. But she still squirmed with a thickly congealed fear at the thought of earning any more of Dominique’s wrath.
And…she wasn’t incredibly willing to give up what she had with Paige. The girl had first muscled her way into Joyce’s life back in kindergarten, declaring they were going to play together since Paige’s previous friend had moved to a different town. Even if she didn’t always answer Joyce’s texts, or wasn’t always available to get together, she’d still given the shyest and most awkward kid at school a chance. She’d still visited for sleepovers and play dates, worked on group projects, and listened to Joyce babble on about her crushes, albeit how half-hearted and short-lived they’d turned out to be.
In a way, Joyce had hoped Paige would think what she’d done for Alice was the same as what Paige had done for her.
But apparently, being quiet was far less of a sin than being Alice.
Joyce sighed one last time, then glanced back at her friend. “So…are we going?”
Paige huffed, then led the way, stomping over the long, brown-curled lawn towards the door.
After a rough shake on the knob, the front door staggered inwards, giving way with a grating cough and a cloud of dust.
Despite the light that still filtered into the twilight sky, the interior of the house shrouded in thick black webs of shadow.
Joyce choked down a fresh ball of fear. Every nerve tugged her back towards the door as she and Paige clasped hands and tiptoed deeper inside.
“Let’s just grab a piece of wood or something.” Joyce’s voice didn’t echo, but she felt like it scuttled deep into the corners of the house anyway, reaching long-dead ears she wouldn’t have wanted to hear it.
“Wood can come from anywhere…” Paige’s voice trailed off.
Joyce’s heart hammered up into her throat as she followed the other girl’s gaze; but there was nothing there. Paige was just looking around.
“Like Dominique’s a forensics expert,” Joyce muttered.
The floor squeaked, and muffled creaks murmured here and there, but nothing looked or felt as weak as the girls would’ve expected. Every time Joyce took a step, a shiver of apprehension danced up her spine; but the wood bolstered firmly beneath her feet.
Downstairs, they only found furniture draped in tarps, the tattered remains of curtains, and ashes in the living, dining, and drawing room fireplaces.
Joyce nudged at a grayed lump on the drawing room hearth. “They probably took everything in here when the last owners died. Or people looted stuff later.”
Paige flicked some hair back from her face. “Then we’re gonna have to check upstairs.”
Joyce gulped. “If the stairs hold.”
Her friend flounced out of the room, breaking her grip on the other girl’s hand. “Fine. Then I’ll go up first, and if I get hurt, at least you know you’ll be safe.”
A pang of guilt stabbed Joyce’s insides. She hurried after Paige, putting her foot on the first step as soon as the other girl had climbed up high enough.
The second floor lined with doors, most swung open to some degree.
The girls poked past each with bated breath and startled gasps they smothered in their chests. Without speaking, they reached for each other’s hands again.
Two doors sat closed—one that gave easily to an empty room, and another that budged after a stubborn minute of shoving.
“Let’s just give it up,” Joyce pleaded, until, with a final grunt, Paige managed to heave it aside.
Unless Joyce was imagining it, more dust layered in here, casting a glimmering sheen over the walls and furniture. The scarlet light bleeding past the grime on the window glazed a rusted bed frame and a sagging mattress. The dresser had nothing on it, and the closet half-opened into bare black shadows.
“Still nothing,” Paige grumbled. “This is such a bust. I bet she knew there wouldn’t be anything in here.”
“Why—has she ever been here before?” Joyce chuckled, the sound rattling hollowly past the filter of her fear. She shook her head. “I told you—let’s just go grab a piece of wood or something.”
Paige started towards the closet.
“It doesn’t look like there’s anything in there.” Joyce tore between staying near Paige or hovering closer to the door. She settled for standing halfway between, her arms clamped tightly around her chest.
“I saw something glint,” Paige shot back.
Joyce furrowed her brow. “Like what—jewels somebody forgot to steal when the place was being ransacked?”
Paige grabbed the closet door, wrenching it further open.
Joyce’s heart tumbled into her chest in a single, climactic thunk.
Blank walls stared back at the two girls. The back of the closet crisscrossed with a shoddy patchwork of wooden planking.
Paige groaned. “You know, as stupid as that idea was, I’m beginning to warm up to your wood thing.”
She pulled the door open further, leaning into the doorknob as she planted her other hand upon her waist.
Joyce grabbed at her friend’s sleeve, tugging sharply. “Paige—”
The other girl turned to frown at her, but then bounced her gaze instead to where Joyce was pointing.
Some sort of dried liquid—paint, perhaps? Or water?—streaked across the inside of the door.
Paige leapt back, nearly knocking into Joyce, who bit back a curse as her feet narrowly missed a trampling.
“Is that—”
“—it’s not blood,” Joyce blurted; though she wasn’t really sure. It was beginning to look a great deal like a crusted, deep red liquid. “It has to just be water or something.”
Or Dominique had set this whole thing up to scare them half to death.
Paige squinted at the markings. “Who wrote this?”
Joyce shrugged.
The two fell silent again as they scanned over the hastily scrawled characters.
Help me help me someone please help me free me I’m stuck in here, it wants me
Joyce tried to swallow, attempting multiple times before her throat finally moistened enough to do so. “Mmaybe we should…be going downstairs to find that wood.”
Paige remained quiet, lifting her hand as if to touch the letters. Her lips curled in disgust. “What is this?”
“I don’t care,” Joyce insisted. “Let’s just get out of here.”
The last of the characters dribbled down into a streak upon the floor, as if whoever had written it had used a glob of too much liquid. The smear continued across the floor and to the back of the closet, where it disappeared beneath the shoddy boarding.
Joyce suddenly wondered, much against her will, why the back of the closet had been blocked off in the first place.
She tugged on Paige’s coat. “C’mon—let’s get going.”
The other girl shook her off. “Aren’t you—curious about this? Don’t you wanna know why it’s here?”
Joyce frowned. Either fear lurked unseen beneath Paige’s slack expression, or the feeling had fled her friend completely. “No. What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me,” Paige huffed. “You don’t—don’t you feel it too?”
Joyce folded her arms again. “I don’t feel anything; just regret. This was a terrible idea.”
Paige turned back to the closet.
“Please,” Joyce implored, a desperation sneaking ragged into her tone. “Even if there’s nothing strange back here, it’s probably just really dangerous. Who knows how many old, rusted nails could be back there?”
Paige didn’t listen. She stepped further into the closet, finally reaching up to touch the wood. She dug her fingers between a crack and shook. “It feels weak…”
She yanked harder.
Joyce’s heart dragged itself into her throat thump by throbbing thump. She didn’t want to stay here any more than she’d want to sit in a nest of rattlesnakes; but she felt just as icky thinking about leaving Paige behind.
With a crack, one of the boards snapped free, spraying dust and splinters.
Joyce jerked back, throttling a shriek in her throat.
Paige peered into the dark sliver that’d been revealed. “It’s in here…” Her voice drifted into an absent murmur, as faint and unconcerned as if she were sleeping. “It’s in here…”
Could she have been in on the prank somehow? But that conclusion refused to settle right in Joyce’s chest. Though Paige could get a bit too caught up in high school politics, she’d never resort to something like this.
Paige wrapped her hand around yet another board.
“Don’t—” Joyce choked.
Paige yanked—and the wood flaked off, snapping in two before clattering to the ground.
Should Joyce have made a run for it, even if Paige refused to listen? Maybe she could drag her friend behind her. Couldn’t people pull off incredible physical feats when the danger demanded it?
Paige had devolved completely into a wide, blank stare and a dull murmur. “It’s in here…it’s in here…”
She slithered her hand into the gap.
“NO!!” Joyce screamed.
For a moment, time slowed. Paige paused with her hand immersed in shadow; Joyce couldn’t remember how to move; and even the air itself seemed to be holding its breath, the dust motes frozen mid-spin as if waiting for an unseen signal to keep on moving.
A shudder passed through Paige.
Then she shook her head, and turned to face Joyce.
That strange blankness had dissolved, leaving behind a frightened but wry smile. “There’s nothing here, see? Nothing weird at all. We were just being stupid acting so scared.”
Joyce swallowed, a tentative relief freezing in her chest.
Then the shadows around Paige’s wrist shifted.
Joyce had had dreams where words bottled up in a stubbornly corked throat—but she’d never had the chance to learn whether such a phenomenon could occur in real life.
She badly wished she’d never been granted the opportunity.
The blackness spindled into tendrils, some snaking slowly and smoothly like ink spreading across a paper, and others in stuttering jerks, like a film that had lost pieces of its footage.
Joyce fought against the pressure in her chest, but she was unable to force her panicked screams free.
She lifted her arm instead, pointing a quavering finger at the display.
Paige had no issue releasing the shrillest shriek Joyce had ever heard. She lurched back, slamming into the closet door in her scramble towards the hall.
Joyce moved in tandem—but Paige slammed the other girl back with a flailing arm, knocking her friend between herself and the mass that crackled its way out of the closet.
“NO!!” Joyce screamed, half in blind panic, half in fury.
She scrambled out of the bedroom, feeling the sting of wood pelting the back of her coat.
At the last second, she thought to reach back into the bedroom and yank the door shut.
Paige ran faster than Joyce had ever seen her move. She’d tumbled halfway down the steps by the time Joyce sprinted away from the bedroom door.
The wood swelled, its aged material crackling and groaning. Blackness oozed around the doorframe, trickling oily into the hall.
“Paige!” Joyce didn’t even care about the tears streaming down her face. She watched as the other girl dashed across the foyer, then flung open the front door. Joyce felt the crackling thud as the entrance slammed. “NO!!”
How could Paige do this to her? Did she want Joyce to die?!
An icy blow slammed into the girl’s back as she skittered onto the top step.
Joyce’s vision warped, staining black and white at the edges. The scene before her melted into watercolors. Her nerves tingled in and out of numbness. She was hardly aware of falling to her knees; then slamming her hands into the floor.
Her thoughts trudged thick through her brain. She was sure she still crouched in the hallway; but whenever she tried to focus, she kept seeing that bedroom…the way the dying light faded over the mattress, the violet patches of shadow tangling upon it…then the closet, and the way the darkness framed the dreary image of the bedroom from the inside…
NO! Stay in the hallway, stay in the hallway—
But it was impossible to know if Joyce was resisting. She panicked she’d pass out, if she hadn’t already.
A darkness blotted before the girl, pitching in her vision whenever she caught a glimpse of the hall. A silhouette stood against the darkened interior of the house.
A warmth grabbed at her arms.
The tightness of the fingers shattered the kaleidoscope in Joyce’s brain. The closet disappeared, and the cold leached out of her blood.
“There you go—” The voice tried to sound steady, but it tremored with its own panic.
Joyce could only shiver limply as she was lifted into an embrace. She nuzzled into the warmth of a shoulder and the bare skin on somebody’s neck. Shorn hair tickled her face. She jerked her arms stiffly to grasp at her rescuer’s shoulders, then worked her grip around them to cling to the other person like a toddler frightened by a bad dream.
“There you go.”
A thick jacket zipped open to a fuzzy flannel shirt. Joyce didn’t realize when her cheek had pressed into a collarbone, feeling the blurred thumping of a heart beneath it. The sensation fully grounded her, dragging her at last out of her terror.
“There you go.”
Joyce’s senses were her own again. The silence had deadened around her.
She opened her eyes to see she was wrapped tightly around Alice.
There was no room to be embarrassed. Joyce loosened her grip enough to blink incredulously up at the other girl.
Her classmate blinked back at her. “Are you—okay?”
Joyce’s voice had yet to return, but she called it back with the rough clearing of her throat. “Y-yeah…”
Her face flushed, and her heart spun. The fear that had scraped her body raw had suddenly succumbed to a heady warmth. She’d never felt this way before about anybody she’d ever known.
“Wh-what—what are you doing here?”
Alice’s face clouded in worry. “I heard about Dominique’s dumb bet. I wanted to make sure you were okay. No one should really be going in here.”
And now Joyce knew why. That was something she could’ve lived her whole life without learning.
She swallowed. “I…I’m okay now.” A bitterness choked her throat. “But, Paige—”
Alice tightened her frown. “I saw her running. I’m sorry about that.” A dry laugh dropped from her lips. “Some friend she is…”
Joyce didn’t have the heart or the will to argue. In fact, she burned with a feeling quite the opposite.
She’d been willing to face anything to protect Paige—and Paige had abandoned her the first chance she’d gotten.
Tears slid down the girl’s face. After all the friendship she’d thought she’d been giving her…
Alice brushed a hand over Joyce’s cheek, probably just on instinct to comfort the girl. But the motion tingled all the way down to Joyce’s navel. She worried once more she’d pass out, though for vastly different reasons. “We should be getting out of here.”
Joyce nodded hurriedly. “Yeah.”
Alice kept an arm around the other girl to keep her steady as they began to limp out.
“Thank you,” Joyce murmured.
Alice glanced at her, then nodded. “You’re welcome. It was the least I could do.”
Joyce frowned. “You didn’t have to do anything. You weren’t even involved in this.”
They made their way down the steps, their feet thunking dully against the wood.
“Yeah, well…” The last stair sighed in tandem with Alice as they stepped off. “You wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for talking to me.”
Joyce stiffened. “I’m not gonna be mean to someone if I can help it. It’s Dominique’s fault any of this is even happening.”
They came upon the front door none too soon. Alice reached out to grasp the knob. “Still—it can’t make your life any easier to be nice to me.”
“Easier is shit if it means I have to be a bitch.”
Alice cast Joyce another glance as they hobbled out onto the porch. She pulled the door shut behind them. Joyce had never been happier to hear such an uninspired clank. “You really think so?”
“Of course!” Joyce didn’t feel any pain in her legs, and probably could’ve walked on her own. But she found she didn’t want Alice to unlatch her arm from around her. Why did she enjoy how the other girl stood just a little bit taller than she did—how she had to tilt her head back to meet her gaze?
Shorn hairs danced around Alice’s eyes, which creased with concern. “Then you’re different than most others.”
Things Joyce had been dying to say unbottled themselves, releasing a valve in her chest she’d gotten far too used to being plugged. “That’s a compliment around here. I’m glad to know I’m nothing like Dominique, or—Paige.”
The two walked off the porch. The dried grass crunched welcomingly beneath their feet.
“Thanks.” Alice paused, swallowed, and then continued, “It’s hard to find friends around here…being different.”
Joyce found it incredibly easy to smile up at the other girl. “Well, you’ve got at least one.”
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