Where We Started

Mr. Roger's Weird Neighbor

John approached the long muddy driveway, looking down through the gaps in the trees to try to get a glimpse at just what he was getting himself into. For the record, this wasn't his idea, he didn't want anything to do with the creepy old house that was pretty much half bugs and rotting wood. The locals called it The House, which, of course, was the most creative name they could've given it. John was more the type to read about the house than to actually go in it, but he and his best and kind of only friend Mike had dared him, and for some stupid reason he decided to go along with it. According to Mike, John's biggest obstacle in life was a pen out of ink or a pencil tip broken and his only battle wounds were paper cuts. Of course Mike wouldn't listen when John pointed out that he hasn't got any battle wounds either, except for the scar on his arm, but that was just a really angry cat living under his porch last winter, it didn't count. He was armed only with a camera, no flashlight, no nothing, but if he wanted to get this over with before dark he had to suck it up and start hiking to the fence. Lots of kids, mostly high school kids, broke into The House for numerous reasons, mostly stupid dares like this one, but it was also a free party house considering it was so far removed from the rest of the small town. John started walking, avoiding the puddles since he was wearing his nicer pair of sneakers, meant for school and not for mud. He was a bit of a nerd, he would admit it, but he also had a fun side, he liked what most boys liked, biking, video games, staying up until two o'clock talking about stupid stuff like girls and sports and stuff. Here was final proof apparently. He reached the iron fence, probably once large and intimidating, but now it was rusted over and covered in ivy and weathered No Trespassing signs posted everywhere. This was going to be the hard part, either jumping the fence or going around, which would lead to a forest of thorn bushes and poison ivy. John decided to take his chances jumping, the worst that could happen was a broken leg or something, unless he fell on his head, then maybe he could die, but he pushed that to the back of his head. He put the camera strap on his wrist and grabbed one of the iron bars, testing it to his weight before hoisting himself up. Once he was in the air it felt like he was dangling off the empire state building more than a bloody fence, but he kept climbing until he was lying sloth-like on his stomach, hanging onto the top of the fence as he eased his way down the back. He jumped down when he thought it was safe, splashing in a puddle of mud and wincing. His mother would kill him for that, definitely. But now the worst part was over, hopefully, and he turned, staring up into the eye like windows of The House. It was creepier when you were standing in front of it, definitely. It radiated this kind of creepy feeling, the smell of mildew and rotting wood, the slight creaking as the wind blew against it, the things you just couldn't appreciate when you're looking at it from afar. He walked closer to the house, the windows and doors all boarded up, but he knew of a side door that was always unlocked and untouched, the ones that the kids talked about so much in school he was surprised a teacher didn't just come down and board it up themselves. John swung the camera by the strap, burning his wrist slightly, but he just continued walking as though he had no care in the world. Just ignore the creepy house, there were no such things as ghosts, or zombies, and there definitely wasn't a man dead in the closet or anything. Rumors flooded this whole house, stories so wild and crazy they might actually be true, from a dad who electrocuted his entire family and hung himself to a little girl with a razor and a murderous temper. The oddest one by far was that they had a puppy that was actually a wolf and it ended up eating the entire family. But there seemed to be no wolves, at least not in the front yard. As he came closer to the house it was like the temperature had dropped a couple of degrees, as if the house was blocking the sunlight, which evidently it was. His mission was to creep into the basement, take a selfie, and get out of there with the proof. Personally John thought the scariest thing about the whole thing was the fact that he would be taking a picture of himself, but that was beside the point. And if it started circulating through the internet he would most certainly kill Mike, or just get him a 'puppy'. John edged around the house, doing a quick sweep of the surrounding area just to make sure he wasn't being followed, and found the screen door. It was lathed shut, but it wasn't too difficult to fight the rust and mold to get it open, making him rub his hands on his pants a couple of times, wishing he had brought hand sanitizer. John creaked open the screen door, holding it open with his shoulder while he got the camera turned on and ready. He had no source of light, not allowed according to Mike, and the boarded up windows were blocking out most of the light, so he had to make due with squinting around and bumping into things he'd rather not know the identity of.