The dead bear stared at her with wild ferocity frozen in its black pools and an empty threat hanging from its wide-open jaw.
Aversion sat between her eyebrows, before Lynn clicked her tongue and turned her gaze away from the stuffed animal to glance at Dana, who had approached the moment she had stepped inside the house.
"I hate that," her good friend stated in a voice full of distaste. "I fail to see the fun in it. Who's the beast here: the bear, or the hunter who kills it to stuff it and exhibits it in his living room?"
Lynn had to agree with her, but decided against fuelling her indignation and glanced around. Besides, there was a question dying to see the light and receive an answer she already had but needed to confirm. Anxiety crawled inside like a snake, wrapping around her heart and squeezing with malice.
"Have you seen Nick?"
"No, but I've heard him whistling on the second floor. I'm telling you, he would've made the perfect replacement for any of Snow White's dwarfs."
She should've felt relieved about finding out Nick was inside the house, not drowning in the lake like her exhausted mind had tried to convince her of. But Lynn was certain she had seen someone there; someone that looked and acted like Nick and knew her name.
Shaking her head, she pushed away the uneasiness. She wasn't sure about what she had witnessed anymore. Maybe I am that tired. I'm imagining things, her rational side whispered to her confusion.
"Aside from the dead bear, how's the rest of the house?" she asked, in an attempt to change the subject and stop spiralling.
Dana shrugged, finally taking her eyes away from the source of her temporary irritation. "It's not bad. I like the living room; there's no signal at all, which means Mark won't be able to interrupt my reading with cat videos."
"I'll just download them in the bathroom and show them to you later," commented said man as he walked out of what-looked-to-be the kitchen, mouth full of ketchup-flavoured crisps. "We can watch them together, like the good friends we are."
"I'd rather stick needles in my eyes."
As Lynn slipped away without them noticing, she wondered if — deep inside — they enjoyed their banter. She wondered if, were she to lock them in a room to solve their problems, she would open the door to both of them dead or to a completely-unexpected situation.
Focusing her attention on her surroundings, she hummed in approval. She had only seen a couple of pictures of the inside of the house, and the reality didn't disappoint.
The walls were an extension of the forest outside and had been painted with shades of brown and green, and a few drawings hung from them; nothing too striking, or colourful. Just abstract paintings embraced by light-ochre frames. Dark wood had been used to build the floors she walked on, and some of them were covered by thick carpets to keep the warmth inside.
As she wandered about, Lynn noticed the lack of contemporary furniture. It made sense; after all, Mrs. Houston was an old woman who'd probably never felt the pull of technology and still enjoyed the simple yet meaningful things — a walk around the forest, a swim in the lake, or a good book by the warm company of the fireplace.
Dim light came from artificial candles that hung from the walls, making the interior look inviting at first sight. However, as her eyes took in the stretching shadows of furniture as the curious moon peeked inside to kiss those nooks that swam in quiet darkness, a shiver crawled up her spine.
Exhaustion kept playing tricks to her eyes; she could've sworn the shadows — alive, powerful, with purpose — moved towards the window instead of away from it, as if refusing to lose the battle against moonlight.
Shaking her head, Lynn ran a hand through her short hair and stepped around a stony column to enter a corridor. At its dark end, the stairs creaked as someone trotted down their length.
Nick grinned as he stopped before her, forcing Lynn to lower her gaze slightly to meet his caramel eyes. "About time you showed up, Lynn. Since you love doing exercise, we're going to let you have the room on the third floor, and you're going to be sharing it with a good ol' friend of mine: loneliness!"
"Lucky me," was her response.
She decided the news wasn't bad at all. She wouldn't have to put up with Mark's snoring; or Dana's complaints about the bed not being as comfortable as the one she had at home; or Nick's unexpected shouts in the middle of the night as he ironically demanded silence from imaginary friends, only to end up arguing with his own mind.
"But what's gotten you in such a happy mood?" she eventually asked.
His reaction was to purse his lips in an attempt to hide his growing smile. "Nothing, nothing. Well, apart from the fact that I'm sharing rooms with Oliver and I'll get to see his sculpted-by-gods body every morning."
Lynn let out a chuckle and shook her head. "It's not that impressive, trust me."
"You, Lynn Morris, are blind."
Not wishing to have a long conversation about Oliver and his abs, Lynn smiled in defeat. "Just get an empty bucket so you don't drool all over the floor."
Nick waved a hand in the air, dismissing her suggestion. "You take your stuff to your room. I'll go hide a few beers so Mark doesn't drink them all before you get your pretty ass downstairs; but I suppose Dana will be there to nag him so it doesn't happen."
Putting an end to the conversation, the man resumed his happy stroll and disappeared around the corner.
Before he did, however, Lynn called his name. I have to make sure. "Have you gone into the lake?"
Confirming her thoughts, the youngest of the group shook his red head. "Not yet. But it's on my to-do list."
When his whistling faded into unknown distance, the temporary silence was drowned by the creaking stairs as they complained beneath her favourite sneakers.
Just a trick of my mind, she told herself as she reached the second floor.
Two corridors cut through it, and a wide window illuminated the intersection, whose only decorations consisted on two big paintings.
Curious, Lynn looked at them for a fleeting moment. Both were drawings of the lake and the forest which surrounded it; one in summertime, the other in winter. She paused by the second painting, taking into the frozen waters and misty woods.
Her body felt cold all of sudden.
Lynn turned away and dragged her feet up the last flight of stairs. Any other day, she wouldn't have minded the exercise; she would've even welcomed it, as the cardio lover she was. But not that afternoon, when her muscles were about to collapse and fatigue gripped her soul in a vice grip.
Still, she endured it all and managed to reach the last floor without falling over. As she stood at the top of the stairs, she paused and frowned at the absolute darkness breathing in the humid air.
Huffing, Lynn pulled her phone out of the pocket of her dark-blue jeans and turned on the built-in lantern. Expecting the artificial candles to have run out of power, she was surprised to find out the walls were naked.
No candles, no drawings — just plain wood.
With no source of natural or artificial light, the corridor which led from the stairs to the only room on that floor seemed to close in on her as she dived into drowning murkiness. No sound could be heard, yet her ears buzzed as they attempted to battle against an eerie silence.
It was incredibly disturbing — how that dreamy place could turn into the ideal location for a horror movie in the blink of an eye. Lynn, never one to fear darkness or back down from a challenge, could feel her sanity flickering like a light switch wearing out.
Yet, at the same time, she knew she was just mentally drained. Ironically, an exhausted mind holds so much power; it can distort the reality, making you see things that aren't there.
Her dread faded into irritation the moment she stopped before the closed door, and her eyes narrowed into slits. A white poster with bright-red letters laughed in her annoyed face.
It read, Private.
"So mature, Nick," she muttered before turning around, feeling her rucksack weighing more with each passing second.
Creak.
She stopped and glanced at the opening door. Her stomach twisted, she swallowed the lump in her suddenly-dry throat.
Just get the hell out, her freaked-out mind yelled.
But Lynn was too curious, too convinced there was nothing strange with that house. Any logical answer to her silent question was valid: "The door must be broken"; "Mrs. Houston probably left a window open, and a powerful gust of wind has forced it open"; and so on.
Fortunately, there was a light switch by the door. Unfortunately, it didn't work.
Taking hesitant steps inside, she wandered towards the unknown. A stream of white tears glided across the floor, catching her attention for a fleeting whisper. The window was open, swaying to the rhythm of a whistling breeze.
"Do you like the house, dear?"
She jumped ten feet in the air.
A chill drew goosebumps along her skin as it crawled up her spine, before Lynn realized she recognized that wheezy voice. She turned around, eyes wide as saucers. And there she was, with her rosy face and small frame. Wearing that purple handkerchief around her thin neck and a rather-apathetic expression in her dark eyes.
Mrs. Houston.
A whirlwind of questions plagued her mind, yet at the same time, Lynn couldn't find the words to voice them.
Mrs. Houston had already given Lynn the keys to the house, right before making sure to remind her of the importance of keeping away from the lake and wishing her a good time. She had no reason to be there; she was not supposed to be there.
But she was.
"This was his room," the old lady murmured with a secret smile. "My perfect boy."
Overwhelmed by the unexpected situation, Lynn could only take a glance around the empty room and blurt out, "I didn't mean to invade your privacy, Mrs. Houston. I'll take my leave now." As she received nothing but an intense stare, she paused by the open door. "I'm confused as to why you're here, though. Is there anything we can help you with?"
Why are you here?
The aged woman observed her with those pools of darkness, making Lynn feel incredibly uneasy. Seconds ticked by, yet no movement came from her until the glow of the moon met her wrinkly features. Then, her face twisted and her mouth quirked at the corners until distorting into an unnaturally-large, malicious grin.
This is not Mrs. Houston, whispered a voice in her head. You know it's not!
Another piece of her sanity threatened to crumble at her feet, but Lynn held it between trembling fingers. She didn't want to listen to her erratic thoughts, to admit that the voice in her head — her exhausted, yet wide-awake mind — was right.
She didn't want to think about the terrifying implications that would have.
But when Mrs. Houston spoke again, her voice was that of someone else; guttural, echoing in the gelid air. And her sanity slipped through her fingers.
"You touched the lake."
The door slammed closed.
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Word count: 1.950
Total: 5.793