Brooke wished she could explain what had possessed her to follow Rick up the hill to the creepy house, but here she was, sneaking up behind the oblivious idiot. The look of shock on his face when she stepped out of the shadows was priceless—his eyes grew wide, and the color drained from his cheeks. He gripped the crowbar like a baseball bat, ready to swing, until recognition flickered across his face and he exhaled a cloud of fog into the cold night air.

"It's you," he said with a scowl, lowering the metal bar. "Why are you here?"

Brooke folded her arms. "I'm here to see if you're actually dumb enough to go inside."

"Of course, I am," he snapped, shaking his head. "I mean... I'm going inside, and you can't stop me."

"Rick, this is a bad idea."

"Then go back to your dorm." He glanced at the door and nodded toward the last board still covering it. "But before you do, help me pull this off."

She gasped, eyes widening. "Are you insane?"

"Just help me. I'll take a couple of pics, then we're out of here."

Her gaze shifted to the warped wooden door, the nails rusted and crooked. The boards looked as if they'd been there for decades, sealing in whatever mysteries—or horrors—lurked inside. Her curiosity itched at her, but the thought of stepping foot into that place made her stomach twist.

"No way. I'm staying right here," she said firmly, tugging her jacket tighter around her body and flipping her hood over her head. The thin fabric did little to block out the biting cold—or the unease crawling along her skin. She silently cursed herself for not grabbing a warmer coat.

Rick shrugged. "Whatever. It's probably for the best. You'd just cling to me the whole time."

She smirked. "Actually, you'll be the one running out screaming the second you see a spider."

His glare was instant, and she couldn't help but laugh. Without another word, Rick yanked the final board loose and tossed it aside. He flashed the light from his phone inside the dark entryway and, with a quick squeeze through the opening, disappeared into the house.

"Wow," Rick's voice echoed from inside. "This place is awesome!"

Brooke hesitated, the cool breeze pushing against her back as if trying to nudge her inside. She bit her lip. Don't do it, her logical brain warned. Just wait outside. Let him act like an idiot on his own. But curiosity wrapped its fingers around her. Maybe she could snap a few pictures on her own phone, kill a couple of spiders for Rick's fragile ego, and call it a night.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Brooke slipped through the broken boards and stepped onto the creaky hardwood floor. The smell hit her first—a mix of damp wood, mildew, and stale air that had been trapped for years. The dim glow from Rick's phone swayed across the room, casting long shadows on the walls. The entryway was vast, and lining the perimeter were gray stone statues, each one carved into eerie shapes of animals, knights, and faceless figures that seemed to watch them.

Rick moved deeper into the house, his steps cautious but filled with excitement. Brooke trailed behind him, her shoes leaving faint impressions in the thick dust that covered the floor.

Everything inside felt frozen in time. The furniture was buried beneath layers of dust and cobwebs that hung like veils from the ceiling. They passed an old, rickety table with claw-like feet that made Brooke pause. She ran her fingers along its edge, remembering how her great-grandmother had once owned something similar—an antique table that she'd claimed was nearly three centuries old.

Rick stopped abruptly, and Brooke nearly bumped into him. His the flashlight on his phone illuminated a side room.

"What's in there?" she whispered.

A soft click followed, and Rick's phone camera flashed. "Not sure," he said, already moving again.

Brooke couldn't believe how far he was willing to go. What an idiot. And yet, her feet followed him, as if they had a mind of their own.

The glow of his phone revealed another large room, this one lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases. The shelves were packed with books that looked older than anything Brooke had ever seen—some with cracked leather covers and gilded lettering worn away by time.

Her breath caught. "Rick, shine the light over here," she said, guiding his arm toward one of the shelves. "Look at all these books!"

"Yeah, great. A room full of homework," he muttered, clearly unimpressed.

She ignored him, stepping closer and running her fingers along the spines. "Amazing," she whispered, pulling a thick, dusty volume from the shelf. She blew gently across the cover, sending a cloud of dust into the air that made her cough. "I could live in this room," she murmured. "Except for the dirt, of course."

Rick snorted. "Nobody actually loves books. They're boring. If they made movies about all this stuff, we'd get better grades."

She rolled her eyes and placed the book back on the shelf. "Books aren't just for learning, Rick. They take you on adventures. They can take you to places you've never even dreamed of."

"Whatever," he mumbled, shining the flashlight at random objects.

Brooke's gaze landed on a book that stuck out slightly farther than the others. Unlike the rest, this one wasn't covered in a thick layer of dust. She pulled it free and ran her fingers over its smooth, black leather cover. The gold casing along the spine gleamed faintly, and she traced the intricate pattern carved into it.

"Beautiful," she whispered, almost forgetting where she was.

Rick shook his head. "You're so weird, Brookie. Who gets excited over a book?"

She bit her tongue, trying not to snap back at him. Just because Rick and his football friends thought smashing into each other on a field was the pinnacle of life didn't mean everyone else was like them.

Before she could reply, something caught her attention—a glow from the entryway. The light flickered and moved slowly, casting shifting shadows on the walls.

Her blood turned cold. We aren't alone.

She grabbed Rick's arm and covered her hand over his phone, blocking the light. Her breath trembled as she rose on tiptoes and whispered in his ear, "Someone's in the entryway."

They stood frozen, the thick silence amplifying every sound... the pounding of her heart, the faint creak of the old house, the distant rustle of wind through broken windows. Brooke clutched the leather-bound book to her chest, her fingers digging into its spine. She tried to breathe quietly, but each breath felt too loud, as if it could give them away at any second.

If they got caught, this wouldn't just be a slap on the wrist. They'd be charged with breaking and entering. Jail time. Criminal records. Goodbye NFL for Rick. Goodbye future scholarships for her.

The glow of the light grew brighter, and the soft thud of approaching footsteps echoed down the hall. Brooke's fingers tightened around Rick's arm. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying whoever—or whatever—was out there would pass by without seeing them.

Boards groaned under careful footsteps, each creak louder than the last, like the house itself was warning them. Brooke's breath hitched when the flashlight beam swept across the dusty wooden floor, illuminating two sets of footprints—hers and Rick's—etched clearly in the dust like evidence waiting to betray them.

The figure stopped in the doorway, silhouetted by the blinding glare of the flashlight. Rick tensed beside her, and Brooke instinctively clutched his hand, her grip tight and trembling.

The light moved, sweeping slowly across the room before locking onto them, freezing them like suspects caught red-handed.

"What do you think you're doing in here?" The voice cut through the air, sharp and familiar, yet tinged with something dark and unwelcoming.

Brooke's throat tightened. She knew that voice. But why did it sound different, colder than she remembered?

The figure lowered the beam from their faces and shined it on his own. "It's only me."

"Eric," Brooke breathed, exhaling all the fear she'd been holding in. Beside her, Rick let out a similar breath, their collective relief echoing faintly through the room.

"Oh, good. It's just you, Eric," Brooke said, though her voice shook more than she intended.

Eric stood in the center of the room, his tousled blond hair falling into his eyes, the light casting long shadows across his face. His expression, however, wasn't relief—it was something else entirely, something hard and unreadable.

"You both need to leave. Now," he said, voice steady but tense, like he was holding something back. His gaze shifted to the black leather book Brooke was still holding. His eyes narrowed, and his arms flexed as he crossed the room and yanked it from her grasp.

"Hey—"

Before she could protest, he shoved the book back onto the shelf with a grimace and wiped his hand on his shirt, as though it had burned him.

Brooke gaped at him. "Eric, we weren't going to steal anything. We just—"

"Get. Out." His voice was a low command, filled with a weight that made her stop mid-sentence.

Brooke exchanged an uneasy glance with her brother. She could see now what Rick had warned her about years ago. This wasn't the same Eric who used to hang out with them as kids. His eyes had hardened, and his presence felt closed off, as if walls had been built around him brick by brick over the years.

"We need to get out of here before..." Eric clamped his mouth shut, as though he'd said too much.

"Before what?" Brooke asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Eric's gaze flickered toward the doorway. His face hardened even further. "Before I call the cops."

Groaning, Brooke punched her brother's arm. "I told you we shouldn't be here. But no, you never listen to me!"

Rick rubbed his arm and smirked, turning toward Eric with that same cocky arrogance he always wore when he wanted to push someone's buttons. "You're not going to call the cops. And if you did, they'd probably haul you off too." He met Eric's gaze, daring him to fight back. "Besides, I'm not scared of you."

Eric's expression didn't falter. "Well, aside from your sister, I'm the only thing in this house you shouldn't be afraid of."

A shadow passed behind Eric's eyes, and something dark flickered in his gaze. Brooke saw it, and a chill rippled down her spine. She tugged on Rick's sleeve. "Rick, let's go. We shouldn't be here."

Eric nodded. "You should listen to your sister, Stevenson."

Rick chuckled, a cold, mocking sound. "Come on, King. You don't really believe the ghost stories, do you?" He laughed harder, the sound bouncing off the walls like it didn't belong there. "Only losers think this place is haunted."

Brooke elbowed him in the stomach. "That was rude."

"I'm just asking," Rick said with a shrug, but his eyes didn't leave Eric. "Do you actually believe the rumors?"

Eric's jaw tightened. His voice dropped. "They're not rumors." His words reverberated through the room, low and final. The air seemed to thicken around them.

Brooke's breath hitched again. "How do you know they're not rumors?"

Eric's gaze shifted around the room, scanning every shadow as though he expected something—or someone—to emerge from them. Brooke followed his gaze but saw only the same dusty furniture and cobwebbed bookshelves.

Rick folded his arms and tilted his chin defiantly. "I'm not leaving until you tell me how you know."

Eric cursed, his knuckles whitening as he clenched his fists. "If I tell you, will you leave and never come back here again?"

Brooke nodded eagerly and elbowed Rick, who eventually grumbled, "Fine. You have our word."

Eric's shoulders remained tense, his stance unyielding, but he sighed and dropped his gaze to the floor. "The last kid who disappeared here was my great-great-grandfather's brother."

Rick's smirk faded, and Brooke's throat tightened.

"My family used to live here," Eric continued. His voice was calm, but there was something brittle about it, as if he were holding back an ocean of emotion. "My great-great-grandfather's brother was playing here one night. Nobody saw what happened. One moment, he was here... and then he wasn't."

Brooke felt her pulse hammering in her ears. "They never found him?" she asked softly.

Eric shook his head slowly. "No. Just rumors of noises. Shadows. Things people claimed they saw through the windows at night." His lips pressed into a thin line, and he glanced toward the door. "That's why you shouldn't be here."

But there was something off. Brooke could sense it, like a hidden thread waiting to be pulled. She noticed the way Eric's gaze kept flicking back to the black leather book on the shelf. Her instincts screamed that whatever Eric wasn't telling them had to do with that book.

A sudden, icy draft swirled through the room, lifting the fine hairs on the back of her neck. She shivered, clutching her arms as her breath fogged in front of her.

"We need to go," Eric said firmly, turning toward the front door.

Brooke didn't argue. She grabbed Rick's sleeve, her heart racing as they followed Eric out of the room. But as she glanced over her shoulder one last time, her eyes landed on the leather book. It sat innocently on the shelf, but Brooke couldn't shake the feeling that it had been waiting for them—and that whatever secrets it held were far from over.

Rick immediately followed Eric, his sneakers slapping against the dirt path, but Brooke hesitated. Her eyes drifted back to the black leather book on the shelf, its faint gold lettering almost glowing under the dim light. Her curiosity gnawed at her, stronger than the fear still prickling her skin. I shouldn't... But before she could stop herself, she darted to the shelf, snatched the book, and tucked it under her jacket.

Her heart pounded faster now, not just from fear of the house but from what she had just done. She spun around and hurried to catch up with Rick and Eric, the musty scent of the book clinging to her like the cold air around them.

As they neared the entryway, Rick's hoodie snagged on the outstretched arm of one of the stone statues. He yelped, a loud, startled howl escaping his throat as he flailed backward and tumbled sideways through the open door. "Ow! What the—"

"Move!" Eric hissed, grabbing Rick's arm and pulling him to his feet. They didn't stop running. Feet pounding against the frozen grass, breath coming in gasps, they sprinted across the lawn as though the house itself might reach out and drag them back inside.

The farther they ran, the softer Eric's features became, the tension in his face fading but never fully disappearing. Brooke's mind raced alongside her pounding heart. She didn't know the full story behind Eric's great-great-granduncle's disappearance, but she could piece together enough. This house wasn't just some creepy abandoned place. It had a history, one that had haunted Eric's family for generations. She wondered if this was the root of his mom's reclusiveness, his dad's drinking, and Eric's guarded, angry exterior. How much of his life had this house ruined?

By the time they reached the street in front of college, Brooke was gasping for air. She bent over, hands on her knees, as Rick and Eric collapsed onto the cold grass beneath an oak tree.

Still hiding the book under her jacket, Brooke sat awkwardly across from them, her breath fogging in the night air. Her guilt weighed heavy, but so did her curiosity. Eric had secrets, more than he'd let on in that house. And somehow, she had the feeling this book was a part of them.

Eric caught her eye, but the moment their gazes met, he quickly looked away.

Rick, ever the center of attention, broke the silence. "King, I swear, if you tell anyone what happened up there..."

Brooke smacked him on the shoulder. "Are you kidding me? We were all scared. Your friends aren't going to care."

Rick scowled and rubbed his arm. "It will matter. Zack and the others can't know."

"Zack would've been scared, too," Brooke shot back. "That's why he dared you to go in the first place—because he was too chicken to do it himself."

Rick's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. "Exactly why I can't let anyone know. They'll never let me live it down."

Eric held up a hand before the argument could escalate further. "I won't say anything." His gaze shifted to Rick's phone. "You have your stupid pictures. That's all the proof you need."

Rick grunted in agreement, but Brooke couldn't shake the tension in the air. Eric's eyes flicked toward her again, and this time, they didn't look away. Her pulse quickened, and she shifted, hoping the book was still hidden well enough. But Eric's gaze narrowed, and before she could react, his eyes widened in realization.

"Brooke," he said slowly, sitting up straighter. "Where did you get that?"

Panic gripped her chest as she blinked, shaking her head. She could feel the leather against her fingertips even through her jacket. Reluctantly, she pulled the book out and set it in her lap. "I just wanted to look at it," she said, voice small. "I promise I'll put it back."

Rick laughed, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "You stole a book?" He leaned back, grinning. "Oh, this is great. My perfect sister actually did something wrong."

Brooke shot him a glare. "I didn't steal it. I'm just borrowing it for a little while."

Before she could explain further, Eric jumped to his feet and lunged toward her, his hands gripping the book. "I have to take this back to the house now—before—"

Rick planted himself between them, shoving Eric's hands away. "Relax! It's just a pile of papers. What's the harm in letting her read it?"

Brooke froze, stunned. Never in her life had Rick defended her like that. For a brief second, warmth bloomed in her chest. Maybe he's not so bad after all.

But Eric wasn't backing down. "Don't you get it, Stevenson?" His voice was sharp, cracking like a whip. He dropped his hands and started pacing, arms wrapped tightly around his torso like he was trying to hold himself together. His eyes darted toward the ground, and the tight lines around his mouth deepened. "That's not just a book. It's—it's evil."

Rick scoffed. "Please. Spare me the dramatics, King. You're starting to sound like my sister."

And just like that, we're back to the usual Rick. Brooke shook her head, her brief moment of admiration vanishing.

Eric's pacing grew more frantic, his steps quick and erratic. "If my dad finds out about this..." His voice trailed off as he ran a hand through his hair, gripping it tightly.

Brooke opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but then decided against it. Obviously, whatever was going on, was too painful for him.

"We need to take that book back," Eric snapped, keeping his eyes locked on her. "I don't want you to become it's keeper."

"What do you mean by that?" Rick asked.

Although she wanted to know the answers like her brother, she knew it had been wrong to take the book, and now as guilt filled her, she realized this was all her fault. "Fine, I'll take it back."

Rick snorted. "Well, I'm not going."

Eric's scowl deepened, shadows clinging to the hard lines of his face. "Well, at least you were brave enough to take some pictures and win a bet with your friends." He sighed, rubbing his hands over his arms as if brushing off the weight of something invisible. "I'll go back myself. I don't want either of you near that place again. And besides—it's my responsibility." He said the last word like it tasted vile on his tongue.

Brooke tightened her grip on the book against her chest. "I'm coming with you," she said, glaring at Rick. "Because I'm not scared."

Of course, her brother just shrugged, perfectly fine with standing back and letting other people do the dirty work. Typical Rick.

She arched an eyebrow at her brother. "It's not like this isn't all your fault. If we suddenly disappear, I hope you feel guilty for the rest of your life." She shouted the last part with a pointed glare.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Eric biting his bottom lip, his mouth twitching as the beginnings of a smile fought to surface. It reminded her of the boy he used to be—the happy boy next door who wasn't weighed down by secrets or ghosts. The warmth of that memory flared inside her for a moment, and her face heated. She glanced away quickly, grateful for the shadow cast by the tree.

Rick didn't say a word as Brooke and Eric took off toward the house on the hill. The first minute was tense, the silence hanging awkwardly between them like fog. Brooke cleared her throat. "I can't believe him sometimes. He's become such a dim-wit lately." Somewhere nearby, a dog yowled in an alley, and she quickened her pace, her shoulders tensing.

Eric matched her stride, zipping up his jacket and pulling the collar tighter around his neck. "Maybe you're being a little hard on him," he said quietly.

Brooke barked out a short laugh. "Hard on him? You saw the way he acted back there."

"There's always a reason people act the way they do," Eric said, his tone thoughtful.

She gave him a sideways glance, curiosity sparking in her chest. So, what's your reason, Eric King? Why do you shut everyone out?

The silence returned, but this time it wasn't as uncomfortable. It gave her time to think about Eric, his family, and the strange, haunted weight that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

When they reached the house and slipped through the gap in the fence, Brooke looked down at the book clutched against her chest. Its leather cover felt warmer than it should in the cool night air.

"Eric," she whispered, tracing the gold lettering with her fingers, "aren't you even a little curious about what's in this book?"

Moonlight spilled across its cover, illuminating faint scorch marks along the edges of the pages and spine. Had it been in a fire? She ran her thumb over the marks, imagining flames licking at the leather, only for it to be pulled from the fire before being completely destroyed.

Eric shook his head sharply. "I'm not curious at all," he said, voice strained. "I know what that thing is. I know the kind of magic—" His mouth snapped shut, and he quickly changed the subject. "At least it's not too cold for a walk tonight," he added, glancing up at the stars.

Brooke's head snapped toward him. "Magic what, Eric?" she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief. "Were you going to say magic spells?" She laughed, though it sounded forced even to her. The words felt ridiculous hanging in the air. "You're not serious, are you?"

They reached the front door, where the crowbar Rick had dropped sat forgotten in the dirt. Brooke shook her head. His fingerprints are probably all over that thing. Smooth, Rick.

Inside, the house seemed even darker than before, the air thick and still. They crept through the entryway, past the statues that stood like sentinels, their shadows stretching across the walls. When they reached the library, Eric spun around and pointed the flashlight directly at her.

"Okay," he said firmly. "Put that thing back, and let's get out of here." He glanced around the room like he expected the shadows to move.

Sighing, Brooke stepped forward in front of the shelf. "Aren't you curious enough to take one quick little look?"

"Brooke, I really don't think—"

But before he could stop her, she flipped the book open and propped it on her forearms. "Just a peek," she said, her voice soft with wonder. "I promise we'll put it back. I just want to see what kind of stories are in here."

Eric reluctantly crouched beside her, body tense and rigid, as if he was ready to jump up at any moment. "Hurry," he muttered. "The faster you look, the faster we can leave."

Brooke grinned and flipped to the front of the book, her fingers brushing over the thick parchment. "Quick, give me some more light." She knelt and placed the book on the dusty floor.

Eric swept the flashlight over the room again before settling beside her. His pale face reflected the beam's glow, making him look ghostly, but his wide, solemn eyes were very real. For a moment, guilt gnawed at her—Maybe I should put it back on the shelf. But as soon as she touched the parchment, that guilt faded into fascination.

Brooke ran her fingers across the words on the first page. "Listen to this," she said, reading aloud:

"To read and truly understand, one must fight the danger at hand.

To solve the riddles in this book, one must go to their heart to look.

To become free from the mysteries' hold, one must learn from the stories untold."

She paused, frowning. "What do you think it means?"

"I don't know," Eric said, voice tight. "But I don't have a good feeling about it. We need to leave."

Ignoring him, Brooke flipped the page, and her breath hitched. In the center, a beautifully illustrated forest scene. The greens, reds, and blues of the forest seemed to shimmer, as if painted with enchanted ink. The trees appeared to ripple, the leaves swaying gently despite the lack of wind.

Her brow furrowed. "Eric..." Her voice trailed off as the image on the page shifted. Towering trees and dense foliage stretched outward, and a boy in ragged blue overalls stepped gingerly through the brush, followed by a girl in a white dress and brown apron.

The old-fashioned cottage came into view, its sugar-coated roof glistening like candy in the moonlight. Brooke blinked hard, trying to convince herself it wasn't real, but the scene continued to grow, like a pop-up book coming to life.

Beside her, Eric sat open-mouthed, his gaze locked on the page. Thin tendrils of mist began rising from the parchment, curling lazily into the air before inching toward them like ghostly fingers.

Brooke's chest tightened. She gripped Eric's hand, her knuckles white. "What's happening?"

The mist thickened, tendrils expanding as they clawed toward her legs. Panic surged through her veins, and she could barely swallow the lump rising in her throat.

"Run!" Eric yelled, yanking at her arm. But before she could move, the mist coiled around her ankles and yanked her downward.

Brooke screamed.