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.

"Hello? Anyone home?" he asked, a nervous habit. He didn't like the idea of walking in on some kids partying, or worse, and actual dead zombie family having tea. There was no answer except for a squeak in the other room, probably a mouse or something scrambling around the floor boards, but he couldn't just ignore it. John's heart was racing although he was constantly telling it to stop; he was trying hard to ignore his fear, to prove to himself that he could do this. He stepped over the threshold and into the living room, piecing together the shadows of a couch, what looked like a moth eaten armchair, and an end table leaning on three legs. Totally normal, nothing looked electrocuted or scratched by a lone wolf, so far so good. John decided that a basement must be in the kitchen, where most old basements were, John remembered his grandmother had a basement right by the stove and he'd never go near it because he was scared of monsters popping out but you know, that was only what, a week ago? Look at him now, being all cool and calm and so scared he might pee his pants. John walked out of the living room on a particularly squishy floor board, probably about to rot out any day now. He was not standing in what looked like a kitchen with linoleum tiles that were black and white checkered, and in the dim light he could see a rusted over oven and sink, plus a kitchen table that looked so unsanitary it gave him the shivers trying to imagine once eating on it. As he had predicted there was a door, and if there was a door there were usually steps going down. He approached the door, there was a small little bolt switch thing, which he easily unlatched, and swung it open cautiously. There was a small cord on the ceiling, leading up to a smashed light bulb for some reason, and when he pulled the cord it only clicked and did absolutely nothing. So he used the camera screen for light, holding onto the metal railing as his sneakers crunched over the broken glass, down, down, down into the unknown. Now there were goosebumps running up and down his arms and shivers on his spine, not just because of the cold but because he was terrified out of his mind. The basement is where everyone in horror movies dies, either that or the 'shortcut' through the creepy old graveyard or forest. All pathetic, but now here he was, venturing down like the characters everyone face palms over. But that was just movies, this was real life, his life, and nothing weird ever happens in his life. He reached the bottom stair and saw absolutely nothing except from the camera screen. For all he knew it could be a torture chamber and he'd walk right in, but he hoped it wasn't of course. John raised the camera up , trying to put on his best 'I'm not scared face' and snapped a picture, the flash making him turn his eyes away with sudden pain. But in that flash he had noticed something, something he hadn't noticed before, something in the corner, with the shape of a head. John froze, suddenly his breathing was coming in short spurts, staring into the corner that he was still blind to.

"Hello?" he asked in a weak voice, wanting to run but feeling as if his feet were cemented to the ground. No one answered, but he didn't know if that was a good or bad thing. He couldn't see it, but he knew something was there, he just knew it. He raised the camera and clicked a picture in the corner, illuminating it and silhouetting the outline of what looked like a stone angel stature, but he didn't stick around long enough to see it, he turned his back and ran as fast as his short legs would carry him. That was definitely not normal, to have a bloody angel stature in your basement corner, what if it was a gravestone, what if someone dressed like an angel saw Medusa? The horrifying possibilities were endless, but he didn't have time to focus on that. Just when he started feeling crunching glass under his feet did he feel a sharp jab in the side, like someone poking him, and just like that the world started spinning in a great big ball of light, wind was coming from everywhere and nowhere, it was as if someone had thrown him into a funnel of light or something. John closed his eyes in terror, not knowing what was going on and wanting it so desperately to stop. What could be happening, how could this happen? He couldn't recall any scientific thing that was able to make such a convincing wind storm unless it was one of those rip off hurricane machines that just ate your dollars and had three hairdryers in them. And then it was over, all the sudden the spinning stopped, the wind stopped, and he plopped back down on the floor, but it wasn't a floor. He opened his eyes and even though the world was spinning and tilting he could tell he wasn't in The House anymore. In fact it didn't even look like his town, but it was probably just some part he's never explored before. After all he wasn't really much for getting out of the house, look what simply wandering around did to him? What would his mom say, oh god he was so dead. But right now John felt like if he tried to stand up he'd fall down with bones of Jell-O, so he just stayed seated, leaning against the brick wall of this old looking alley way. John closed his eyes and eventually, after a while, his eyes stopped spinning inside his eyelids and he could breathe sort of normally. He was terrified, absolutely terrified, how could he get home from here, where even was here? And it was getting dark, the sun was sinking, and there was a sharp pain in his side from whatever had touched him in The House. John struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on the grimy brick wall to support himself, and moving towards what looked like an empty street. There were no cars, but there were people mingling around, dressed in what looked like old fashioned clothes and talking in hushed voices. John looked around, observing his surrounds. Probably some sort of renascence fair or something because there was not a car in sight, but he did almost get run over by a horse and buggy. There were the most peculiar people walking around, the men in crisp brown suits and top hats and the women that had dresses so long that they dragged along the ground, and they were wearing what looked like bonnets. But the most disturbing things about the entire place was the people lying in the streets, some wrapped in white sheets soaked in blood, but others just tossed out as if they were diseased or something. Some were hanging out of sewage drains, some simply lain out on the sidewalk, of all size, gender, and age, dead with glassy eyed stares, staring up at the sky as if looking for something they couldn't see. The alive people were walking around them, acting totally normal but making an effort to avoid the, as if the dead were as common as street lamps which, evidently, they had none of. But the dead bodies made John's stomach twist, and he had to cover his nose to avoid the strong stink of death. What kind of place was this?