The Dead House

The envelope sat on Alex's desk like it had weight far beyond its size. Its creamy, old-fashioned paper gleamed under the fluorescent dorm light, taunting him. He'd already flipped it over half a dozen times, running his thumb across the wax seal. It was a bird of some kind mid-flight, its wings outstretched like it was daring him to break it.

It had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, shoved under his door that morning without a sound. No knock, no delivery notice. Just this strange, weird-looking envelope with his full name scrawled in a script too perfect to be modern.

"Just open it, Alex," he muttered, picking it up again.

His thumb paused again over the seal. For some reason, he felt uneasy. Like the moment before a fall, when gravity was temporarily suspended. What he didn't understand was this trepidation he felt; like it was a bomb that he must open. It was just a letter, right? Probably sent from some old-fashioned person who hadn't caught up to the 21st Century. Or it was a prank. Yes, that sounded more reasonable.

He chuckled lightly at his irrational anxiety and finally, with a sharp snap, he broke the wax.

The letter Inside was written in the same elegant hand, but there was something uneven about the strokes, like the writer had been in a hurry, or nervous.

"To Alexander James Reardon,

I am writing to inform you of your inheritance of the property at 217 Old Mill Road. This estate, known locally as Blackwood House, was previously owned by your great-uncle, Tobias Reardon. As the last living heir, you are now its sole owner.

Please contact the legal office of Anderson & Sons to finalize the necessary paperwork. We strongly advise visiting the property before making any decisions.

Sincerely,

Charles Anderson

Anderson & Sons, Solicitors"

Alex frowned, reading the letter again to make sure he hadn't imagined it.

Blackwood House. The name scratched at the edge of his memory. Something his father had mentioned once, half-joking, half-bitter, about "old family baggage." But that had been years ago, and he'd never pressed for details.

An estate? What estate? His family didn't have that kind of money. And who was Tobias Reardon that would leave him a house without so much as a hello all his life?

The buzzing of his phone broke his thoughts. The group chat was alive again, his friends exchanging their usual banter.

Chris: Movie night? I'm picking the snacks.

Emma: Not if Taylor's picking the movie. The last time was a disaster.

Taylor: "Sharkaster" is an underrated classic. You're just a hater.

Alex smirked, typing a quick reply.

Alex: I've got something better than a movie. Meet me at the café. You're not gonna believe this.

Before he could set his phone down, the door banged open, and Chris strode in like he owned the place.

"Dude," Chris said, tossing his bag onto the floor. "You've got that face.

"What face?"

"The one you get when something insane is about to happen."

Alex raised an eyebrow. "You mean your face?"

"Burn misplaced, dude. Try again." Chris smirked, but his gaze landed on the letter still open on the desk. "What's that?"

Instead of answering, Alex picked it up and handed it to him. "Read it. Then tell me I'm not crazy."

Chris scanned the letter, his brow furrowing deeper with every line. By the time he finished, he was shaking his head.

"This has to be a joke, right? An inheritance? An estate? What are you, a movie character?"

Alex snorted. "That's what I thought. But if it's a scam, it's an elaborate one."

Chris looked at him, his usual sarcasm dimmed by something more serious. "Blackwood House... That sounds familiar. Isn't that the place everyone says is haunted?"

Alex's stomach tightened, but he shrugged it off. "Come on, man. Don't start with that."

Chris didn't laugh.

.....Later That Night – A Café

The café was crowded, its usual mix of students and late-night regulars filling the air with conversation and the smell of burnt coffee. Alex and Chris sat in their usual corner booth, the letter now a little wrinkled from being passed back and forth.

"You've gotta admit," Chris said, leaning back in his seat, "this is pretty sketchy. What if it's, like, a trap or something?"

Alex rolled his eyes. "A trap for what? I'm not exactly rolling in cash, dumbass."

The bell over the door jingled, and Emma walked in, her ever-present sketchbook tucked under one arm. She spotted them immediately and made her way over, her calm energy a stark contrast to the chaotic noise around her.

"Hey," she said, sliding into the seat beside Chris. "What's this about an inheritance?"

Taylor arrived moments later, his hoodie slung lazily over his shoulder. He dropped into the booth with a grin, stealing a fry from Chris's plate before he even said hello.

"You didn't tell me we were meeting about ghost stories," Taylor said, his grin widening as he spotted the letter on the table.

Emma's brow furrowed. "Ghost stories?"

Taylor shrugged. "Blackwood House. Everyone knows it's haunted."

"Well, I didn't," Emma stated, startled.

Alex groaned. "It's not haunted. It's just an old house."

"An old house with a tragic backstory," Taylor shot back.

Before Alex could argue, the door jingled again. Jordan entered, her dark curls bouncing as she glanced around the room. She caught Alex's eye and smiled, and he quickly looked away, pretending to fiddle with the letter.

Jordan slid into the booth beside him, her shoulder brushing his. Alex felt his pulse quicken but kept his expression neutral.

"What's going on?" she asked, her voice warm and curious.

"Alex inherited a haunted mansion," Taylor said, grinning.

Jordan raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

Chris passed her the letter. As she read, Alex watched her face, noting the way her lips pressed together in concentration.

"This is... unexpected," she said, handing it back. "But it sounds exciting."

"Exciting," Emma repeated, her voice laced with sarcasm. "You mean terrifying."

Alex leaned back, running a hand through his hair. "It's just a house. A free house. I'd be stupid not to check it out."

"And if it's haunted?" Taylor asked.

Alex shot him a look, but it was Jordan who answered. "If it's haunted, we'll bring salt and holy water."

Taylor clapped his hands together. "Now we're talking!"

Chris groaned. Emma sighed. And Alex couldn't help but smile at Jordan, her calm confidence somehow making him feel like this wasn't the worst idea in the world.