. Massive clouds of stifling black smoke fill the ever blue sky. A desperate rattling draws my attention towards the windows. My eyes turn into tiny slits as I peer at the glass. Did I just

hot fingers pry their way through the tightly enjoin

ly, I reach forward and slide the key into the keyhole. A soft clink resonates in the silence that surrounds us. It was

eaks as it swings open and darkness welcomes us. Something runs across the back of my neck, and I jump. A shriek gets caught in my throa

, " I say as I

't believe in ghosts Miss Gw

not the first haunting rumor attached to it. Nevertheless, I was already psyched out. I mentally kick my

I think sawdust that now proudly shone on the cracked floor, brought on by the minor modification work of course. It seems p

ideways hug. "Don't worry about the mess, " he says. "Our cafeteria boys know enough women who need jobs as house clean

ly has its merits. I plop my bag on the floor, and a cloud of dust engulfs it. I ignore the mess and proceed to give

ky. Window frames seemed warped in places, and there was no glass in the panes. The bathroom and kitchen were a necessity but stood out like warts. They didn't belong in this old house. Tentatively I walked u

ing he takes my hand, as if afraid I would fall. It was a four-foot drop. I doubt I would have injured myself seriously e

ving never lived by myself before, the thought of spending countless days and nights in an empty space made me crave

lead to the front of the house. I turn and see a huge overgrown rose bush creeping up the wall. This must have been what the agent spoke about earlier. Tiny new buds sprouting from crooks on ste

s and instead meet huge black eyes; the white's barely showing through. A white patch of fuzzy skin ran down the center and ended in a

sputter out while reigning in hysterics that threatened to

say and take

ghing. A stupid grin is still plastered on his

hriek, and I s

ll door and window graced each front; there were no windows or doors at the back. In some, the doors had disappeared while in others,

ictorian style wrought iron fencing. The gate was closed but was barely straight. Rust covered every inch o

my heart were shattering into a million tiny pieces. My eyes were beginning to tea

gh. I wanted to turn back. I wanted safe

we made our way back to the house. "Now wh

and shrug. I still haven't shak

I agree. I want to be

my bag. I can see its imprint in the dust, bu

ng for that?" he says. My bag is hanging from a nail. Con

no such thing as ghosts. My house is not haunte