She’d never truly noticed it, not until she heard its voice. Heard it call to her, a cacophony of noise, like each brick was the member of a choir with their own secret song.
The old Mitchell house had been there on her way to school for as long as she remembered, never occupied for more than a few months. The realtor never bothered putting up a sign any more.
But on Tuesday, it had said “Hey, look at me! Come inside!”
She felt the compulsion to approach it, and she got all the way to the wrought iron fence. She leaned over it, and looked at the dilapidated Victorian property. It had arching turrets and a shingled roof with gaping holes that sunlight poured through. A half-collapsed wraparound porch and faded stain glass windows. It was like something from a storybook, or a real-life dolls house left to rack and ruin.
She wonder what it looked like inside.
The gate swung open with a welcoming creak.
Then, she felt the hair on her arms stand upright, felt the chill on the air. Noticed the sinister profile of the house, like an open mouthed lion bearing down on a gazelle.
She’d seen the movies. She wasn’t stupid.
She walked on by.
photo credit: Echoes89 American Horror Story – Murder House (Explore 18/01/2016) via photopin (license)