The next day at eleven-thirty a battered old truck pulled out front of her house. There were half-sawed pieces of wood in the bed, a gun in the rear window, and her brother at the wheel. Lenore dragged her feet out the door of her two-story house with its green lawn and fenced backyard, and shuffled into the passenger seat. Stan looked as thrilled as she was for this trip. “You just had to tell him about me, didn’t you?” he mumbled as he shifted the manual into drive.
She shrugged. “It’s just a creepy old house, and we’re grownups now. It’ll probably be fine,” she argued.
Stan glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. “Then why do you have a heavy flashlight sticking out of your coat pocket?”
She covered the revealed top with her hand. “Because.”
“Because why?”
“Because it’s a creepy old house, and if a ghost tries to sneak up on me I’m going to blind him with it,” she snapped.
He rolled his eyes, but there was a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Just turn around and give it Mom’s Evil Eye. That should do it,” he replied.
“I haven’t perfected it. I think I need to raise two hell raisers to get it down,” she told him.
Stan laughed. “Yeah, that’s probably the secret ingredient.” As they talked the truck bounced down the road from one end of the city to the other. The streets flew by, and subtle changes arose in them. The trees grew larger and gnarlier. Fresh, new sidewalks changed to puzzles pieces of broken cement. The houses stretched higher into the sky and the yards stretched out on all sides. The laughter of children was replaced with the groan of the old trees as they swayed in the wind.
Lenore slid down in her seat and peeked over the lower edge of the window. “This place hasn’t changed much,” she muttered.
“Yeah it has. It’s gotten creepier,” Stan argued.
“When was the last time you were here?” she asked him.
He shrugged. “A decade ago. There really isn’t any reason for me to be here. You?”
“Not since that night,” she replied.
“That’s a long time to go cold turkey,” he mused.
“Yeah, well, that night I thought I was a cooked goose,” she argued.
“Still have nightmares?”
“Sometimes. You?”
“Not often, but I’m glad when I work all-nighters on a construction job.”
Lenore sat up and watched the streets pass by them. “How did I ever let you talk me into going all the way out here on our bikes?”
Stan snorted. “Talk you into going here? It was your idea.”
“But you’re the older brother. You were supposed to talk me out of it.”
“I wasn’t that persuasive then.”
“And now?”
Stan smirked. “Now I can talk you into going somewhere you don’t want to go.”
Lenore’s face drooped and she grabbed the handle on the door. “That reminds me, I don’t really want to go to the house. Mind letting me out?”
Her brother shrugged. “All right.” He pulled the car over. She opened the door, but paused when he spoke up. “Pity. That guy was kind of interested in showing you the house.”
She paused, glanced over her shoulder and frowned at him. “Nick?” she guessed.
“Yep. I told him I’d try to get you to come, and he seemed kind of interested in the idea,” Stan told her.
Lenore still wasn’t smiling when she slipped back into her seat and slammed the door. “You’re real evil, you know that?”
Stan pulled the car back onto the road. “What are big brothers for?” he countered.
“Not for setting people up on dates with strange men at creepy houses. That’s for the girls of the family to do,” she protested.
“That’s sexist. Besides, why would I want you to set up a date for me with a guy?” he teased.
She rolled her eyes. “Well, whatever you think is between us, it isn’t. I just met the guy last night-”
“-and already gave him your brother’s phone number,” Stan added.
“You got the job, didn’t you?” she countered.
“I don’t know yet. The place might not be salvageable,” he pointed out.
“That would be a pity,” she murmured.
“Wouldn’t it?” he dryly agreed. They drove onward through the old neighborhoods. The road narrowed and the potholes widened until Stan had to play leapfrog over some of the larger holes. “Why did your new boyfriend want to live here?” he asked his sister.
“He’s not my boyfriend, and I have no idea why. Maybe he likes the atmosphere,” she suggested.
“A fan of modern Gothic?” he wondered.
Lenore grabbed onto the door handle as they jumped and veered around more large potholes. “More like twenty-first century infrastructure collapse,” she quipped. The handle jiggled in her hand and she pulled away. “I think you need to get this thing fixed or somebody might fall out,” she commented.
Stan shrugged. “I don’t usually have anybody else in here with me. For some reason girls don’t like the thing.”
Lenore glanced down at her feet and watched the empty soda cans and fast-food bags roll around the floor. “Geez, I wonder why,” she mused.
“Yeah, mystery, isn’t it?” Stan replied. They bumped along for another few blocks where half the houses were replaced by a wilderness of trees. The sidewalks sank into the ground and were replaced with gravel walks, and manicured lawns grew into patches of bushes and wildflowers. They were nearing the end of the city and entering what remained of the forests from which the city had once derived its main manufacturing.
Stan pulled over and parked the car in front of a two-foot tall rock wall with six stone steps leading up to a yard. He leaned over to the passenger side while Lenore leaned out the window. They stared up at the source of their nightmares, an old Tudor mansion set back from the road and overgrown with vines. Its wooden shutters hung from rusty hinges and the door leaned precariously to one side. The full thirty yards of stone path was choked with weeds, and bushes planted along the path had swallowed what wasn’t overgrown. Ancient trees shaded much of the area and dead branches hung from their living brethren waiting for unsuspecting husbands. Others lay scattered on the ground at the bases of the trees.
“Remind me how you talked me into doing this?” Lenore whispered.
“Because you talked to that guy,” he reminded her.
“Remind me never to talk to strange men again.”
Stan pulled back and opened his door. He hopped out, strode around the truck, and opened her door. “I’m pretty sure this will scare that memory into you,” he replied.
“Thanks, that makes me feel a lot better,” she grumbled. She slipped out and her brother shut the door behind her. The clang of metal against metal made her jump, and she turned to glare at him. “Do you have to be so loud?” she growled.
“It’s the echo around this place,” he defended himself. There was a cavern-like quality to the property, what with the trees with their drooping branches and the bushes hedged around the large yard.
Lenore sighed, pulled up the waist of her jeans, and pursed her lips. “Well, let’s get this over with.” She didn’t take a step forward. Neither did Stan. They both stood there staring at the long walk to the decrepit house.
“Ladies first,” Stan told her.
Lenore rolled her eyes, got behind her brother, and pushed him toward the house. “Good thing I’m not a lady,” she returned.
“I stand, or rather, walk, corrected,” he quipped.
The siblings walked along the rough path, fought their way through the wild bushes, and ducked beneath the low limbs to finally arrive at the front door. They paused ten yards from the entrance and looked up. The tall, narrow, filthy windows were like soulless eyes glaring down at them. Dead and living vines mingled together to create a picture of life and death with the house as a canvas.
“You have the strang
est tastes in men,” Stan whispered to her.
“Tell me about it.”
“I just did.”
The door to the house swung open, and almost off its rusted hinges, and Nick stood in the doorway. He had a bright smile on his face and opened his arms to them. “Good morning! I’m glad to see you two are punctual,” he greeted them. He held his hand out to Stan, who took it and winced.
Stan pulled his hand back and flexed his fingers. “You have a good grip, Mr. Connor.”
“Nick, if you please,” Nick requested. He turned to Lenore. “A pleasure to see you again, Miss Anderson.”
“If my brother can’t call you Mr. Connor then you can’t call me Miss Anderson,” I teased. “Besides, it makes me feel old.” He took her hand and planted a soft kiss on her palm. Her cheeks lit up like a Christmas tree. She noticed her brother smirk, and scowled at him.
Nick’s eyes flitted up to meet hers and he smiled. “I don’t believe you will ever be old,” he replied.
“Everyone gets old, Nick, just like this house you have here,” Stan spoke up as he nodded at the crumbling place. “What were you thinking about doing to it? Tearing it down to the frame?”
Nick released Lenore’s hand and turned to admire the house. “I would like to keep as much of the original structure as possible, but I suppose you’re better at deciding that than I am. I’m just a dabbler in science, not carpentry.”
“Is that what you do for a living?” Lenore asked him.
Nick enigmatically smiled and gestured to the house. “If you would both come inside and give me an appraisal of its condition, I would be most grateful.”