"Here's the deal, brat." Clarence said as he rolled down his sleeves. At the start of October, the days were windy and cold. Now, the sun was going down, and they knew it would only get colder. "You're going to go into old man Robinson's house, and you come out until I see you up in that window." His big brother explained with a cruel grin. He pointed to a window. It was the one to the attic of the house.
The place had history and none of it good. Decades ago, before Mr. Robinson moved in, it was rumored that there was a massacre in the house. The owner had a birthday party, invited all his friends and family, and decided to trap them in the house and eat them all. No one knows why; hell, no one knows if it's true, but since then anyone who has ever lived in that house on Firth Street either went crazy or moved out after only living there for a few weeks. Only Mr. Robinson was the one who actually stayed in the house for a couple of years. He was a weird old guy, never talked to anyone, and no one ever saw him leave his house, except a few times when he came out to pick up the daily paper. He died four years ago and since then, no one has lived in it. The Hell House, Harold recalled, that's what the kids at school called it. Apparently, Todd Radley, a guy who was one year ahead of Clarence went into the house after Mr. Robinson died. The high school junior ran out screaming, said he was being chased by Mr. Robinson's ghost.
"C' mon Clarence, don't be jerk," Harold complained. "Can't I just do your chores? Clean your room?" He had always cringed when he past by the haunted house. He would sometimes hear a sound from within that would send him running down the sidewalk until the place was out of sight.
Clarence shook his head, not wanting to be cheated out of his enjoyment. "Can't I just tell mom you took twenty bucks from her purse?" He snickered. "Can't I just tell her what you planned to buy with it?"
Harold's face turned red as a tomato. Stupid Ronny! Telling my brother... The dirty mags he bought from him were underneath his mattress, hidden from his parents. He heard Ronny was selling them after he had stolen some from his uncle's house. Harold had spent all his allowance on a new game, so he had to get the money from somewhere.
"You snitch." Harold spat at his brother.
"You're the one to talk!" retorted Clarence, "You know how long I was grounded after you told mom and dad that I snuck out?"
The memory brought joy to Harold's heart, and he tried not to giggle in front of Clarence. Mom and dad bolted to the garage and drove to Lisa's house. Boy, did they chew him out, Harold mused, it was sweet to listen to. Not like he had anything else to listen to that night. Clarence had thrown his music player into the toilet two nights before.
They could go on and on the battles they fought in their sibling rivalry, but now it was Clarence's turn to take a swing, Harold knew in his heart. He looked at the powerless house, completely dark on the inside. The grass was dead, and the potted plants occupied by dry, brown, leafless skeletons. The only living plant life seemed to be the vines that grew wild. They crawled all the way to the second floor.
"So?" Clarence asked, "You're going or not?"
"The attic window?" Harold wanted to know his objective.
"Yup."
Harold took a deep breath and walked towards the house. The wind was stronger and colder as it tugged at Harold's hoodie. The front door's knob was so cold, the brass numbing his fingers. He slowly pushed the door open, he eyes darting around the darkness, making sure nothing jumped out in front of him. Inside the carpet was pale, bleached by the dry, white plaster of the wall that dusted it. The walls look like they were struck with blunt objects. The only light that was provided was from the outside street lights, giving the inside an orange glow.
Harold pulled out his flashlight and turned it on. The stairs were in front of him, but to the left he could see the living room. Within the furniture was coated with dust. On a recliner, there was a pile bird droppings on it, a mess of white, black and brown. The wind howled, making its way through the old wood of the house. The creaking was loud, as if the whole house whined in pain. It's just a house, Harold thought to himself. He turned his focus back to the stairs. On the edge of his light, just encompassed in the circle projecting from the flashlight, Harold saw feet in house slippers on the landing above. He pointed his light above. The feet sped away, and there was no one there when he looked up.
Did I really see that? Even though his heart raced, he made his way up the steps. On the top floor he saw several rats, scurrying here and there, avoiding the flashlight's bright beam. In the master bedroom, Harold saw that on the dusty bed there was something on top of it. What was it? He thought to himself. From the threshold, he could not see much. Farther ahead, he saw the floor had collapsed, allowing him to view the kitchen stove from above. The idea of stepping in made him nervous as he pictured himself falling through the floor boards. However, he did not want to get a better look at it anyway. It was a brown lump that stained the bed with a similar color around it. There was a structure to it, and the smell it gave off was unsettling. A pile of bones? A dead animal? Harold left it to rest in peace and farther down along a hallway, he found the attic. He pulled the string that allowed the ladder to unfold before him. He climbed up it, motes of dust flying into the air as he stepped on and grabbed the rungs.
Nothing but cardboard boxes of paper filled with boring files. The window was straight ahead. This wasn't so bad, Harold flipped his brother the bird from the attic window with a half-smile on his face. Clarence pretended to be unimpressed.
But then he screamed.
His big brother pointed at him. What's his problem? Harold heard a groan from behind him, closer to his left ear. What? He wasn't pointing at him. He turned around and saw a familiar figure standing before him. Its presence chilled him. Its dead eyes staring into his soul.428Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8DvqXsY9Fi
Mr. Robinson had seen better days.
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