Pocatello

Their stories didn’t do it justice – the house was much creepier in real life. We slid to a stop several feet from a rickety porch, bicycle tires crunching in the gravel. I now regretted asking to join the adventure as I silently stared at what had only been a scary story until now. Withered vines shrouded a decaying porch concealing remnants of faded gray paint and warped boards. A torn screened door hung askew on rusted hinges.

My gaze traveled upward. I could just make out part of a window above the highest eave. My position on the back of my brother Dean’s bike prevented a full view of the window, but I could see a hint of a lacy curtain beyond what was left of the grimy glass.

The others scrambled excitedly off their bikes forcing me to abandon the security of my perch with much less enthusiasm. As promised when Dean and I arrived for our week-long visit with our three family friends, we were going to tour the local haunted house.

Caution tape faded from years of weather dangled from the porch posts proclaiming DANGER DO NOT ENTER. I thought about pointing out that even if the tape was mostly unreadable, the warning still had merit. However, having had to beg to be allowed to join the older kids in the first place, I kept this opinion to myself.

I cast a nervous glance at Dean, who at four years older than me, was usually considered to be of sound mind. Normally, I would follow him without question, but his eager expression made me unsure.

I gave Linda a meaningful look. As the only other girl in our group, and being three years older than me, I was hoping she’d speak up to save us from what was clearly absolute insanity. But she must have misunderstood my bug-eyed expression as excitement because she grinned and charged onto the porch.

I climbed the creaking steps with dread muttering, “Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea.”

Lloyd, the oldest member of our group, opened the screened door, its hinges squealing in protest. When he pushed against the ornate front door, it resisted. Mike joined the effort, and the door slowly swung inward. I wanted to yell “Stop!" but feared I’d be made to wait outside - alone. I stepped up close to Dean nearly stepping on the backs of his shoes.

Dim light filtered in through the tall, partially intact, dirt-encrusted windows. These were framed by heavy tattered drapes reminding me of those in ‘The House on Haunted Hill’ (a movie that I now wished I hadn’t watched). I swallowed hard, trying to calm my trembling body.

“Watch out for the big hole in the floor,” Lloyd cautioned.

“Yeah,” Mike added gleefully, “it goes all the way to the basement!”

What should have been a clear sign to leave the premises immediately only increased the excitement of the other four. I gripped Dean’s shirt as we inched forward, cautiously peering around him. The hole covered nearly the entire room!

As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I realized that we were standing on the only solid surface in the room. Had I decided to step around Dean my next stop would have been the basement! Lying in wait was a gaping, ravenous jaw of shattered floorboards. I gasped, instinctively wadding Dean’s shirt tighter in my fists causing him to reach behind and tap my arm. I loosened my grip… a little.

We shuffled behind Lloyd like frightened ducklings, hugging the wall as much as the jutting windowsills allowed. Unable to see into the abyss made it all the more frightening. At last, we reached an adjoining room.

I guessed this was the kitchen given the broken sink resting in the corner of the room. Despite the filthy linoleum, I was very grateful to stand on a solid surface. The late afternoon sun bounced off glass shards littering the floor. Bits of faded rosebud wallpaper clung defiantly to the walls. The floor-to-ceiling fireplace at the far end of the room was missing many of its stones and most of its hearth.

Not finding anything of notable horror in the kitchen, we retraced our steps creeping again along the narrow band of flooring. As we neared the front door, I considered taking my leave. It was the knowledge that Dean would still be inside facing unthinkable terror without me that kept me pressing forward… or so I told myself.

We passed by the stairs and continued into the next room. A large section of the flooring in the middle of the room looked newer than the outer edges. I guessed that a rug must have covered that area for many years. Two of the walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases that looked like they were in pretty decent condition; I could almost visualize the hundreds of books that must have rested on those shelves.

Reversing our direction, we made our way back to the staircase and clustered in a tight group at its base. Lloyd placed a foot on the bottom step using the wall to steady himself. The banister didn’t look like it could be trusted as many of its spindles were absent. Squinting in the dim light, I could tell that several of the stairs were either badly broken or missing altogether.

When he was confident of his balance, Lloyd extended his other foot up over a partially missing step to the next tread. As he started to shift his weight upwards a loud crack shattered the quiet followed by the clatter of something making its way to the level below.

We all jumped, inhaling sharply. Lloyd froze. His voice shook, “Uh, guys? I think the boards might be too rotten to go upstairs.”

A collective sigh rippled through the group. Placing a hand on Mike’s shoulder for support, Lloyd carefully returned to the landing. Once we confirmed his safety, we turned, and I led our team of explorers toward the exit.

Once outside, we promptly got on the bicycles, with Dean and I sharing a banana seat. As he pedaled, I took one last look at the famed haunted house of Pocatello, focusing again on the high eave window.

A chill seized me. I stared open mouthed at the figure framed in the window, its pale hand holding back an edge of the tattered curtain. Dean picked up speed. I craned my neck to keep the window in view. Ever so slowly, the curtain drifted back in place as the figure withdrew.