The Eerie Haunting

Dylan walked down the street, his school bag weighing him down with the inevitable homework. He went over the list in his head, wondering if he’d have time to watch a film tonight. He wanted to go home and flunk the bag in the corner without doing anything, but he was trying to get into a good college in two years, and not doing his homework wasn’t an option.

His nine-year-old brother Brett skipped along beside him, whistling tunelessly. Nothing rattled or worried Brett. The world was his playground; his life was one big game, and if homework got in the way, he ignored it.

“Let’s go this way!” Brett shouted and pulled Dylan’s hand towards a long road to their left.

Dylan looked down the long street of neat gardens and big houses. He liked the road but rarely walked down it, as it added ten minutes to his walk home. “No,” he said.

Brett let go of his hand and sprinted down the road, ignoring Dylan’s shouts. There was a brief moment when Dylan considered leaving his brother to his own devices, but since Brett had already, on separate occasions, broken his leg, dislocated his arm, skinned both his knees, broken his nose, and almost lost his eye, Dylan followed him sulkily.

The peace of the street was shattered as Brett sprinted down, screeching at the top of his lungs. Suddenly, he stopped dead and beamed at the ruin of a house, probably the only one in their town. The windows were nailed shut, part of the facade had fallen, and the roof had a hole.

Dylan knew Brett wouldn’t miss the chance to explore and risk another injury. He rushed forward, hoping to catch up with Brett before his brother disappeared into the jungle that used to be the front garden, but Brett bolted forward before Dylan was halfway through.

“Don’t!” Dylan shouted after Brett’s sprinting figure, but it was too late. Brett had disappeared into the house and was now just hearing the sound of pounding feet in the distance. Grunting, Dylan followed.

He pushed his way through thick bushes and up a rotting wooden staircase. The front door was ajar, a trail of dust pushed aside. Small human footprints disappeared into the dark corridor.

“Brett Dwayne Johnson! Come here this instant!” Dylan shouted into the darkness in perfect imitation of his mother. Nothing happened. With a deep sigh, he stepped over the threshold, ignoring the creaking and groaning of the old house. It would have been easier to move around if the windows were open, or at least not so perfectly nailed shut that the only light source came from the front door.

Ducking under several colossal spider webs, Dylan reached what must have been a living room. He pulled out the phone from his pocket and switched on the torch. The light illuminated the thick dust with Brett’s footsteps in it. Furious, Dylan stepped after the footsteps, making the wood groan loudly. As he hurried into the kitchen, he enjoyed the mental image of dragging Brett out by the ear.

He kicked open the kitchen door, trying to make an impressive entrance. It would have worked if the door hadn’t bounced off the wall and slammed in his face. Rolling his eyes, he opened the door and pushed it gently aside. As he stepped inside, he expected Brett to leap at him at any moment in his childish attempt to make him jump in fright.

“Bu!” Brett shouted, jumping from behind the kitchen island. Then he started to laugh.

“Are you finished?” Dylan asked. “We have to go home. Now!”

For no apparent reason, the kitchen door creaked and moved several centimetres. Dylan spun around and watched it with a frown. Brett stopped laughing and gaped at the door. It moved a little more and then stopped.

“The kids at school say this house is haunted,” Brett whispered.

“Nonsense!” Dylan looked around the kitchen. He had heard the rumours himself. They were funny when he sat between the beds with his friends, the torch under his chin eerily illuminating his features. It wasn’t so amusing when he was standing in the middle of the house.

Several creaking noises came from behind them, and they both spun around. Dylan turned the light to the spot. Apart from a lot of swirling dust, there was nothing there. A swoosh sounded nearby, moving over their heads and ending in a strange mechanical sound that reminded Dylan of a laugh. Something flashed in the light before disappearing into the partially collapsed ceiling.

“Some people have died here,” Brett said, looking at the hole, bug-eyed.

“That’s a bunch of hooey,” Dylan quivered. He wanted to believe it was a bunch of hooey, but things were getting more complicated as the kitchen door slammed shut.

He grabbed Brett’s shoulder and pulled him close. His hands shook as he flicked the torch back and forth. Footsteps sounded behind them, and Dylan turned so quickly that his phone flew out of his fingers and landed on the floor a few paces away, the light from the torch facing up. Strange shadows spread around them as the light bounced off the remains of the kitchen.

Then, a shadow moved. Dylan pulled Brett aside, ready to protect him from whatever monster appeared. The shadow grew larger, accompanied by a scratching sound that sent shivers down Dylan’s spine.

Then, the shadow overtook the kitchen, shrinking almost instantly into the shape of a magpie that landed on Dylan’s phone. It tilted its head to one side, then to the other.

Dylan watched it, his heart racing. They looked at each other momentarily before the magpie bolted sideways and sprinted behind the kitchen island with a chorus of taps from its tiny claws. Dylan heaved a sigh of relief.

“I told you this place wasn’t haunted,” Brett said with a nervous chuckle. “No one died here.”

Anger filled Dylan. He slowly turned to his brother, a manic grin spreading across his face. “That’s about to change,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

Two seconds later, Dylan was standing alone in the kitchen, the door creaking as they slowly moved back. Brett’s scream and heavy footsteps filled the silence of the house.

Of course, Dylan would get in trouble with his parents for this, but it was worth it. And hopefully, it will teach Brett to take him a little more seriously in the future.