Spirit Too Alive

The smell of fresh cookies wafts around my one story house, making the place seem warm and comforting. The timer on the over goes off and I pull my thick blond hair back into a ponytail, stepping around my sleeping dog as I rush to turn the heat down before the neighbor's Halloween cookies get a little crispier than needed. I slide my hands into oven mitts and open the stainless steel door, heat fogging my glasses up. I set the pan on a rack to cool and rub my lenses clean on the fabric of my Harvard hoodie. Quickly, I ice the fresh cookies and bag them individually to perfection. Setting them on a clear plastic tray, I step out into the chilly October air and begin the short walk down the street towards the big house on the corner of the block. The grounds are meticulously kept and as I approach a facial scanner recognizer my face and the gates creak open. When I pass through, a chill runs down my spine and the slow, mechanic noise of the iron gates sounds behind me. I glance down, frost that I hadn't noticed before now settled on the dying grass. Why had I only worn a sweatshirt? 

Smooth, grey pavement leads me up to the old Victorian style house. Something shifts in my peripheral vision and I glance towards it, but nothing was there. When I turn back and keep walking, long, spider like cracks are embedded in the once new pavement. I frown, confusion taking over my thoughts. What was happening? I quicken my pace, drawing nearer to the front of the house. 

The house's grey shutters were closed, some of the paint flaking off in the brisk wind. The structure loomed above me, ominous and dark. Exhaling, I watch my breath cloud the air, noticing that the bushes had overgrown into the steps up to the door. Spiderwebs hung thick between them and I could spot the little arachnids crawling around slowly, the cold affecting them. I turn around to look down the cracked pavement and find that the iron gate has changed as well. Instead of the shiny new iron that had hung proudly in front of the house, one of the doors hung crooked and rusty while the other lay on the ground, covered in ivy and lichen. My brows furrow, dread flooding my system. What on earth was going on? 

I turn back to the house and step onto the first wooden step leading up to the front door. It groans with the weight of my body but I continue onward, placing my foot cautiously onto another step. This one holds better than the other, making no noise as I pull myself up with the iron handrail on either side of the stairs. I ring the doorbell, hoping that someone would come to the door and relieve me of my confusion and fear. I hear a slow shuffling behind the thick oak door and my heart begins to pound. I shake my head, not believing what was happening. The door swings open, its hinges surprisingly quiet. Behind the door stands an old man wrapped in a fuzzy grey blanket made out of a material that I couldn't recognize. He stands above me looking down, and I step up the last step to meet him.

I open my mouth but no words seem to be able to come out. 

"H-Hello sir. Can I see Caroline?" I manage to stammer out, his dull grey eyes staring through me. 

He looks at me, a confused look on his face. I can make a solid guess about his age, using his white mustache and hair as clues. His face was slightly wrinkled, the skin leathery yet tan, as if he had been outside for a long time. 

He speaks, his voice hoarse. 

"Caroline died ten years ago." 

My mouth parts into a perfect O. I had seen her yesterday, walking down the newly paved road with her new German Shepherd which she had named Nelly. And she was very much alive. I hear a clang near my feet and realize that the cookies had slipped out of my hand, decorating the ground with delicious bats and skulls. How fitting.

"I'm sorry, but what?" 

He nods his head, his mouth in a grim line. My hands shook, giving away how scared I was. 

"What year is it?" I ask, my eyes wide, dreading the answer. 

He squints at me, his white brows pinching together. He rocks back on his heels, an impressive task for a man of his age. 

"Why dear it's 2029. Where have you been?" He laughs. 

I let out a shaky breath and say," I'm sorry but I need to go." 

I whirl around and hop down from the stairs. Panic builds up in my chest, the pressure building and pushing to get out. I run down the cracked pavement and past the iron gates. Once outside the property, i begin to warm up, the brisk wind suddenly gone and the sun shining as it had been before I had started the walk down the drive. I slow down and look over my shoulder at the house. It looked like it did before I had begun this nightmare. What was happening. Was I crazy? So many thoughts run through my head, spinning around and around in circles, not allowing me to think a coherent thought to save my soul. Taking a closer look at Caroline's house I see that the pavement was new again and that the iron fences were in pristine shape. I hear a sharp honk and whirl around and find myself facing a copper colored car. Caroline's face appears behind the wheel, smiling but the curiosity clear on her face. I walk up to her window, motioning for her to roll it down. 

"What's wrong sis? Is the Halloween spirit too alive in you today?" She laughs, smiling at me. 

"I don't' know. Maybe. I just got spooked out I guess. When I went to drop off the cookies I made you your house changed and there was an old man living there. He said you were dead. Dead, Caroline. Do you know how scared I was?" I said, my voice shaking. 

One of her eyebrows shoots up as I tell the story,an expression of concern growing on her face. 

"Hey, hey. Why don't we get you inside and you can rest for a little bit. I'm sure that wore you out. I'll make you some tea and you can just relax. I know you've been under a lot of pressure lately at work and that's probably what caused you to see those things." 

I nod my head, allowing her to lead me into my house. I lay down on my new leather couch and she begins to make me hot chocolate in the kitchen. I can hear small clinks and clangs as I begin to drift off to sleep, under a big soft blanket. 

When I wake up the next day, I will remember none of it.