The Sleepover

The walkway was covered in fallen leaves from the giant trees on either side. Pale, dirty stone fences bordered it, leading all the way to the front porch. Statues of large cats sat on stone pillars at the beginning of the staircase that led up to the flagrant archway held up by four slim columns. The archway was covered in old vines and leaves, much like the rest of the towering mansion. From the roof of the first floor to the peaked rooftops of the third floor, dirt, grime, and dying vegetation covered the dark blue of the mansion. In between the two peaks of the third floor was an intricate design of columns, arches, and patterns that culminated in a small balcony on the third floor with the tallest peak of the house sitting above it. Every window was discolored, and the air seemed to be thicker even from the sidewalk.

           “Do I really have to do this?” Brandon asked.

           Jonathan put his harm around his friend. “Oh come on, it’s not that bad. Everyone else on the team did it.”

           “I have a hard time believing that,” Brandon said.

           “Hey,” Jonathan turned Brandon so that they were eye to eye. “You calling me a liar? Your best friend?”

           Brandon instantly felt sorry for saying anything, not wanting Jonathan to be upset with him. “No! No I just figured I would of at least heard of you spending the night here.”

           Jonathan adjusted his bright red jacket that all the varsity hockey players wore. “Yeah well it was a secret. Nobody is supposed to go in there, remember? Can’t have everyone knowing.”

           Brandon picked at his fingernails. “Still, I just —"

           Jonathan groaned. “Oh, will you give it up already? Just say you’re too scared to do it and you can keep being the little loner you seem to just love being.”

           “I don’t love being a loner,” Brandon said quietly.

           “Then get in there!” Jonathan said as he ushered Brandon closer to the old house. “One night. That’s all. Six at night to six in the morning. Just one little sleepover. There’s nothing to be worried about. The stories about curses and ghosts and shit are just to scare people.”

           “You know I don’t believe in any of that,” Brandon said. “I’m more worried about the bugs and the overall structure of the place.”

           Again Jonathan groaned. “Don’t be such a buzzkill. I vouched for you. I said you’re a cool guy. Everyone else on the varsity team wanted to run you off the team because in their eyes, you’re a loser. Prove them wrong, yeah?”

           Jonathan smacked Brandon on the shoulder before walking by him and continuing on down the street. Brandon’s sleeping bag slipped out of his hands as he quickly spun around. He picked it up as he called out to his friend.

           “You don’t think I’m a loser, right?” he shouted.

           Jonathan didn’t look back, instead he raised his hand and waved. “See you in the morning!”

           The sun was just beginning to go down, a twilight filling the street. Brandon looked at his phone to check the time and saw it read 5:58 p.m., causing him to sigh. Like he had said to Jonathan, Brandon really didn’t believe in ghosts or curses or anything of the sort. He thought them of the same ilk as dragons and elves. Fantasy things conjured to make stories more interesting. And yet, standing in front of Miss Dorian’s old home, about to enter it all by himself, he began to feel uneasy. It wasn’t just the worry of bugs or falling through the floor or having the roof fall on him; the whole place just gave off ‘go away’ vibes. There was absolutely nothing inviting about the place. Still, Brandon wanted to stay on the varsity team, and having some new friends other than Jonathan would be a nice change from the previous twelve or so years of his life.

           Being a sophomore in college and only having the same one friend you’ve had since you were six years old was kind of pathetic. At least it was to Brandon. He hadn’t even had a girlfriend yet. Being friends with the varsity team opened doors for him socially, and Brandon was desperate. Taking a deep breath in and letting it out in a huff, Brandon took his first step forward towards his new home for the night. The moment he did a breeze came through the property and caused the bare trees to sway in the wind. The house also creaked and moaned, seeming almost like a not-so-welcoming hello. Brandon slowly made his way down the walkway, passed the stone fences, until he reached the statues of the large cats at the foot of the steps. For a second he thought he saw a shadow in the window of the door, but he shook his head.

           “Just your anxiety getting the best of you,” he said to himself. “There’s no such thing as ghosts. You know that. Just get in there. Twelve hours, and your life changes for the better.”

           Putting all his anxiety aside, Brandon walked up the rickety stairs, each one creaking and groaning with every step. He didn’t give himself any time to turn back, making his way directly for the door, turning the knob, and opening it. He walked in and closed the door behind him. Quickly he pulled his flashlight out of his pocket and his anxiety had him making a small prayer that he wouldn’t see Miss Dorian standing in front of him. Like ripping off a Band-Aid, he flipped the switch and the light illuminated the dark, dust-filled foyer of the grand old house. Brandon moved the flashlight around, letting it crawl up the large staircase in the middle of the entrance, up each side to show a balcony that led to the rooms of the second floor. The staircase to the third floor went up above him.

           Looking around, Brandon realized just how old this place really was. Miss Dorian was killed roughly one hundred and twenty years ago after the townsfolk of Peabody deemed her a witch. Some stories say she was a kind old woman that was misjudged, others say she was the cause of many problems in the old town. Being so close to Salem, the town of Peabody was still ripe with people ready to blame witches for any misfortune, even two hundred years after the Witch Trials. A group of crazed townspeople gathered around Miss Dorian’s home all those years ago and demanded she come outside. When she did, they grabbed her, beat her, and burned her in the street. The reason why there’s stories about a curse, is because every person that took part in her murder either died themselves, or they went crazy. After that, the mayor at the time refused anyone from going into or near her home, and that superstition has carried on for many years, with current politicians refusing anyone to purchase, tear down, or enter the house.

           And now, perhaps quite foolishly, Brandon was inside walking around and looking at all the dust-covered furniture and knick-knacks that old Miss Dorian had. He never touched anything, more so for fear of a bug touching him than angering a century old ghost. After adventuring through the main floor, Brandon decided to travel up the stairs to the second floor. He was surprised to find four bedrooms, all looking so bare that it seemed as though nobody had lived in them well beyond Miss Dorian’s time. There were no possessions, nothing that would show him that someone had claimed the room for themself. Just a bed, no more, no less.

Unsettled by the four vacant bedrooms, Brandon ventured up the last set of stairs, finding a room that smelled absolutely awful. There were tables on each wall save for the one with the small fireplace in it. Each table was covered by pages of old paper, dust covered jars, and what looked like old dead plants of some sort. The smell of the room was enough to have him leave, but the contents also made Brandon quite uneasy. Oddly enough, the room he seemed to find the most reprieve in was the one across from the smelly one. It was clearly Miss Dorian’s bedroom, fitted with a large fireplace, a large bed, an intricately carved dresser, and a big mirror on top of it. On the walls were many pictures of nature; paintings of birds, cats, snakes, trees, lakes, starry skies, and mountains.

Despite knowing that this was the room Miss Dorian was probably in the most, or at the very least was the most private of her rooms, Brandon didn’t feel nervous. He felt calm. Peaceful. He decided then to set up there for the night. He rolled out his sleeping bag and took off his backpack. He pulled out a snack, a book, and a bottle of his favorite orange soda. Not liking the daunting sight of a black hallway, he chose to close the door. Brandon looked at his phone once more to see it was now 6:36 p.m. and was a bit surprised that he had been in there for over half an hour already. He smiled, thinking to himself that the time would go by quite quickly and he would be out of the place before he knew it.

Brandon got into his sleeping bag, drank a sip from his soda, ate a couple pieces of popcorn from the small bag he brought, and laid down. He used his backpack to lift his head and put his flashlight in his mouth so he could see the words on the page of his book. He read for a little while, allowing the fantasy world in his book to whisk him away. He felt something touch his leg inside the sleeping bag and rubbed his legs together, thinking it must have been a loose string or something. Another brush of something. Then another, and another. Brandon began to panic, thinking something had invaded his sleeping bag, and when he put his book aside and opened the sleeping bag, he was horrified.

Hundreds of bugs were crawling all over him. Roaches, spiders, centipedes, beetles; hundreds of each one scuttling all over him. The wave of insects and arachnids slowly rose upward. Brandon struggled to get out of his sleeping bag, as if something was keeping him inside. The wave of bugs creeped up his neck and slowly washed over his face. The feeling of their tiny multiple legs brushing over his lips and eyelids horrified him. He began to feel them enter his nose and his ears and as he went to scream, they entered his mouth. Brandon almost began to cry when all of a sudden, the bugs were gone. He was laying in his sleeping bag alone, flashlight in his mouth, book in hand.

“I must have fallen asleep,” he said to himself.

He shook his head and returned to reading. He read a few more lines before the flashlight went out. Brandon smacked it to try to get it going again, but it would not turn on. He decided to resort to the flashlight on his phone, but when he pulled it out, the phone was dead. Just as he began feeling quite uncomfortable, Brandon could hear whispers and mutters all around him. Soon he could hear giggles from men and women, children and seniors. The sounds of someone walking in the room came next, and Brandon found that his disbelief of ghosts had been overcome by his anxiety. Abandoning everything, he sprinted to where he remembered the door was. He struggled to open it and as soon as he did, he was back in his sleeping bag, flashlight in his mouth, book in his hand.

“Yeah, no more sleep for me,” Brandon said as he sat up.

He continued to read his book, getting through another page before he started to hear water dripping. The room around him began to creak, and Brandon decided to stand up and investigate. When he got to the lone window in the room, he chanced a look outside, even though he could barely see through the muck that covered it. Just as he peered through, the window burst open, and water flooded the room. It began filling up quickly, and Brandon started to panic once more. His heart pounded as he struggled to stay above the water until there was no more room to breathe. The entire bedroom was full, and it forced Brandon to go under and search for an exit. He immediately went to the window, but was horrified to find it sealed shut. He struggled to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. His lungs screamed, and his heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. His vision became blurry, and in desperation he tried to breathe. Water filled his lungs and Brandon’s tears mixed with the water that had drowned him.

Brandon’s eyes flickered back and forth as he found himself seated in the middle of the floor of Miss Dorian’s bedroom once more, book in hand, flashlight in his mouth. He quickly checked his phone for the time, thankful that it was nearly midnight. He was incredibly unhappy with his nightmares, and he wanted nothing more now than to leave, but he was halfway through. He smacked his cheeks in an attempt to wake himself up before opening up his phone and abandoning his book. He figured the light from his phone might keep him awake, surprised that he had service in such an old area. He went on social media, reading people’s posts while he tried to keep himself awake. He was reading a long thread about someone’s opinion on the most recent superhero movie when the floor began to creak and groan. The room shook for a moment, catching Brandon’s attention.

With a great snap and crack, the floor beneath him broke open, and Brandon started to fall down to the next floor. However, he never reached it. Brandon looked around and saw nothing but black around him. He just kept falling, and falling, and falling. Brandon screamed the whole way, begging for it to end. Finally, he looked below him for what felt like the hundredth time, and he saw something other than darkness. Two small lights were now below him, getting larger and larger. Eventually, Brandon recognized them as eyes. Two, yellow, feline looking eyes. Suddenly, the eyes gained a mouth that opened wide, fangs covered in blood adorning the massive maw. Brandon screamed even louder than before, until he fell into the creature’s mouth and slid down its throat. He fell into its stomach, the acid burning at his skin, causing boils and blisters to form as he slowly eroded into nothing. He passed out from the pain, tears falling down his face.

Flashlight in one hand, phone in the other. Brandon instantly gets to his feet and looks around the room in a panic. He no longer feels comfortable in the room. He’s scared. Terrified. He looks at the time on his phone and instead of seeing one or two in the morning the next day, his phone reads 9 p.m. the night he entered the house. Time had somehow gone backward. Or maybe he just read the time wrong? He blinked heavily before looking at the time again. 9 p.m.. Brandon grabbed his head, bringing his knees up to his forehead. No friends were worth this. He gathered his things and went to the door to leave. When he opened the door, he wasn’t in the hallway. Instead, he was in a dark room, with no furniture save for a long, tall mirror at the other end of it. Brandon felt drawn to it, and he walked forward, staring intently at the reflective glass. When he got close, images began appearing in the mirror. Images that caused Brandon to scream. An old woman’s cackle filled the room as Brandon screamed over and over again, unable to take his eyes off the mirror.

Brandon was reported missing three days later. Jonathan refused to say where he had left him, not wanting to get in trouble with the police, but after a week went by, he felt he had to say something. A couple brave police officers ventured into Miss Dorian’s home at the brightest time of day, wearing crosses blessed by the nearby church. They found Brandon in Miss Dorian’s bedroom, curled up on the floor. He was still breathing somehow, despite having been void of drink or food the entire time. Barely alive, Brandon was taken to the hospital and the doctors there managed to save his life, however, they could only repair his body. Brandon didn’t speak. He didn’t sleep without medications. Nurses had to feed him and an IV had to provide him with liquids. Brandon just stared ahead, his lips constantly moving as if he was trying to form words. His parents put him in the mental institute, hoping that they might find out what was wrong. They also had the priest see Brandon three times a week. Nothing worked. For weeks, months, and then years, Brandon remained broken by what he had experienced in Miss Dorian’s house for the rest of his life. His experience only added to the story of Miss Dorian, and the current mayor ordered cameras to be installed to make sure nobody entered the house ever again.