Framing fear

“She didn’t. No way. That isn’t true, no chance in hell.”

“It is. Right there in that window.”

Two pairs of eyes stare up at a tall window, set at the front of a timber-clad house at the top of a suburban street.

“She didn’t!”

Alex flashes a devilish smile and gives a confident nod. Taylor’s hooked. The high pitch gives it away.

“She got away with it, too. She told the police that she just found him like that and they couldn’t prove otherwise.”

Taylor looks unsure.

“Well how else would she still be living there? If they didn’t believe her they would have locked her up ages ago. You can’t hang someone and not go to prison.”

That’s the clincher. Taylor has run out of protestations and is stuck, staring up at the tall window in horror.

The story has done the rounds for decades. It’s no surprise, really. It’s got all the elements to entice and terrify the local kids. A cruel and bitter old lady, a mysterious lodger from out of town, a terrifying murder. No wonder it’s lived on and transformed over the years. New elements get added with every retelling. For a few years, her victim was her son, but it changed before long and became the lodger. It used to be that the house was burned down and rebuilt, but that detail got lost over time - whether due to ignorance or intention is unclear.

Alex and Taylor are under cover of darkness and foliage. They are crouched in front of the hedge at the front of the house with the wind singing through the gaps in its leaves.

Taylor’s eyes are still trained on the window.

“He was just there, swinging as the sun came up and the whole street could see him. Swinging, swinging. Apparently people were screaming and shouting, they were banging on the door until she came out and pretended to look shocked but everyone knew she was faking it.”

Taylor blinks.

“When the police came, they took her away but she came back that afternoon and that was the last anyone heard of it.”

Taylor stares.

“Here’s where it gets really mad.”

Taylor blinks, stares.

“Every year, on the night she did it, she lights a candle where it happened. How sick is that?”

Taylor mumbles, “What if it’s as a memorial?”

Alex smirks. “You sure about that, Tay?”

The wind whispers a little louder in their ears and they both shiver at the same time.

“If we’re going to do it… let’s do it now.”

Taylor stands up and marches towards the front gate. Alex takes a second to catch up, surprised by Taylor’s change of heart.

“You sure?”

“No.”

The gate creaks open - “of course the gate creaks” - and they slip onto the long wet grass, skulking up to the front of the house.

There’s more life in the garden than anywhere in the house. The lights are off - “why does she always have the lights off?” - and the bushes and trees dotted across the garden rustle and shiver in the wind. Bravado or morbid curiosity pushes Alex and Taylor on to the front of the house, away from the rippling garden and up against the cold timber.

“This is weird.”

“Nah, it’s adventure. You said you wanted to have an adventure!”

The house creaks under the strain of the wind or the weight of memories. Taylor and Alex step a little closer to each other.

“Now what do we do?”

“We explore. Follow me.”

Alex presses against the wall, low and flat, and starts to shimmy towards the nearest window. The timber cladding is rough, catching on loose threads of their jumpers and rasping as they try to glide quietly along it.

“What if she hears us?”

“She’s not going to hear us. The wind’s too loud and she’s old anyway… what’s she going to hear?” The house creaks louder and the wind whips at their necks.

Alex reaches the window and stops, checks back to make sure Taylor’s following, and peers around the frame to see a plainly-dressed living room, cast in darkness. The shapes of furniture emerge after he looks for a few seconds longer - a sunken sofa, a tired rug, a pile of books on a coffee table. “It’s… normal. A bit sad, really.”

“I thought you said it was going to be scary?”

“Alright, alright, it will be. Go round to that window, you can see through here there’s one round the back. You’ll get a better view. I can tell there’s something creepy in there, we just need to get a better angle. Probably a body on the floor or a bloody knife or something. A bunch more of those memorial candles. Absolute bloodbath, guaranteed. She’s done it once, she’ll do it again.”

Taylor shifts past Alex, moves on to the corner of the house, and looks back. Alex’s eyes shoot encouragement and pressure.

Taylor moves on, turns the corner of the house and gets closer towards the next window. The house groans again, a branch snaps in the garden, and the whisper of the wind turns into a wail.

Taylor peers through the window and sees a sofa, a rug, a pile of books, and no sign of Alex at the other window. Taylor waits for Alex to come round the corner and survey the scene inside, but the wait drags on as the world rattles, howls, and cracks and then falls silent.

“Alex?” Taylor’s voice is heavier than the dead air and drops to the floor, silent.

Taylor creeps reluctantly back to the corner of the house and builds the courage to look round the wall. Alex is gone.

“A--?” Taylor’s voice doesn’t even attempt to come out this time. “Must have got scared and run off,” says the only coherent thought in Taylor’s head.

The wind threatens to pick up and the house groans again, sounding almost human, and Taylor knows it’s time. The path from the house to the gate stretches out endlessly and Taylor’s feet feel like concrete. The gate gets closer. It swings open and Taylor spills out onto the pavement.

Gasping, panicking, terrified, Taylor searches desperately for Alex by the hedge, along the pavement, back up the path. Nothing. Alex has disappeared.

Taylor’s eyes dart to anything, anywhere, until - finally - they settle on the tall window, at the front of the timber-clad house at the top of a suburban street.

The dark, empty window is glowing orange. The lone flame of a candle dances at the bottom of the frame. A noose hangs at the top.