The Wilson’s House

“You sure it’s abandoned?” Tom asks Arnold. Even though it’s dark I can see Arnold roll his eyes under the moonlight.

“For the hundredth time, yes,” he replies. “And it has been for 40 years now.”

“That’s all I need to hear!” says Larry as he zooms past us on his bike and down the long winding driveway ahead. I quickly release the tight grip on my handles and put my arms up in front of my face to block the cloud of dirt Larry’s bike kicks up. We watch him as he disappears into the abyss of the night. Ken, still sitting on his bike, inches closer to Arnold. “So there’s supposed to be twenty thousand in there?”, he asks as the four of us stare at the old house in the distance.

“And you’re absolutely sure it’s abandoned?” Tom asks again.

Arnold stops them. “Look, all I know is that my Dad said forty years ago the owner, Charles Wilson, went crazy and robbed the local bank. Then he came here and killed his wife. He confessed it all in his suicide note. But no one ever found her body or the money. Could there be money in there? Maybe. Could there not be? That’s also a very big maybe.”

Ken stares at him blankly. “So basically what you’re saying is, there’s not gonna be money.”

“And you’re not even sure if it’s abandoned. Are you?” Tom demands.

Arnold looks at Ken. “Maybe.”

He then turns to Tom, smiles eerily, and says, “Maayybe.”

And with that, he pulls his feet off the ground and starts speeding down the driveway. Ken begins to follow him as he mutters to himself, “Hang out with us this weekend, he says. It’ll be fun, he says.” Ken starts down the driveway and shouts back at us. “You comin’ or what?”

He doesn’t stay to hear our response. Tom looks at me, eager to hear my opinion. When I don’t say anything, he asks me, “Are you going, Jim?” I look at him and say, “If there is twenty thousand in there, let’s find it and split it secretly between us. Ten thousand for you, ten thousand for me.” It’s partially a joke, but Tom’s eyes widen at my proposition.

“Deal,” he says sternly.

“Well alright then,” I say. “Let’s go.”

I use my right foot to push off the ground and start myself rolling. Tom stumbles to get back on his bike but quickly catches up to me down the driveway. “Full moon tonight,” he says. I look up at her in the dark sky. I can almost feel the light on my skin. After a minute or so we reach the house. “How are we gonna get inside?” Ken asks. Larry walks past him holding a huge brick, “Like this!” he shouts, hurtling it through the house’s window. Glass shatters, glittering in the moon’s aura for a while. Everything is silent. Arnold walks up to the door and opens it.

“Door’s open.” He vanishes inside.

“Hey, I want that brick back!” Larry yells as he runs through the door. The rest of us follow. Glass is scattered all over the run-down kitchen floor, almost going unnoticed in the ruble. “Okay, so where should we start?”Arnold announces.

“With hide and seek!” Larry exclaims.

“No, I thought we were going to-”

“30...29...28...” Larry says, covering his eyes. And before we know it, we’re all running in different directions. I go all the way down the hall and go into the room on the right. It’s a bedroom, or at least what’s left of one. There’s a huge hole in the ceiling allowing the moon to bleed inside.

“15…14…”

There’s an old bed frame with a very moldy mattress on top, however underneath is the only hiding spot available from the moon’s rays. Without hesitation I get on the ground and begin to scoot backwards under the bed. I keep going until my feet touch the wall which, feels squishy from years of erosion.

“3...2...1... Ready or not, here I come!” Larry shouts.

And then, silence. A long time passes. For once, I miss the sound of Larry’s voice. I hear the wind whistling through the cracks of the house. I’m trying to listen for anyone. A laugh. A scream. Anything. There’s nothing.

And then I see it.

Two giant brown boots standing in the doorway, but they are facing toward me.

These are not Larry’s.

The right one lifts and steps in my direction. Followed by the left. Closer. CLOSER. They stop right in front of me. I feel my pants dampen.

“I know why you’re here,” they speak in an unearthly voice. A small black notebook slams down on the ground in front of the feet sending a gust of wind against my face. “Stop her,” they say, as the feet slowly rise up and out of my view from under the bed. I lie there trembling. Finally, I muster up the courage to reach forward and grab the notebook. On the front it reads:

Jessica Wilson’s Diary.

Wait. Is this really… What? Before I can do anything, the book whips open and starts flipping pages. It stops.

June 16, 1945

I was always meant to do this. It’s who I am. This is me. Charles will never understand that. He never believed me. I can’t do this lie anymore. I am trapped here. They need me. Once my plan unfolds I will be rid of this place and my old life. Then I can begin my transformation. I am more powerful than Charles will ever know.

Pages flipping.

July 23, 1945

If I’m doing this I’m gonna need money. After my ritual, Charles will do whatever I tell him to. Let’s see who’s the crazy one now.

Pages flipping.

Rough Draft:

Dear World,

I’ve done horrible things and lived a horrible life. I killed my wife and I never believed anything she said. She was always right.

-Charles Wilson

(notes: Too short? Not believable?)

The book flips shut and Jessica Wilson’s name stares at me. Is this a prank? I’m waiting for someone to come out. No one. I’m left with the silence again. I crawl out from under the bed. The moon is gone behind the clouds. It’s pitch black. I call out for my friends. “Tom! Larry! Arnold! Ken! ” I feel my way along the wall of the room until I reach the doorway. Looking down the hall, I notice the wind has stopped. All I hear is my heart pounding in my ears. It’s loud enough to reveal my existence to whatever is down the hall waiting for me in the darkness. Breathe. My heart slows. Breathe. Finally there’s a second in between each beat. That’s all I need in order to hear the voices coming from the kitchen. I can’t tell who it is, but it’s definitely people talking. I make my way down the hall gripping the wall with my left hand, diary tucked under my right arm. I walk for what feels like an eternity, and then the moon reveals herself again. I see that I’m in the kitchen. The voices are much louder now. They are coming from the basement. There is no door left. Only rusty stairs leading down into darkness. I walk quietly trying to listen to who it is. I can just barely make out the words...

“Why are you doing this?”

Was that Ken? Larry? I step closer.

“Please. Why?”

Then another voice.

Female.

“You know why.”

I start to take a step and freeze midway. Something’s wrong. I glance over to the window that Larry broke and I notice my bike sitting there in the driveway. All alone. They ditched me! I step down and land right on a piece of glass which crunches loudly.

“What was that? Someone’s upstairs,” the woman says from the basement.

Then I hear,

Thump. Thump. Thump.

At first I think it’s my heartbeat. Then... I realize they’re footsteps.

Thump. Thump. Thump,

growing louder and louder.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

They’re coming up the stairs!

Before my legs even know what’s happening, I’m hurtling my body through the kitchen window. I land outside on the gravel and face first next to my bike. I know I’m badly cut, but I don’t feel anything. In no more than 3 seconds, I’m on my bike and racing down the driveway. I glance back and see a shadow standing in the doorway of the house. I look forward and peddle faster.

I get to the end of the driveway and all my friends are waiting. “Took you long enough,” Larry shouts. Everyone laughs. Ken looks down at my pants and sees the obvious. He points at me. “Look! He peed himself! I take it back, this was the best night of the summer.” Him and Arnold high five. “Couldn’t hold it?” Arnold mocks. Now I’m starting to realize what’s happening.

“Haha, okay. You got me. This was all one big joke?” I ask.

“Sorry. I couldn’t resist,” Tom admits.

“You all seriously had to go to that extent? How did you even put this together?” I ask, still shocked. Larry seems as if I just gave him a compliment.

“I mean it wasn’t really that hard. I started counting, and you were the only one that ran to hide. So we saw an opportunity and took it.”

“And the person with brown boots? Jessica Wilson’s diary? The woman in the basement?” I demand.

Arnold looks confused. “What people?”

“Did you say diary?” Ken asks.

Just then, I realize that I don’t have it. It must have fallen when I was running. Or was that even real? I mean, maybe I wasn’t carrying anything. It was really dark. I keep thinking about what I read.

“Jim, were you smoking?” Arnold’s voice is demeaning. “There’s no one else in there.”

“You don’t believe me,” I mutter.

“We didn’t mean for it to go this far. We were just messing around,” Ken says.

“We’re sorry you peed yourself,” Larry adds.

I look at Tom. He looks guilty.

“C’mon everyone.”, Arnold says, “Let’s go home.”

The next day comes and I find myself back at the start of the Wilson’s driveway… This time during the day.

“You sure you want to do this?” Tom asks me.

“I just gotta make sure, I’m not crazy,” I say.

We ride our bikes down the driveway again, this time taking in the scenery that we couldn't before. We reach the old house. It’s non-threatening during the day. Just broken down cement and wood. I lead the way inside looking everywhere on the floor for the diary. Nothing. Could I have imagined it? No. I’m not crazy. The only place left to look is the basement. I walk to the doorway of the basement and look down. There’s a glowing red light emitting from the bottom of the steps. I look at Tom and ask him if he sees it, to which he replies, “You first.”

We walk down the stairs and reach the bottom. A little bit ahead of us is a small, glowing red orb. We both inch our way towards it. As we approach the ball it begins to flicker. It flies into Tom’s chest. There’s a seismic pulse and the walls of the basement collapse allowing the daylight to shine through. “What was that?” I ask, looking around. I see the diary laying on the floor in front me. “Here it is! I knew I wasn’t crazy. Tom, look.” I turn around to see Tom staring back at me with glowing red eyes. He’s smiling. He throws a dusty stack of money at my chest. In a chorus of voices he says, “Here’s your $10,000. A deal’s a deal.” He walks up to me. “And thank you for finding my diary.”