A January Evening

Even the flamingo with the Santa hat looked dismal in the cold winter light. The flowerpots sat on each step leading up to the porch with cheerful single-word sayings written on their sides. “Laugh”, said the green pot with some mold growing out over the edge. “Love” said the blue pot that was totally empty. “Live” said the pot with a few withered leaves hanging limply over the sides.

In the road in front of the house a blue hatchback with the front half of the bumper missing screeched to a halt. A girl got out of the back and the car drove away, leaving her standing at the edge of the street. She was thin, and pale, in her mid-teens, and most of her brown hair was hidden under a blue and purple striped toboggan.

She stuffed her hands into her pockets, keeping her elbows pressed to her sides and stared up at the house. Then she looked up and down the street. “You were supposed to be here already, Mom.” She whispered to herself and then snorted. “Isn’t that the story of my life.” She hesitated a moment more before taking a shaky breath, squaring her shoulders, and stalking up the concrete walkway.

She climbed past the inscribed pots, thumped her boots across the porch like she was daring someone to notice she was there, and scraped her feet on the coarse fibers of the welcome mat. It was also emblazoned with its own message: HOME in big, curly letters with hearts at the edges, but the solid layer of dust over it made the message less welcoming. She glanced at the windows: inside the curtains were shut.

Now that she was standing on the mat, she started to raise her hand to knock on the door, paused, and crossed her arms instead. She hunched her shoulders into her jacket and glanced at the street behind her.

Nothing. The houses on the opposite side of the street had their curtains shut and their lights off. There was no wind, no birds or animal noises. It was cold and still as only a winter evening can be.

“Why did I even believe you enough to come here?” she muttered, resentment in her voice. “There’s no danger. There never has been. The fact is, you’re as crazy as you ever were—all this ‘being hunted by monsters’ idiocy—except, I actually believed you, so I guess that makes me the crazy one this time. Now there’s nobody here and I’m all alone and I can’t afford an Uber back. What am I supposed to do now?”

And as if in answer to her words, with the quietest of clicks, the door in front of her swung open. She inhaled sharply and took a step back, bumping against the “Live” pot. It rattled loudly in the silence.

The door stood there, wide open, and the scent of a home rushed out; a smell of wooden floors and comfy couches, pancakes fried, roasts with carrots and potatoes cooked in the slow cooker all afternoon, the smell of clean clothes folded on the couch. But it came with dust and disuse as well, a moldy, stale smell and all she could see was a darkened hallway leading back into the unknown depths of the house.

She took another step back, this time all the way to the top step, clutching her hands in front of her and twisting her fingers nervously. Again, she glanced behind her. The empty windows on the other side of the street looked back at her. There was no car driving up to park at the curb, no familiar, expected face hurrying towards her.

And the darkness was falling. The weight of the black sky seemed to intensify the cold, and for the first time there was a sound. A single sound, far away, high and piercing, like a woman screaming in terror.

The girl on the porch turned back around to face the open door. “Anybody knows you don’t go into an empty house by yourself. Especially one that opens the door for you.” She said to the door, her voice high and tense. “I’m not that dumb.”

The moon hung near the horizon, a distant sliver of ice. A breath of wind rustled the grass, but there was no breeze blowing. Beside garages and under porch steps, shadows grew. But she did not see them; she only saw the yawning hole that was the house entry way.

The girl pushed a strand of hair back from her face, swallowing uncomfortably. “And Mom said to come here, ‘if it got dangerous’…” She laughed—just a dry, humorless exhalation of breath. “She’s all: ‘Go walk into an abandoned house because I say so, Bailey, you’ll be safer there, Bailey.’ Yeah. I feel safer already, Mom.”

The sliver of moon shed just enough cold light to make the shadows visible, the growing shadows, lengthening, reaching up towards the porch. And on the porch, each shadow in the angle of the riser grew, sharpening upward instead of away. Unaware, the girl hesitated before the open doorway of the empty house as black teeth stretched up behind her, jagged, black edges of night, razor sharp.

As she peered into the house, a faint square became visible just inside the door, sitting on a table in the hallway. She took a step forward. Was that a card? Long ago, before her life had been shattered by her father’s death and her mother’s insanity, they used to leave notes for each other, propped up on the kitchen table. Pink ones from her mother to her father, yellow ones from her father to her mother, and mint green ones, just for Bailey.

She did not see the thing walking down the street behind her.

“She’s not there for you, she’s just crazy.” She muttered, shutting her eyes against the onslaught of memories. “I could probably walk and make it back before dawn.”

The thing sniffed the air and broke into a lope, its too many legs making strange ripples under its sleek coat.

She pulled out her phone and turned on the flashlight, beaming it into the house. It was a plain hall entrance, wood floors, braided rug carpet. The pegs for hanging coats were bare. There was dust on the floor. But the card on the hall table read: “To Bailey, my beautiful daughter.” It was mint green. The girl inhaled sharply and looked down, blinking back tears.

The thing came up the walkway, its many legs moving as silently and sinuously as a millipede, its tongue lolling out of a mouth full of teeth in the grin of a hunter who has its prey in reach.

On the porch, Bailey took a cautious step onto the welcome mat, peering into the doorway as far as she could to see if there was anything hiding out of view.

Like daggers, the shadows ranged in behind her; if she stepped backwards, she would be stabbed.

The thing was at the steps now, slavering, nightmare eyes gleaming. It tensed, and with a blur of motion, leapt for the girl on the porch.

With her eyes fixed on the letter from her mother, Bailey stepped into the house.

Silently, swiftly, the door shut behind her. The thing backpedaled mid-leap but hit the door face-first. With a terrible crackle and a smell of burned flesh, the door lit up and the thing was thrown from the porch. It landed in the yard, where it struggled to its feet and ran away.

Inside, the hall lamp switched on by itself and cast a warm yellow light over the hallway. Bailey picked up the note from her mother.

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