FRI-E.N.D.S (Ongoing)

The House on the Hill

By the time the weekend rolled around, Sophie had already mapped out their next move. She’d spent hours poring over the Polaroid, comparing the background to every street she could think of. It wasn’t much to go on—just a blurry, faded image of a small house with a sagging porch and peeling white paint. But Sophie was convinced it was nearby.

“I think it’s on Maplewood,” she announced Saturday morning, slamming a city map onto Liam’s kitchen table.

Liam, who was still in his pajamas and barely awake, squinted at her. “You’ve officially lost it.”

“No, seriously!” Sophie pointed to a spot on the map, her finger smudged with ink. “Look, there’s this old house at the end of the street. I rode past it once on my bike. It looks exactly like the one in the photo.”

“And you think this is a good idea because…?” Liam asked, pouring himself a bowl of cereal.

“Because explorers don’t sit around eating Cheerios when there’s a mystery to solve,” Sophie said, grabbing his arm and yanking him toward the door.

The house stood at the very end of Maplewood, half-hidden behind overgrown trees and a rusting chain-link fence. Liam could see why Sophie thought it matched the photo—it had the same warped porch and sagging roofline, as if time had been chewing at its edges.

But something about it felt wrong. The air around the house seemed heavier, thicker. Liam shivered, even though it wasn’t cold.

“This place is straight out of a horror movie,” he muttered.

“Exactly,” Sophie said, grinning.

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

They slipped through a gap in the fence, careful not to snag their clothes on the rusted wires. The yard was littered with junk: a broken tricycle, a stack of rotting wooden pallets, and a faded “For Sale” sign lying facedown in the weeds.

“Do you think anyone lives here?” Liam asked, his voice low.

“Not unless they’re hiding,” Sophie said, stepping onto the creaking porch.

The front door was boarded up, but Sophie had already spotted a window with a cracked pane. She pulled a screwdriver from her bag—Liam didn’t even want to know where she’d gotten it—and started prying the boards loose.

“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” he said, crossing his arms.

“You learn things when you’re awesome,” she replied without looking up.

Once the boards were loose, Sophie shoved the window open and climbed inside, landing with a soft thud.

“Are you coming or what?” she called.

Liam hesitated, glancing back at the street. A part of him wanted to turn around and leave Sophie to her crazy schemes. But the other part—the part that had always followed her into trouble—stepped forward.

“This is such a bad idea,” he muttered as he hoisted himself through the window.

The inside of the house was worse than Liam had imagined. Dust coated every surface, and the air smelled faintly of mildew and something metallic. The floorboards groaned under their weight, and the walls were covered in peeling wallpaper that seemed to ripple in the dim light filtering through the dirty windows.

“This place is disgusting,” Liam said, brushing cobwebs off his arm.

“It’s perfect,” Sophie whispered, her eyes shining.

They wandered through the house, their footsteps echoing eerily. Most of the rooms were empty, but the living room still had a sagging couch and a coffee table covered in water rings. On the mantel above the fireplace, Liam spotted a row of dusty picture frames.

“Hey, check this out,” he said, picking one up.

The photo inside was faded, but it showed the same woman from the Polaroids, smiling brightly with an arm around a young man. In the background, the house looked newer, its paint fresh and its porch intact.

“It’s her,” Sophie said, peering over his shoulder.

“Marjorie?”

Sophie nodded, setting the frame back down. Her excitement faded slightly as she looked around the room.

“Do you think something bad happened here?” she asked quietly.

Before Liam could answer, a loud thud came from upstairs.

They froze.

“What was that?” Liam whispered.

“I don’t know,” Sophie said, her voice barely audible.

The sound came again—closer this time. Footsteps, heavy and deliberate, moving across the floor above them.

“We need to leave,” Liam said, grabbing Sophie’s arm.

“Wait,” she said, pulling away. “What if it’s—”

“No. We are not staying to find out!”

But Sophie’s curiosity had already taken over. She started toward the staircase, her footsteps careful.

“Sophie!” Liam hissed, but she ignored him.

The stairs creaked with every step, and Liam followed reluctantly, his heart pounding in his chest. When they reached the top, the hallway stretched out before them, lined with doors.

One of them was open, just a c***k.

“It’s probably just the wind,” Sophie said, though her voice shook.

“Yeah, the wind has feet now,” Liam muttered.

They approached the open door together, their breath shallow. Sophie pushed it open slowly, revealing a bedroom filled with old furniture: a canopy bed with torn curtains, a dresser missing half its drawers, and a wardrobe with one door hanging off its hinges.

At first, it seemed empty. But then they saw it: the journal from the box, sitting on the bed as if someone had placed it there just for them.

“Nope,” Liam said, backing away. “Nope, nope, nope.”

But Sophie was already reaching for it.

“Don’t,” Liam warned. “This is how people die in movies.”

“Good thing this isn’t a movie,” Sophie said, grabbing the journal.

As soon as Sophie touched the journal, the room seemed to grow colder. The faint hum of traffic from outside vanished, replaced by an oppressive silence that pressed against their ears.

“Sophie, put it back,” Liam said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Relax,” she said, flipping it open. “It’s just a—”

The words died in her throat.

The pages weren’t blank anymore. They were filled with jagged handwriting, scribbled so erratically that the ink bled through to the other side. It wasn’t just random words, either. Every page said the same thing:

You shouldn’t be here.

“Okay,” Liam said, stepping back. “We’re leaving. Now.”

But Sophie didn’t move. Her eyes were locked on the final page, where a new set of words appeared before their eyes, as if someone were writing them in real time:

The key is in the wardrobe.

“Did you see that?” Sophie whispered, her voice trembling.

“Yes, and I’m telling you, we’re leaving,” Liam snapped, grabbing her arm.

But Sophie wrenched free and turned toward the wardrobe.

“Sophie, no!”

She pulled open the creaking door. Inside, amidst the dust and moth-eaten clothes, hung a single brass key on a red ribbon.

“This has to be it,” Sophie said, reaching for it.

Before her fingers could close around the key, the wardrobe door slammed shut on its own with a deafening bang.

Both of them screamed and stumbled back as the air grew colder, their breath visible in front of them.

“We’re going, we’re going!” Liam shouted, grabbing Sophie and dragging her toward the stairs.

As they ran, the house seemed to come alive. Doors slammed shut behind them, floorboards groaned like something massive was moving just beneath them, and the once-faint sound of footsteps now pounded like a drumbeat.

They scrambled out the window they’d come through, tumbling onto the overgrown lawn. Liam turned back just in time to see the window slam shut, the faint outline of a shadowy figure standing in the room they’d just left.

“That’s it!” Liam shouted, pulling Sophie to her feet. “No more adventures! No more boxes! We’re done!”

Sophie didn’t argue. For once, she looked just as scared as he felt.

As they stumbled back to the street, Sophie glanced over her shoulder one last time. The house loomed in the distance, silent and still, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched.

In her pocket, she felt the journal she’d stuffed there in the chaos. She didn’t tell Liam she’d taken it.

She wasn’t done with the mystery yet.