The Dead House

Restless soul

Alex sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the journal he’d placed on his nightstand. His room, once a place of comfort and familiarity, now felt alien. The dim light of his desk lamp cast long shadows on the walls, and the distant creaks of the old house seemed louder than usual.

The story his grandmother had told replayed in his mind, each word carving deeper into his thoughts. The fire, the feud, the whispers in the fields. And Nathaniel. He couldn’t stop picturing the man’s twisted face, frozen in terror.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the image. “What is wrong with you? It’s just a story,” he muttered. “Just an old story.”

But it didn’t feel like just a story. Not anymore.

Alex reached for his phone, his fingers trembling slightly. He needed to talk to someone, someone who could help him make sense of this.

The first person he called was Chris.

It rang twice before his friend picked up, his voice was groggy and annoyed. “Dude, it’s late.”

“It’s not that late,” Alex countered, glancing at the clock. It was 10:47 PM. “What, were you already asleep?”

“I was about to be,” Chris grumbled. “What’s going on?”

Alex hesitated, his free hand fiddling with the corner of his blanket. “I just… I needed to talk. My grandma told me this whole story about Blackwood House. About how it’s cursed and how everyone who’s lived there… ”

“Died horribly?” Chris interrupted, his tone lighter. “Yeah, I figured that’s where this was going.”

Alex frowned. “It’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing,” Chris said, his voice softening. “Look, man, I get it. It’s creepy as hell. But it’s just a story, right? Old people love that stuff. They tell you scary crap to keep you from doing stupid things.”

Alex sighed. “It didn’t feel like that. She wasn’t trying to scare me, Chris. She believes it. And… I don’t know, maybe she’s right.”

Chris was silent for a moment, then said, “You’re overthinking it. You’ve got this letter, this house, all these crazy stories flying around. It’s a lot. Trust me, I know. But you’re not cursed, Alex. You’re just a guy with a weird inheritance.”

Alex nodded, even though Chris couldn’t see him. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Chris said, a smile in his voice. “Now, go to bed. Or better yet, call Jordan. She’s better at calming you down than I am.”

Alex’s stomach flipped. “Why would I call Jordan?”

“Because you like her,” Chris said bluntly. “And don’t even try to deny it.”

“I’m hanging up now,” Alex muttered, ignoring Chris’s laughter as he ended the call.

Alex stared at his phone for a long moment. He didn’t know why he was hesitating. Jordan was his friend; calling her wasn’t weird.

But Chris’s words lingered in his mind.

With a deep breath, he pulled up her contact and hit the call button. It rang once, twice, three times. He was about to hang up, chalking it up as a stupid decision when she picked.

“Hello?” Jordan’s voice came through, calm and steady.

“Hey,” Alex said, his voice suddenly feeling small. “Were you busy?”

“No, just reading,” she said. “What’s up?”

He hesitated. “I… I wanted to talk. About the house.”

“Blackwood House?” she asked.

“Yeah. My grandma told me this whole story about it tonight. About how it’s cursed and how everyone who’s lived there has died or gone insane. It was… a lot.”

Jordan was quiet for a moment, then said, “That does sound like a lot. Are you okay?”

Alex let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about it. What if she’s right? What if going to that house is a mistake?”

“Alex,” she said gently, “it’s normal to feel scared. Your grandma’s story must have sounded terrifying. But it’s just a story. Houses aren’t cursed. People love to blame bad luck on things they don’t understand.”

“Yeah, but what if this is different?” he pressed.

Jordan sighed, and he could almost see the way she rubbed her temple when she was thinking. “What do you need right now?”

He blinked. “What?”

“What do you need?” she repeated. “Do you want me to tell you everything’s going to be fine? Or do you want me to agree that the house is haunted so you don’t have to go?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“Well,” she said, her voice softening, “why don’t we figure it out together? If you’re up for it, we can meet at the café. Sometimes it helps to talk things through in person.”

Alex hesitated. “Are you sure? It’s late.”

“I don’t mind,” she said, a smile in her voice. “Besides, I could use an excuse to get out of the house.”

……