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The door of the house opens and Devon – one of "the boys" – peeks his head through. He's wearing a t-shirt and shorts in spite of the weather, and his hair is messy from a morning's worth of chores. More than messy; it looks like he's been through a spin cycle at the world's most aggressive laundromat. His eyebrows crinkle, flustered by the sight of Olive piling bag after bag into Haley's struggling arms.

"Uh... Do you need help?"

Through gritted teeth, Haley says, "Nope... We do this all the time." Devon holds the door open as she stomps through. Olive follows her sister in, carrying her own much lighter set of bags (after all, she feels she has nothing to prove). Devon glances at the sky, cleared of rain, before shutting the door and wiping his feet on the mat.

The floor of the entryway is thick with a layer of boots, which lie in disorganized heaps, the rare pair sitting upright. A smattering of wet, crunched leaves covers the floor beneath the mountain of shoes. Haley and Olive – carefully, so as not to drop their stuff – kick their shoes into the pile.

The house is cozy and cute. The room has the overwhelming smell of a candle shop; the scent of crushed wet leaves from the entryway mingles with cedar needles and the smokiness of a pair of candles burning on the living room table. 

Haley’s eyes are immediately drawn down the hallway that stretches out from the cluttered entrance, down past the closed door to Lila’s study, down to the curious door which Haley knew

Beyond Lila’s study sits the curious door, the one to which Haley’s eyes are immediately drawn. This unassuming thing is the door to the inn. 

It is presently closed, as it is to remain whenever Devon and Neil are not actively entering or leaving. Unlike the thrice-opened front door, this back door to the inn is in frequent use as Devon and Neil go about the day-to-day tasks of tending to the spirits inside. There’s a sign hanging beside it on the wall: “DO NOT PROP OPEN THE DOOR.”

Olive’s eyes rake over the pile of boots and the cluttered living room. "Where can we put our stuff?”

Devon, in the middle of untying his boots, turns down the left-side hall and shouts, "Lila?"

There's no response. He pokes his head into Lila's study. It’s a room Haley is intimately familiar with, as she spent a good amount of time being reprimanded in there during summers prior.

Devon announces, "She's not in."

The three are alarmed by the loud, sticky ssschwick of a window opening upstairs.

"Is she upstairs?" Haley asks, sweating under the weight of her cargo. 

"No one's upstairs."

Not to be outdone, the inn responds to the sound with the astonishing CRASH of wood slamming hard into wood. Devon smacks his forehead. 

Olive startles. "Uh, is she in the–"

"No. Just... just put the bags here."

Olive sets down her light, nicely-stacked tower of luggage. Haley's pile comes crashing to the floor. Devon's lips press into a flat line.

"Why do you look like you fell into a washing machine?" Haley asks.

"Why did you get kicked out of summer camp?" 

They don't answer him, and he doesn't answer them. 

“Alright. House rules,” Devon says. “One. Do not bother the ghosts. They’re here to move on, not to entertain teenagers, or to be on your Instagram story, not that you can catch them in photographs anyway. Got it?”

“Got it,” Olive says.

“But–” Haley starts.

Devon keeps going. “Two.” He points at the sign hanging on the door to the inn. “Do. Not. Prop. The door. The ghosts stay in the main room of the inn during the day, pretending to drink coffee and have conversations until they realize they’re dead and decide to get out of our hair. At night, they go to their rooms. There aren’t enough rooms for the ghosts. Don’t ask how it works, I don’t know. Don’t give the ghosts any reason to come into our space, or it’ll be a really bad night for all of us.”

“Got it,” Olive says.

“We’ve been here before, we know all–” Haley says.

“Three,” Devon continues without looking at Haley, who scowls. “This isn’t a horror story. At best, it’s an unpaid summer hospitality internship. You came to a haunted house, you knew what you were getting into before you got here. Keep it together. I don’t have time to deal with you if you wig out.”

“Got it,” Haley mutters, eyebrows dark. She hates being underestimated.

This time, it’s Olive who says nothing.

He starts off down the hallway that leads to the inn.

"Wait!" Olive calls.

Devon turns around. "Yeah?"

Olive doesn't say anything else – she doesn't have anything to say. It just feels like someone should say something: a "good to see you again," or a "how have you been?" After all, the three of them were childhood friends once, right?

They all stare at one other for an awkward moment before another crash steals Devon's attention and he winces. He peers through the door to the inn (Haley tries and fails to steal a glance) and he deflates a bit at whatever it is that he sees. Cupping his hands around his mouth, Devon shouts down the other hallway, "NEIL, IT'S BACK," before vanishing into the inn.

Haley huffs. "Want to show ourselves around?"

Olive nods. "Ground rules?"

"Uh... hiking rules? Leave no trace?"

"I propose hotel wait staff rules. No opening doors."

"Everything else is fair game?"

"Yeah."

"Deal."

They get to work exploring the living room. Haley vaults the couch and starts thumbing through books on the coffee table. Olive thumbs through a gardening book laid open on the coffee table, open to the page Zucchini. A few fat seeds spill out of the book when she picks it up. 

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The sisters turn over odds and ends, standing on tiptoe to examine knick knacks on high bookshelves. Olive shuffles through the basket of VHS tapes beside the old television. Lila had liked to cajole the kids into watching old shows in black-and-white. 

A set of overly poofy couches sit against a rustic wooden staircase ascending the back wall. Haley flops onto one of the couches and sinks into the plush. She reaches for the closest thing she can grab, a framed photo sitting on an end table. A young Devon grins at the camera beside a boy Haley and Olive haven’t met; from their similarity, this boy could only be Devon’s brother. They’re knee-deep in a river, each holding up half of a glassy-eyed fish. Young Devon cheesing for the camera; young Neil is looking at the fish like it might eat him. Periodic muted bangs resound from within the inn, and Haley tries to contain her curiosity.

At the far end of the living room, floor-to-ceiling glass windows give an expansive view of the backyard, where trees stand guard against the border of the dark, imposing forest. Olive pulls back one of the floor-length curtains and stares out into the woods. "This place looks..."

Haley sets the photo down. "The exact same. Yeah. Is that why you wanted to come here, of all places?"

Olive leans against the full-width sliding door and stares out at the hill that climbs into the forest beyond the property. It's not all the same – she thinks. The space where there used to be a trampoline has been replaced by a messy garden, restrained by a small wooden fence that struggles to hold back the forest beyond.

Haley is persistent. "I mean, you know I liked it here, but I was surprised you suggested it. It was your idea, wasn’t it? You got Mom and Dad to send us here, right?"

No answer.

"Olive?"

"Want to keep exploring?" Olive asks.

They poke their heads into the small, beige-walled kitchen, adjoined to the living room by a thin line of tile countertop. The counter is an absolute mess. A bowl of fruit is turning bad beside a plate of stale-looking cookies. The fridge door is stained with liquids of various colors.

The girls peek down the stubby South hallway that leads to Devon and Neil's bedrooms. When Haley and Olive last visited, the brothers had shared the bedroom at the end of the hall, but it seems they’d grown into a need for more privacy. (And, as is the case for so many siblings, high school has dulled their affections for one another.)

Haley and Olive pivot to stare down the North hallway, where lies the door to the inn. Haley puts her ear against the wall that separates the inn and the house; there's some mild chatter. "Sounds like there's a lot of people in there."

"Ghosts, you mean."

"Ghosts are people."

"Ghosts were people."

There's a bang, followed by some muffled swearing from Devon, and a sound like a table being flipped over. Haley notices the door to the inn is cracked slightly open. Overcome by curiosity, she tip-toes over and pushes it wider.

"Hey. Hey," Olive interrupts. 

“I just want to look.”

"We're on hotel wait staff rules."

"It's already open."

"Haley."

"When is a door not a door?"

"Stop it."

"WHEN IT'S AJAR–!"

"Shut up. Okay, fine."

Haley nudges the door a bit wider and Olive leans in to get a glimpse. Haley nearly has a foot through the door when a cabinet bangs open in the kitchen behind them. The girls fling themselves from the door, looking innocent. A tall boy – this must be Neil – waves lackadaisically from the kitchen as he pours himself a bowl of cereal.

He and Devon are much more obviously siblings than are Haley and Olive – the two boys share the same warm ochre complexion, dark hair, and disinterest in houseguests. Neil wasn't around a few summers ago when Haley and Olive were last sent away to Echo Valley. Lila had said he was on a college tour. Devon had said he doubted his brother would go to college.

Neil pours himself some milk, a spoon sticking out of his mouth, and nudges the fridge door shut with a foot. Another crash from inside the inn draws his attention for a moment; he seems not to find it noteworthy. As if in response, a cacophonous rumbling bellows from upstairs, and the three of them jump. Neil smiles as if all the noise is extremely funny.

"Uh, I think your brother wants you," Olive says, pointing at the inn.

Neil nods, closes the cabinet doors, and waves a single hand in the sisters' direction before walking away without a word. Before he can disappear into the inn, Olive asks "Do you know where our room is?"

Neil points his finger straight upward, then makes a strange, inscrutable motion, like he's scratching off a floating lottery ticket.

"... I don't understand."

Neil smiles slightly, spoon still poking out of the corner of his mouth, and points upward again. The rumbling noise purrs in acknowledgement, raising hair on the sisters’ necks.

"Our room is upstairs."

Neil nods and, quizzically, points at the luggage all over the living room floor.

"Yeah. Our stuff fell over." Neil points straight upward again and Olive realizes what he's asking. "Oh! No, I think we can carry them ourselves. Thanks."

He shrugs again, then makes the same lottery-scratching gesture, like he’s trying to write in midair, before he turns and vanishes into the inn.

Haley and Olive grab a few bags each and carry them up the stairs, and with every step the rumbling grows louder. Olive looks terrified, though she keeps close behind her sister.

“The ghosts are supposed to stay inside the inn, right?” she asks.

At the top of the stairs is a wide landing with stocked shelves and a small reading nook. There are two doors up here, one leading to a small bathroom, and through the other a twin bed with a thick wooden frame is visible, bedsheets practically quivering from the periodic roaring. 

Olive looks like she's about to drop her bags and run. She whispers, "Why is everything about this house so loud, except the people who live here?"

Haley's already tiptoeing to the door, the monstrous sound growing louder with every step. She peers around the corner of the doorframe. The bedroom is cozy and quaint like the rest of the house. There are two twin beds atop thick wooden frames. Mirrors hang along the back wall in delicate, mismatched frames, and against the far wall is a line of windows that look out onto the garden and the hills beyond. Below the windows sits a bench, covered in cushions, which are sopping wet. The middle window is cracked open, curtains blowing in the slight breeze, which still smells faintly of rain. And atop the curtains, below the open window, sleeps a girl, about Haley's age, who is snoring like a piece of heavy machinery.

She's also sopping wet. A puddle gathers on the thin cushions atop the sill. She looks nothing like any of the ghosts the girls have ever seen (not that they've seen all the shapes and sizes that ghosts have to offer).

"Is she dead, or sleeping, or both?" Olive whispers.

The girls stand there, frozen in fear and uncertainty. It's at this moment Olive's phone decides that what the house needs is more noises and it erupts into a pocket symphony. Olive jumps into the air and loses her grip on her bags, which Thwump, Thwump, Thwump to the floor in an avalanche of straps and zippers and jangly metal clasps. Haley holds her wince until the ringtone goes silent.

Haley and Olive – who holds the phone like a detonator – stare at the sleeping figure. She lets out another rumbling snore, and the girls exhale in equal parts awe and relief. A small voice at the other end of the phone asks, Hello? He-llo-oh?

Mom.

Haley shies away from the phone. Olive puts her hand over the receiver and whispers to Haley, "Are you here?"

Haley shakes her head emphatically. Olive tiptoes down the stairs, as if that would be the last straw to wake the soaking, sleeping girl. "Hi, sorry Mom. Yeah. We made it in okay. No, I don't know where she is."

The sound of Olive's footsteps receding down the staircase is quickly drowned out by the sleeping girl's enthusiastic snores. Haley carefully unzips a suitcase and empties its contents onto the floor. When the girl still does not stir, she does the same with the others. Girl or ghost, she's out cold.

Haley is not a careful unpacker. She dumps the contents of each suitcase and bag as quietly as she can manage (which is to say, not very) onto the floor, avoiding the puddles of rainwater that have collected beneath the open window. She puts her things onto the bed nearest the window; as little as she sometimes thinks she knows her sister, she does at least know that Olive hates to sleep next to the window.

Haley flops onto the bed as quietly as she can muster (again, not at all) and stares into the ceiling. It's the first time she's been alone in weeks, and to her surprise, this is what finally breaks something in her. The tears come fast and catch her off guard, and she rolls over onto her stomach to let the pillow catch her quiet sobs.

By the time Olive comes back into the room, Haley's wiped the tears away and resumed unpacking.

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