"Whispers crawl into my ear like roaches. Eyes glare at me in the dark, and shadows dart just out of view. But nothing compares to the crushing fear of feeling an emotion that doesn't belong to me, like an uninvited hatred willing itself into my body."

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Black scars cover the front of the house and stain the white paint like a disease, corrupting everything it touches. The burn marks begin from the garage and crawl up to the second story. Every entrance and window on the first floor is boarded up tight. This town is filled with old craftsmen who have nothing better to do, so every plank fits perfectly, and every gap is tighter than a penny. Caution tape and warning signs are plastered everywhere, making the message clear. Do not fucking enter.

Maybe the rear entrance will offer better luck. I'm careful to take stock of every car in the area and ensure I'm not being watched. I slip out of view just as a woman runs by with her dog. Her little shih tzu yaps in my direction as she passes, but the woman anxiously tugs at the leash and drags her dog past the house with haste. I guess no one likes lingering near this place.

Energy radiates out from the house in nauseating waves. It's a sad and helpless feeling. It reminds me of when I'd sit in my room listening to my parents scream at each other. It sits on my shoulders and presses on my lungs like a weighted blanket. I try to shake it off as I walk around the side of the house.

The backyard is surrounded by a tall wooden fence that borders the woods. Damn. The gate is locked. I'm not especially tall, so climbing won't be easy. Hopefully there's a gap in the fence around the back.

I try not to think too hard about the woods as I step over the thick brush. Thicket Grove is a forested wetland. It stinks like a musty old fish tank, sour with stagnant water and decaying plants. My house also borders these woods, and I can never identify the animal howls and shrieks I hear at night. To top it all off, two kids went missing out here last month. So, I'm thankful the Davidson's back yard doesn't stretch too far into it.

There's a spot in the fence where some pickets are missing or broken. I peek my head through and immediately spot what I've been missing, the portal. It's been behind the house this whole time and it's almost completely faded. All that remains is a thin translucent vertical thread that stands only about five feet tall, subtly refracting the light behind it.

The portal hovers between the back door and an old swing set. I twist my body to squeeze through the gap in the fence and walk up to the portal. I reach my hand out toward the glowing thread. It delicately flickers with a kaleidoscope of colors, reacting to my hand. These portals have always intrigued me. They feel like a trick of the light, like a cut in the fabric of reality. The first time I saw one, I mistook it for a single spider thread hanging from a tree. They give off no sound, not even a hum.

Of course, the back door is locked. I attempt to force it open, shoving my shoulder into it, but it won't budge. I click my tongue and step back. I hold out my arm with my palm facing the door. My face winces as I focus my thoughts on the door exploding. Come on... Nothing happens.

I sigh. So temperamental. What good are powers if I can't even use them? Okay, focus. What was I thinking about last time? The fog. Last year I was laying outside one day, watching the clouds roll across the sky. The fog slowly fell on the town like a blanket, making everything around me disappear. I took a long breath and­…

WHAM!

A gust of wind explodes from my palm and smacks against the door. The door doesn't budge, but I gasp with excitement. I did it! So now when I'm in trouble, I just need to... meditate. Then a gust of wind will save me. Great. My shoulders drop as the excitement sputters out. Whatever, there has to be another way in.

I scan the back of the house. There are a few windows, which I conclude are locked after minutes of trying to pry each of them open. I step back with frustration and notice a small window at the base of the house, hidden behind some overgrown grass. After a couple firm kicks, the glass shatters.

I get on my knees and set my backpack on the ground. I dig around and find my flashlight. I've been doing this long enough to know that a decent flashlight tends to come in handy. So last year I got myself a heavy-duty torch, the same kind police use. I use the flashlight to break away the rest of the glass and I snap the old wooden frame off. I click the flashlight on and peer in through the window.

It's a dark basement with stairs at the other end of the room. The window sits just above a dusty washing machine. I pull a hair-tie from my wrist and pull my hair up, then zip up my backpack and slip it through the window. With my belly on the grass, I push my body through the window feet first.

My feet find the top of the washing machine and I pull myself the rest of the way through. Immediately, I swing my flashlight around the room, creating a cone of light from the dust floating in the air. Spider webs spread across every corner and hang from the door frame of the stairs.

I grab my backpack and throw it over my shoulder, and a sudden cold shiver crawls down my neck. The house groans, as if I just woke it up. Goosebumps spread up my arms. I shiver, attempting to shake off the fear. Then my torch suddenly dims to half its strength. Nope. I want out of this room, please.

I begin to walk toward the stairs. My flashlight flickers. My pace quickens. I feel like someone is breathing down my back. Just as I reach the stairs, my light evaporates, and the darkness overtakes me. In the pitch black, I feel my face press hard against layers of spider webs. Unable to slow down in time, the webs wrap around my face. I swear I feel something creep down my shoulder.

I shriek. With my hands outstretched, pressed against the walls for guidance, I bolt up the stairs and slam into the door. The old, scorched door frame obliterates with the sudden force. The door falls over flat and I crash down on top of it. I scratch at my face in a frenzy. I peel layers of sticky thread from my ears, my eyes, and my lips. I. Fucking. Hate. Spiders.

The vibrations from my theatrics settle, and the dead silence returns. The air is frigid, even colder than the winter breeze outside. Dust drifts around me like curious little specters I've just awoken from a yearlong slumber. It covers the scorched décor with a thin veil of gray. The smell of smoke permeates my senses, a reminder of the coffin I've just broken into.

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I groan as I stand up. Pain vibrates up my shoulder. I can't believe I broke through the door like that. You're just jumpy because this house is warning you to stay out. I shake my head, silencing the invasive rationale. I brush the dust off my clothes and try to turn my flashlight back on. It flickers on for a moment, then dims into nothing. Click. Click. Nothing. What the hell? These batteries are brand new. I make a mental note to pack extra batteries from now on.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A slow irregular dripping of water echoes through the house. I listen, unmoving, but its location eludes me. Then after only a few taps, it vanishes. Surely the water line was shut off by now. There must be a leak somewhere. Confused, I scan the dim interior.

Nearly every window is boarded up, trapping me alone in shadow. Dead blue darkness resides in every corner. My breathing is shallow, and my throat tightens. The oppressive energy I felt outside the house is now suffocating. The hairs on my neck slowly lift as I inspect every dark corner, praying—pleading that nothing is staring back at me.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

My senses are on overdrive, yet I can't place these maddening drips. I'm at the center of the house, in the foyer. The stairs hug the wall and connect to the balcony overhead. I don't dare look up. Near the entrance is an exposed doorway to the garage. The door is missing, and the frame is completely black. Char marks climb up the walls around it, blighting the once quaint home.

I step over the fallen debris, remind myself to breathe, and peer into the garage. The black scorched walls vanish in the darkness, making the entire space resemble an endless void. I take out my phone and flip open the screen, then point the dim light out in front of me.

The cars are still here, their frames like melted black bones. The plastic has bubbled and melted into solid puddles on the ground. The smell of gasoline assaults my nostrils as I enter. I wave my phone around, scanning the black room, but it's useless. I can barely see anything further than a couple feet away.

I open my phone's camera. The bright flash from the picture blinds me for a moment. I take a couple more just in case. In the darkness, I stare down at the little screen. The stark white light reveals shades of bone and rust on the burned metal cars. The ceiling is completely burned away, revealing ashy black wooden beams struggling to support the roof.

I flip to the next photo and my heart freezes. The dwindling air from my last shallow breath vanishes. In the center of the screen, sitting in the car, are two white eyes glaring at me. Two rotting eyeballs, nested in the obscure shape of a human head, gleam with hatred.

"KEH-ACHK." A wheezing cough echoes through the garage.

I jump back a step, barely keeping my phone in my hands. I shove back every urge to scream. I will my legs not to run, though every part of me wants to flee and my throat now has a heartbeat of its own.

"Kid?" I breathe. "You in here?"

The silence is not comforting, but it's all the excuse I need to leave.

"No? Cool."

I enter the foyer once more and allow my tension to release. My phone beeps at me, warning me the battery is low. Sick.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

It's definitely coming from another part of the house. I'm not sure why the sound of dripping water grips my attention. Its irregularity is nauseating. Perhaps it's a welcome distraction from investigating whatever horrors await me upstairs.

Quietly, I step through the hall toward the kitchen. This part of the house is preserved in time, unblemished by the flames. The kitchen, painted a faded yellow, is adorned with knickknacks, dishes, and handmade art projects. The living room at the opposing end has a TV, sofa, and family photos still hanging on the wall.

I push back the heap of heartache that wells up in my chest as I look at the photos. Most of the pictures are of the mother and son together. The father is smiling in the background of a few, but even in the posed family photos, their son clings to his mom. They must have been close.

I turn back to face the windows that look out toward the swing set, Thicket Grove looming in the background. The portal is still visible. I think it's a bit shorter now. It will probably be gone by nightfall. My brows tighten as I look at it. Why is a portal outside if the family died in the house fire?

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I glare at the kitchen sink. I enter the kitchen and the foul smell of year-old meat invades my senses. I force down the bile that forms in my throat. I'm surprised extended family or someone hasn't cleaned this place out by now. Greenfield might be in the middle of nowhere, but still. Why would they just leave this place like this? I pull my shirt collar over my nose and walk to the sink.

The sink is covered with dust and dead bugs. Ants march in a line along the edge of the counter. Mold is festering on stacked dirty dishes. A cockroach crawls onto the plate and looks up at me, as if to examine the intruder. I twist the faucet handle using only the tip of my finger and thumb. A few drips fall from the nozzle, but the sound isn't the same.

Creeeeeak. The floor suddenly groans. My instincts spring to attention. I feel the air around me shift, as if something new fills the space. A cold breath brushes against my neck. Someone else is in this house. I can feel their eyes heating my skin. I slowly turn my head, using only my peripheral vision. I barely make out a black shadow, but it confirms my suspicions. I whip my face around to face the stalker.

There's nothing there. My eyes dart around the room, my hand tightly gripping a knife I pulled from the counter. I sigh with frustration and relax my shoulders. I don't know what to trust anymore. I feel like this house is messing with me. Outside, I couldn't quite place it. The house felt sad and helpless, which is expected for a fire. But inside, my mind swarms with... rage. Rage and heartbreak.

A collage of childlike drawings adorns the fridge. There are coloring pages of dragons and medieval knights. Magnets hold up pictures of the mom and son playing with toy swords and costumes. My foot catches something on the floor. It's a drawing of what seems to be a knight fighting a dragon. I pick it up and notice something written on the back. Mommy's Royal Knight.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The dripping, now obviously coming from upstairs—if it's even real, beckons me to fulfill my promise. That kid needs help. How hard could it be? I just need to convince a dead kid to leave his room and walk into an eerie portal. Easy.

I return to the foyer and look up the scorched stairs. Every black step is covered with piles of debris from the bordering wall. The jagged railing is warped and cracked. Most of the balusters are missing or their bottoms have disintegrated into black splinters. It's as if the fire walked up the stairs like a demon on a mission.

I place my foot on the first step and carefully shift my weight. The wood wails in pain. I move closer to the wall, where the structure seems more stable. I don't dare touch the handrail. If I begin to fall, that railing will likely crumble under my weight. I take every step slowly, afraid to even breathe.

Suddenly, a loud SNAP explodes up my leg and the wood gives out from under my foot. Out of sheer survival instinct, I grab the charred railing at my peril. The handrail flakes away under my hand and broke into splinters. I recoil my hand, but not before sharp pain burns into my palm. I move my body to hug the wall and bolt up the stairs, caution be damned.

I race to the top and drop to the floor, resting my back against the wall. Blood pools in my hand, mixing with the ash. A splinter the size of a snake fang is lodged into my palm. I pinch my skin and quickly pull it out and rub the bloody wound with my thumb. I sigh with relief, and a giggle sneaks out of my mouth. The sooner I leave this place the better. I lay my head against the wall and close my eyes. Then, the door to my right slowly creaks open.