I reached my hand out of the open car window, letting the icy wind push my hand back towards the butt of the car. I moved my hand from side to side. With car rides, I enjoyed letting my hand out the window; it made me feel part of the sky, giving me the illusion that I was flying. I grabbed at the wind, feeling it’s’ cold breath brush through the spaces of my fingers. The cactuses that the minivan drove past appeared to fly right by them like a motion picture, a very motion blur picture. Sunbeams shone through the open clouds. They were glorious to behold, almost as if the gates of heaven were opening before us.

What we needed now was the sound of trumpets playing and hundreds of cherubim singing. I leaned my head out and closed my eyes, feeling the wind hit my face. I loved the wind but hated the sound. Mom noticed my head sticking out of the window in her tiny mirror, and she looked over her shoulder. “Blanca, keep your head in the car!” Mom told me. I rolled my eyes and pulled my head back into the car. “Sorry, mama,” I replied. My mother reached her hand out towards me, and I grasped it. Mom gave me a tender smile and swung our arms back and forth.

“Are we there yet?” asked Henry.

“No,” Dad replied.

“Are we there yet?”

“No.”

“Are we there yet?”

“Enrique!” Dad said in a firm voice. (Enrique is Henry’s real name).

“Sorry,” said Henry. He was quiet for a moment. “Are we there yet?”

“No,” said Mom. “Henry, kerido, why don’t you take a nap?”

“But I just had one,” replied Henry.

“I think your body is telling you that you need another one,” she told him. It had been three hours since we left home and the atmosphere was getting intense. There was this immaterial soup of discomfort which spread across us. I could tell Henry was getting impatient, asking the same question, the kicking of his tiny feet, along with the whining and complaining. I stared at the window, watching the desert plains of Death Valley pass by, trying to let my mind zoom out into oblivion. I looked at Henry, watching fidget in his car seat. He, too, was trying his best to relax. It was like this every car ride. In the beginning, everyone was excited. Then a few hours in the energy dies down, and soon everyone is crabby and angry at one another.

I looked at my phone, seeing if there was any reception. To my surprise there was none. I turned my eyes away and looked out the window. I rested my cheek on my hand and stared out at the desert. I pulled my head back noticing the drastic change of the scenery; it had changed from a vast desert to a run down ghost town. The ghost town looked to be forgotten by the National Park. The town was built by greed with no sense of sentimentality and love. We drove by the allure of gold in the hills and left in bitterness. It appeared as if the hills were resenting the land for its failure to deliver the unearned wealth that the people desired. The ghost town looked out of place. To me, even just riding past the rotting town was enough to make me feel like an unwanted entity ghost, staring at it made me depressed.

Dad smiled, “We’re almost there, in fact just around the corner.”

“Finally!” I said out loud, throwing my head back, pretending to cry.

I turned myself away from the dark scenery of the ghost town. Henry sat up straight in his seat like a broom, his eyes grew wide, and he bounced in his seat like a little bunny rabbit. “Haunted house! Haunted house!” he sang out loud. I looked at the back seat. I could hear Senovio groan as he pulled himself up from his seat. He gave a loud yawn while rubbing both of his eyes in unison. Henry looked behind him and started telling him we were just around the corner from the haunted house. Senovio raised his eyebrows, pretending to be surprised.

“Really, man?” he said. He leaned away. “No way.”

“Yeah way,” replied Henry. “We are almost there.”

“You sure ermanosito?” said Senovio.

“Senovio, I am telling you the truth we are almost there!” Henry shouted and pointed at the windshield. Senovio chuckled. He looked at the windshield. The smile of his face faded away. “Whoa...” he said, his mouth dropped. I looked up, and my eyes widened.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

You know, whenever you think of a haunted house, you picture it as this dark old house at the end of a lit street. The owners who live in it, haven’t been seen for years. Which makes the neighbors question why? When you see that the house’s broken windows and boarded up with large planks of wood that say KEEP OUT in bold print. The trees and plants have grown wild, their oblong branches brush against the sides of the old house.

It is similar to that, however, it wasn’t the type of house that people avoid walking past at night. In fact, it was...kind of...nice. The house or out of respect, manor, is a Victorian themed gothic home with three floors and was the size of a modern celebrity owned mansion. The house was built on the hillside overlooking the mesa and is surrounded by greenery, mostly macabre looking pine-trees. It looked like it was painted white with gold and green coloured trims but faded into a dark and decaying home. Dad pulled up next to the horse stall and turned off the car. He looked at Mom and his smile faded, he gulped as he stared into his wife’s blank eyes.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and I looked behind. Senovio nudged his head towards the window, motioning to me that we should get out of the car. I unhooked my seatbelt and turned to Henry. I clicked the buttons of the buckle and pulled him out of his carseat. After we closed the doors my brothers and I stared up at the manor, towering before them. It stood alone, this gaunt, creaky relic of old Americana. The window panes were smeared with age and dirt with little baby cobwebs dangling along its sharp corners. “Ugh,” I muttered in disgust. “What was Dad thinking?” Senovio shrugged as he hung his head back. He too looked a bit perplexed at the site of the manor.

To our surprise, the top of the manor was adorned with two gruesome gargoyles and carvings. (Mom despised gargoyles, so this was just her luck). The Gothic touches of the manor was the cherry on top because it added this sinister threat of evil within. We took it very seriously to keep away. And yet somehow here we are. I felt Henry tug at my hand; I looked down at him. “So, it’s not a castle?” he asked me. I gulped and gave a small little gasp. My eyes turned back towards the house. “I don’t know buddy,” I replied, “we just have to find out then.”

“Alright Dad, let’s just end it here okay?!” I heard my Mom say as I got out of the car. I looked up at the house. I released a long, frustrating sigh. “This is ridiculous,” Mom muttered. I wrapped my arm around hers and pulled her close. I rested my head on her shoulder and sighed. “It’s okay, Mama,” I told her. “Maybe it’s just the inside that looks horrible. Who knows, the inside might be just as lovely as we expect it to be.”

“Let’s hope so,” she replied.

Both Dad and Senovio gathered our belongings from the car and made our way up to the building. Each step appeared to grow heavier and heavier as we ascended up. “Does it feel like it’s gotten more steep?” Dad asked them. I shrugged. “We are on a hill, Dad,” I replied. “So, it’s going to be steep.” I just hoped that was the case. When we approached the porch, we walked along the old creaky porch, doing a little sight-seeing before knocking on the door.

“This place is definitely old,” I told my brother. I looked up at the roof of the porch where there were more cobwebs decorating the beams that held the place together. Pigeons flew from one corner to the other, snatching away spiders that had emerged from their webs. There was a change in temperature since we were standing on top of a hill overlooking the mesa below. It gave off this bone chilling feeling instead of a soothing cool temperature, something that you would expect if you were vacationing in a well...nicer place. “Carmen, look!” I heard Henry call to me from around the corner.

Senovio and I darted towards the corner, our feet stomping along the old dead wood. They turned the sharp corner and slightly slid along the grey surface. “What? What is it, Enrique?!” I panicked, almost out of breath. Henry was quiet. He pointed out over the railing of the porch. I looked up, where he was pointing. My eyes widened in disgust as I pulled my brother towards me. “What do you want us to look at, little buddy...whoa,” said Senovio, in a startled voice. The colour from his face drained into a pale, milky white.

“I know,” I replied, shocked. I couldn’t find the words to express how I was feeling. Henry called out to our parents telling them to come and see what he had found. Mom and Dad darted from around the corner, concerned for Henry, and when their eyes met the same sight we were seeing they too had the same reaction. The smell of moss and decaying leaves entered our noses as they continued to stare at the scenery. There were a few sets of tumbled and broken tombstones. Along with overgrown trees and tree roots emerging from the ground like a clawing cat. Weeds, moss and lichen grew along the outer corners of the tombstones and weather-worn inscriptions. In the distance was a crumbling old chapel, where its walls were starting to fall in. Overall, it gave them this close and oppressive feeling of mass discomfort.

“A graveyard,” Henry sang aloud.

“Henry, no,” I said to him covering his mouth.

“That’s a lot of dead people,” said Senovio.

“Honey,” said Mom, softly. “Did you know...um...they had dead people in the back?”

Dad was silent for a moment, he opened his mouth but quickly shut it. He was unable to find the words to reply to our mother. He took a step back and ran a hand through his long dark hair as he walked off. We could hear him say, “Alright...I screwed up...I messed up big time.”