The summer had settled into a rhythm of heat and boredom. Jaimes sat cross-legged on the living room rug, absentmindedly bouncing a tennis ball against the wall, catching it, and tossing it again. The sound filled the quiet house as his sister, Leslie, laid on the couch, flipping through a garden magazine for the third time. The pages turned lazily, the same way the minutes crawled by.

“Stop that,” Leslie muttered finally, without even looking up from her book.

Jaimes tossed the ball one more time, harder than before, so it sailed back and hit the base of the lamp, “Whoops.”

“Jaimes!” Leslie slammed her book shut, “If you’re so bored, go dig a hole or something. Go climb a tree.”

“Wanna come with me?”

“And what, watch you poke at bugs?” When he nodded jokingly, she sighed and closed the book. Outside the window, the sun was high in the sky. The day was too heavy, too quiet. Their parents were still at work, even during the hot summer. No kids played outside because of the heat.

“C’mon, Leslie,” Jaimes urged. “Let’s go do something. Anything.”

It's too hot to go outside…

Leslie brushed her blond hair out of her face. There was a challenge in Jaimes’s wide grin, and for some reason, she couldn’t resist, “Fine.”

Jaimes whooped, grabbed his worn sneakers, and bolted to the door before she could change her mind.

The woods behind their neighborhood had always felt like a different world—one where the trees whispered secrets, and the light filtered through the leaves like it had traveled millions of miles just to get there. The forest stretched deep and untamed, ending where a rusted old fence marked the boundary of nowhere. The kids called it the Edge. No one they knew ever went past it only because their parents told them not to.

Jaimes, bounding ahead like a wild dog let off its leash, had other ideas, “Let's go past the fence today,” he called over his shoulder, his voice muffled by the chorus of cicadas.

“We’re not supposed to,” Leslie replied, jogging to keep up. “That’s someone’s property.”

Jaimes shot her a look. “Whose?”

She didn’t have an answer. Nobody knew. That was just how it was.

Still, she followed. Maybe it was the summer haze, or maybe it was Jaimes’s infectious enthusiasm, but she felt that familiar itch in her chest—the kind that whispered, something might happen today.

When they reached the fence, Jaimes stopped and turned back to her with a triumphant grin. It was old, its wires bent and broken in places, overgrown with ivy.

“Come on,” Jaimes scrambled up and over the fence before she could protest.

Leslie hesitated, “You’re gonna get us in trouble.”

“For what? Exploring? We're just kids, no one's gonna care,” Jaimes’s voice carried from the other side. He was already playing with the branches and looking under rocks for bugs. 

Leslie muttered to herself as she climbed. The fence softly scratched at her hands and knees and then she landed with a thud. The ground felt different on this side—wild and forgotten, as though nobody had stepped here for years.

Ahead of them, half-hidden by trees and brambles, was a house.

Was that there before? How did we miss it?

Jaimes caught sight of the dilapidated building and walked beside her. It sat crooked and crumbling in a clearing of yellowed grass, its windows dark and gaping like hollow eyes. Vines crept up the cracked siding, and the roof sagged as if under some great weight.

“Whoa,” Jaimes breathed.

Leslie felt her pulse quicken as Jaimes was already moving forward, “Let’s go inside!”

“No way,” Leslie planted her feet and crossed her arms as she had seen her mother do with him. “That’s—what if it’s dangerous? What if someone’s in there?”

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Jaimes turned back and rolled his eyes. “Nobody lives here, Leslie.” He didn’t wait for her answer, ducking through the tall grass toward the house. 

She knew this was a bad idea—knew it deep in her bones—but the itch in her chest, the what if, pulled her feet forward.

The front steps groaned under their weight as they climbed onto the rotting porch. The wooden boards felt soft as if they might give way at any moment. Leslie hugged her arms to herself, staring at the peeling paint on the door.

“It’s locked,” Jaimes wiggled the doorknob.

“Oh good. Then let’s go—”

Before she could finish, Jaimes stepped back and rammed his shoulder into the door. It gave with a shuddering crack, swinging inward. Dust billowed out, the air thick with age and mildew. Jaime lay sprawled on the ground covered with debris.

Leslie ran to him. “Jaimes! That was dangerous! Are you bleeding anywhere?”

“What? It was already falling apart,” He sat up and flashed her his corny smile. He wiped himself off and she inspected him for any cuts, fortunately not finding any.

He hopped up with that youthful energy and went inside. Leslie followed him, one careful step at a time. The house groaned around them like it was waking up.

Inside, the air was stale and heavy. Faint beams of midday sun streamed through holes in the walls, catching on particles of dust. Furniture, long-abandoned, sat beneath sheets so yellowed they looked like parchment. Paint peeled from the walls in curling strips. In the corner, an old rocking chair creaked faintly, though there was no wind.

Jaimes was already exploring, his footsteps echoing across the warped floorboards. He poked his head into a doorway and called back, “This place must be a hundred years old!”

It wouldn't be here if it was that old.

She trailed after Jaimes, peering into dusty rooms filled with relics of another time—an ancient kitchen stove, a broken grandfather clock. Everything looked like it had been left in a hurry, frozen mid-step, and forgotten.

“Leslie! Come look at this!” Jaimes’s voice carried from the back of the house.

She found him in what had once been a study. The room was full of dust from curtains he had pulled back. Light revealed bookshelves that lined the walls, their wood dark and crumbling. Paper remnants littered the floor like fallen leaves. In the center of the room, Jaimes stood over an unusual trapdoor in the floor. A rug was pulled to the side of it.

It was unlike anything else in the house. The wood around it was warped and water-stained, but the trapdoor itself looked… new. Almost untouched.

It's beautiful!

Carved into the wood were symbols—swirling, intricate patterns that looped and coiled into shapes Leslie didn’t recognize. It looked ancient, like something pulled from the pages of a fairy tale. At the center of the door sat a brass handle, smooth and polished. 

“What do you think is under there?” He crouched over it, sniffling from the dust tickling his nose.

“I… I don’t know.”

She felt something then—an unspoken pull. The door was calling to them. She took a step closer and knelt down beside her brother.

We shouldn't be here, right?

Jaimes ran his hand over the carvings.

“Maybe it’s a cellar?” Leslie said, though she didn’t believe it. It didn’t look like a cellar door. It looked like a secret.

“Doubt it. Let’s open it.”

“What? No!” Leslie’s heart thudded in her chest. “Jaimes, you don’t know what’s down there. It could be dangerous.”

“Or it could be cool. Don’t you want to know?”

Leslie hesitated again. 

I do want to know. That's the problem.

Before she could stop him, Jaimes gripped the handle and pulled with a grunt.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a low groan, the door gave way, creaking open to reveal darkness—a black so deep it swallowed the light around it. A rush of cold air escaped from below, smelling of earth and something else.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, “Jaimes… close it. Now!”

But Jaimes wasn’t listening. He leaned closer, peering into the darkness. “Do you hear that?”

Leslie strained her ears. At first, there was nothing but silence. Then she heard it—faint, distant, like a howl. A sound that might have been wind, or water, or voices calling from far, far away.

“Jaimes, I mean it. Close the door. We shouldn't be here. What if we get stuck and mom and dad can't find us?”

He looked up at her, his expression unsure for the first time, “But… you feel it too, right? Like it’s… waiting for us. Calling for us.”

Leslie swallowed hard, her mouth dry, “Yeah. And that’s exactly why we should leave. The person who lives here could be a bad person and be back any moment and trap us down there. What then?”

Jaimes hesitated. For once, he seemed to be weighing her words, but then his curiosity got the better of him, “I’m just gonna look.”

“No!” Leslie stepped forward, reaching for his arm—

Too late. Jaimes swung his legs over the edge of the trapdoor and dropped into the darkness.

“Jaimes!” Leslie cried. She scrambled to the edge, her heart pounding wildly, “Jaimes! Are you okay?”

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, Jaimes’s voice floated up, muffled but cheerful. “It’s fine! I landed on dirt! There’s a tunnel down here. You’ve gotta see this!”

“Are you crazy? I’m not coming down there!”

“It’s not scary,” Jaimes called back. “It’s… pretty cool. Your eyes will adjust, promise. C'mon!”

Leslie's chest twisted with fear of the unknown. 

How can he be so carefree?! 

The trapdoor yawned open before her, the darkness waiting impatiently. She took a deep breath and swung her legs over the edge. The air was cold but refreshing compared to the summer heat outside. She scooted forward and fell, landing on packed down dirt. 

When her eyes adjusted, she saw Jaimes standing a few feet ahead, staring down a long tunnel that stretched into shadow.

The faint glow of something—light?—flickered in the distance.

“I told you,” Jaimes's voice was quiet with wonder. “You gotta listen to me more, sis.”

Leslie rolled her eyes again and stared at the strange speckled of light. She knew, in that moment, that nothing would ever be the same again.