Two teens share an adventure at a spooky old house.
The old Victorian had been boarded up for years, the yard overgrown.
“Spooky,” Marla said.
She pushed open the creaky gate.
“What’re you doing?” Lolly asked.
“Spooky’s good. Come on!”
Lolly noticed movement in a third-story window.
“Someone lives here, Marla!”
“What if I told you I used to live here?”
“I probably wouldn’t believe you,” Lolly said.
Marla lived with her foster parents in town, but Lolly didn’t know her friend’s early history.
“Maybe I still do.” Marla stood at the weathered mahogany door.
Marla made up stories. Once, she said she was kidnapped by gypsies, held captive in a metal container on a ship; she had escaped by gnawing her restraints, climbing out through the air vent, and swimming to shore.
“Are you coming, scaredy-cat?”
“No!” Lolly said from her position at the gate.
Why had she agreed to this? Marla’s adventures usually involved danger.
The last one involved walking across a dam. Marla had slipped and fallen into the rushing water below. Lolly had inched her way back to shore where Marla was waiting, soaked to the skin.
“I’m like a cat. Nine lives.”
Lolly was wondering how many lives her friend had left as Marla opened the door…
A hysterical Lolly explained to the police that Marla had screamed, and was dragged into the house by something or someone.
“Miss, trust me, there’s no one in that house. Your friend is probably home eating dinner,” said Officer Quinlan. “Do you need a ride?”
“My dad’s coming.”
While she waited for her father, Lolly tried Marla’s cell. She heard ringing from inside the house. Someone picked up.
“Hello?” Lolly said.
A gravelly voice answered. “Hello?”
“She’s back home where she belongs!”
Then the line went dead.