I’ve lived on the same road my entire life. A small road in a small village in a small part of a small country, filled with families and elderly couples. All the kids on this road ‘played out’ together; Danny, Poppy, my cousin Will and I. We raced our bikes up and down the street and played games until tea-time.
But we always steered clear of the Dark House.
All the houses down our road was made of the same light orange brickwork, but this one house had darker bricks, more brown than orange. The windows were cloudy, the doors were covered with mold and the garden was overgrown and wild. It had been for sale for our entire childhoods. When I had asked my mother why no one lived there she looked uncomfortable and dismissed me. When I asked Will’s older sister, she told me how a family had lived there once. But the parents couldn’t afford to care for their child so packed up, told their daughter to stay put and ran away. And she stayed, like a good girl. All the doors and windows had been locked so she didn’t have a choice. It was a month before she was found and by then it was too late.
And ever since Will and I learned that story, we kept well away from the Dark House. I was 12 when it happened. Poppy, Will and I were playing games around the street and at one point we passed the Dark House. Danny was stood in the front garden. We called out to him and he turned around. He told us that he had something exciting to show us and ran through the side gate into the back garden. Will and I were hesitant but Poppy, who didn’t know the story, went right ahead. Will was always braver than me so he followed and not wanting to be a wuss, I went to. Danny showed us how the back door was open and we could go in. A light hadn’t been turned on in this house in just over a decade. It was dark and smelt funny. Now I really didn’t want to go in. But Poppy and Danny ran inside and Will insisted we couldn’t let them go alone, so grabbed my hand and dragged me in.
The furniture was dusty, things were haphazardly moved around, chairs had been dragged up to countertops like someone had been trying to climb them, there were kids books and toys all over the living room floor. Desperate to explore, Danny and Poppy went upstairs and into a room right near the top. Will and I started to climb the stairs to follow them but heard a noise come from a different room with a closed door, the sound of an electric toy, inviting someone to play with them. That was enough for me, cowardice be damned, I was gone. I sprinted out the house and back up the road, Will following shortly after. We looked back and saw Danny in the front window. He looked annoyed at us, probably because we had left him. But we didn’t care, we were out and we sprinted the way back to my house.
It wasn’t an hour later that a car pulled into Danny’s driveway. The door swung open and out jumped my friend. Confused as anything, I dashed out the house and over to his.
“What happened Danny? Where’s Poppy?”
He frowned and looked back at his car.
“What’re you talking about? My family went on a trip to the beach. We’ve been gone all day.”
Poppy’s parents reported her missing that night. They were looking for white vans and nondescript vehicles that could’ve carried her off someone. Will and I were too scared to say a thing. I wish we had. It was two weeks before she was found. They said she was locked in and couldn’t get out. But the police were confused on how she’d gotten in in the first place. I never told them what happened. I swore I’d never speak or look at the Dark House again.
I still live on that street. But we changed rooms so now I’m at the front of the house. And I swear to God, sometimes I can see two figures in that window waving at me, beckoning me over to play.