[spoiler]Haven’t posted one of these in quite a while. This is a series where I spin dreams into short stories. Some elements are fabricated for the sake of storytelling, but I stay as true to the dreams as I can.[/spoiler]I stood for a moment, staring hesitantly at the broken house. Old and worn down, the glass was shattered and the doors were missing. It stood quite alone a wide clearing, just over the hill beyond our home. The front of the house was partially missing. A big, gaping hole stretched from the second story window to the parlor on the right of the front door. No wreckage from collapse, no sign of fire or explosion, just missing. I hate coming up here. Everyone tells me the place is haunted, I believe it. I take my shotgun from my shoulder and move onward, toward the flickering light within the first floor window. I tread lightly upon the rotting floors. They groan with age and wear. I turn the corner behind the stairs, as I’ve done many times before. “Alright Ben. Get up.” From a molding couch littered with newspaper and articles of clothing, Ben emerged. He hadn’t been sleeping. His lantern perched atop a sideways wardrobe shed a warm glow over the dismal surroundings. Empty bottles formed a towering heap in the back corner. Shards of glass coated the stained rug the windows had been poorly covered with blankets of burlap, likely taken from our shed. Ben now stood before me, stringy grey hairs dangling in his bloodshot eyes. “Oh hey-h-hey kid.” He sputtered, pulling on the puffy jacket he had been using for a pillow. “Time to go.” I said sternly, gesturing toward the back door with my gun. “Right uhhh gimme one-just gimme-“ He stumbled about the room, gathering his humble belongings. A travel-sized bottle of whiskey, two wooly mittens, a bible, a stuffed backpack, and a pair of brown dress shoes. They looked new, probably expensive too. “Stealing shoes Ben?” I asked accusingly “Steal-uhhh no. Not stolen.” He patted his pockets, searching for something. He dove his hands into the couch cushions and quickly pulled out something shiny. With a worried glance at me, he stuffed it into his pocket and slung his bag over his shoulder. He picked up the lantern and stood expectantly in the center of the room. “Look I’m all ready to go. I’ll be gone.” He said with what I assumed was meant to be a reassuring smile. “Nuh uh. You gotta go right now, I’m not leaving to come back up here in ten minutes and find you sleeping behind the door. You have to leave. Can’t you find any other place to get drunk? You’re lucky Dad hasn’t got you arrested yet.” Ben hesitated, his hand clasping the object inside his pocket. “Fine!” He brushed past me and down the narrow hallway to my back. “Doors not that way Ben!” I called after him, following close behind. “Ben?” At the end of the hallway, Ben was hastily fumbling with another door, one I hadn’t seen before. The shiny thing was a padlock. He pulled it through the metal latch and squeezed it shut, ripping out the key. “The hell are you doing?” “It’s uh, for the animals. Wild animals.” He stuffed the key into his pocket. “Some opossums got stuck in there, the door doesn’t latch all the way so I lock it...sometimes...” From the look on my face, he knew I was suspicious. Who wouldn’t be in a situation like that? I gestured towards the door again, he picked up his lantern and shoes and shuffled past me. I watched him as he trudged over the hill and through the forest footpaths. He’d be back in town in an hour. I took a quick look at his padlock. Certainly not new, but nice and sturdy. The latch on the door was drilled through the other side. The only way in would mean snapping the lock with dads bolt cutters. I elected to leave this project for tomorrow. It was dark, I could barely see without Bens light. _______________________ The next day I thought little of the interaction, I suppose I didn’t have much time to. I spent the morning moving animals into the newest barn, and most of the afternoon helping dad with his placement plans of building another. “Hey what about over the hill? We could tear down the Jacobs House pretty easy, it’s a nice clearing, a little far from the road but we could gravel a driveway and it’ll save the time of tearing out all those trees.” Dad scratched his beard thoughtfully, starting at the map of the property spread on the table between us. “I dunno, it is a nice clearing. Seems a shame it’s of no real use anymore. But then again, not sure how I feel about that ole house.” “What like, tearing it down? It’s bound to collapse any day now. A two story house in that condition, in a wide open space? I reckon the next gust of wind will bring it down easy.” “That’s not what I’m thinkin’ about.” Dad sat back in his creaking chair. “I’m thinkin’ about those ghosts.” “Oh...well I don’t think-“ “Do you know why that place is the way it is? Full o’ ghosts and all?” Dad leaned forward, sending another series of creaking through his chair. He had an eager look in his eyes. “Chip Jacobs killed his family in that house.” Satisfied with my shocked expression, he continued. “One by one, they started goin’ missin’. His eleven kids, his wife, his two brothers. No bodies ever found. Some started the rumor that he was eatin’ them, it being the Depression and all. Only one that made it out was Chips grandson, and he only lived because Chip went missin’ too. Walked off and didn’t come back. Now I guarantee you, Chip Jacobs spirit is still up there in that house, and I guarantee you, that’s why his grandson keeps comin’ back.” I started. His grandson? “Ben?!” “Yep. Ben. He tried to pay me rent once, said he only wanted to live in his families house. I wasn’t gonna charge a homeless drunk rent to sleep in a deathtrap, and he scared your mom anyways. So he sneaks up there in the night, sometimes brings his buddies too. Not all the time, he’s got a room in one of those centers in town. That old hut is where he spends his good times. Gets drunk, talks to ghosts.” ______________________ I didn’t know what to expect, but I guess I didn’t really care. There was more to this ghost story than we already knew, and it was behind that door. For years, I’d watch dad trudge over the hill with a shotgun to ward off that hobo in the Jacobs House, until I was big enough to do it myself. All this time and I never knew that that house was once his. Not only that, it was the standing legacy of a murderer. I breathed in Snap! The lock broke clean through. I turned the knob and pulled out my flashlight. It made a satisfying click. The door swung open gently, revealing a dark flight of stairs leading to a basement I didn’t know existed. The edges of the stairs were caked in dust, the center quite clean. Apparently Ben comes down here often. I was halfway down when I noticed it. Quiet. I no longer heard the rustling of the forest in the wind outside, or the hum of the tractors down the hill. In fact, I couldn’t hear my own footsteps. I couldn’t hear myself breathe. Fearful that I had gone deaf, I rushed back up the stairs. The clouding within my ears cleared as I ascended. I was fine. Resolutely, I made another attempt at the staircase. By the time I reached the lower level, I could hear nothing. The basement was dismal and empty, but glowing with the faintest of light. The stone basement was littered with shoes. Hundreds of pairs in every size and style, piled in mountains, coated in blankets of dust.Then I saw it. A hole. A gaping, black hole. The wall beneath the stairs had been eaten away, revealing the perfectly circular opening behind it. It stretched from floor to ceiling. The cold light poured out of it, but the hole itself was blacker than night. It was terrifying, yet...welcoming. I stepped closer, curiously examining this strange emptiness. I reached out my gloved hand to feel this sensation, when I felt someone grip my shoulder and the back of my coat, roughly throwing me backwards. I was too startled to even raise my shotgun. I whipped around to see Ben, staring at me with his bloodshot eyes, seething with anger and fear. He pulled me by my arm up the stairs, slamming the door behind us. The sense of hearing returned, I noticed his breathing. Racing, gasping for air. “What were you thinkin’!?” He choked. “What WAS that?” “Nothin’ of your concern! You shouldn’t be here. Go home, don’t you dare tell your dad what you saw.” “You tell me right now.” I commanded, shaking a little. “You tell me what that doorway was. Where does it go?” Ben sighed, slowing the spasms of his chest. He once again grasped my arm and pulled me into his sideroom den. [b][i]Continued below Also I fawked up the tags[/i][/b]