Page 68 of Trick or Tease

It’s reverse psychology. I can see right through it. But it still works. “I’ll go in if you will.”

We climbed up the old porch. “I swear, if this is how I die, I’m haunting you, not this house.”

She just laughed.

I pulled off the two boards that had been put over the front door to keep curious teens out. The old rusty nails creaked as I yanked. It sounded like the cries of the damned. Did I believe in spirits and ghosts and all the things that went bump in the night? Maybe. Possibly. I didn’t not believe in them, so that left a window of possibility.

I opened the door and pushed it open.

“You first,” I said.

She rolled her eyes. “Good to see chivalry isn’t dead.”

“Hey, you’re the one that wants to go in.”

The interior was dim and dusty, with shafts of afternoon sunlight filtering through gaps in the boarded windows. I blinked, letting my eyes adjust to the gloom, surprised by what I found. The place was in much better shape than I’d expected. No overwhelming smell of rot or decay, no signs of raccoons or other wildlife having taken up residence. Just the musty scent of old wood and no air.

The floorboards creaked ominously under our feet as we took a few tentative steps into the foyer. Sabrina’s hand immediately shot out to grab my arm, her fingers digging into my sleeve. I was more than happy for the contact, especially since the old house was giving me the creeps in ways I didn’t want to admit.

“It’s not so bad,” Sabrina whispered, though I noticed she didn’t let go of my arm.

I looked around the entry hall, taking in the faded wallpaper peeling at the edges and the ornate wooden staircase that curved up to the second floor. Despite decades of abandonment, there was something almost elegant about the bones of the place. I could imagine what it must have looked like in its heyday, when my great-great-grandfather Samuel had lived here with his family.

“The staircase is beautiful,” Sabrina said, her voice filled with wonder. “Look at that carved banister.”

She was right. Even covered in dust and cobwebs, the craftsmanship was impressive. Someone had put real care into building this place.

“I always wondered what it looked like inside,” she continued, finally releasing my arm to move deeper into the room. “Billy and I used to dare each other to come up here when we were kids, but we never actually made it past the porch.”

“Smart kids,” I muttered, testing the floorboard under my foot. It held, but I could feel it give slightly. “This place really could be dangerous.”

But even as I said it, I found myself curious too. This house was part of my family history, and I’d never bothered to explore it. Had never wanted to, if I was being honest. It represented everything about this place I’d been trying to escape.

Now, standing in the dusty foyer with Sabrina beside me, I felt something different. Not the claustrophobic need to run that usually hit me when confronted with family legacy, but genuine interest in the man who’d built this place and the life he’d lived here.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Sabrina whispered.

“Why are you whispering?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted with a small laugh. “Something about this place makes you want to whisper.”

I understood what she meant. There was something about the old house that demanded reverence, like we were trespassers in a sacred space. Which, technically, we were.

“If we’re going upstairs, I’m going first,” I said, moving toward the staircase. “If these boards give way, I’d rather it be me who falls through.”

“Such a gentleman,” she teased, but I could hear the nervousness in her voice too.

I tested the first step, then the second. The wood groaned under my weight, but it held. Each step was a small act of faith, trusting that hundred-year-old craftsmanship would keep us from plunging through to the floor below.

Halfway up, I paused and looked back at Sabrina. She was following close behind, one hand trailing along the banister.

The second floor was even dimmer than the first, with only thin slivers of light sneaking through the gaps in the boarded windows. I could make out several doorways leading off the main hallway.

“Which room do you think would work best for the ghost effect?” Sabrina asked, moving past me to peer into the first doorway.

I followed her, noting how the floorboards seemed more solid up here. “Probably whichever one faces the trail. That way people on the hayride can actually see it.”

We moved from room to room, testing the view from each window. The third room offered a perfect sight line down to where the tractor would pause during the tours. It was clearly the master bedroom, with a large window that would have provided the original occupants with a sweeping view of the farm below.