The Choice (a Painful Past)

187 Colby's POV

She stopped talking and let out a little giggle.

"Who knows? Maybe you'll find a ghost here." She added.

"It's a date." I laughed. "I'll talk to you later, Cal. Get some sleep."

"Goodnight, Colby." She replied.

"Goodnight, Callie." I responded.

"Colby!" Sam exclaimed, as I disconnected the call.

"What?!" I yelled in surprise, as I hit the brakes, making the car skid to a halt.

My seatbelt locked, bruising my chest as my body strained against it.

"Jesus Christ, Sam!" I exclaimed. "Why did you do that?"

"Because you missed the turn again! I said it 3 times, but you weren't listening. No more talking to Callie in the car! Fuck, dude!" He yelled.

"Sorry." I muttered, as I pressed down on the gas pedal again. "Where am I going?"

"Turn here." He instructed.

I followed his directions and paid attention to the GPS, to find the old farmhouse.

Surprisingly, it still stood in a clearing in the middle of a corn field.

"Think it's safe?" Sam asked, as we both stared at it through the windshield.

"Does it matter?" I chuckled.

He looked at me, as a slight grin formed on his lips.

"Never has before, I guess." He replied.

We got out of the car and stopped to take in the view. It was beautiful. The moon hung against the night sky, like our very own nightlight.

It looked like the beam of light shown right down on the old house, showing us the way.

"Should we do a video for just in case, or is this one just for us?" I asked, unable to take my eyes off the old place.

"I think this is just for us." He whispered. "I can't believe we never explored this place."

"I know. As long as we lived here." I responded.

The house was two stories high, with it's former white paint a peeling gray. Two windows were on the top floor, black and broken, like slitted eyes staring down at us. The old tin roof was red with rust, giving it the color of old blood. The busted up concrete steps lead up to a long, wide, sagging front porch, with an old rocking chair still sitting there.

It was rocking gently in the breeze, like someone had just got off of it. The side awning was broken and sagging, with rotten wood hanging down, pointing to the ground. Two chimneys stood on opposite sides of the house.

One was in perfect condition, while the other was only half there. I could see chunks of brick lying next to it, on the roof.

"I think I remember why we never came here." I whispered.

It seemed disrespectful, somehow, to speak loudly.

Sam looked at me and smiled.

"Because it's creepy as fuck. We weren't quite as brave, or stupid, back then." He replied.

"Exactly." I laughed, nervously.

"Now or never?" He asked.

I sighed and took a step forward.

"Now or never." I confirmed.

We grabbed a couple of flashlights, and a camera, from the trunk and walked towards the old house. We took care to step around the busted concrete and gingerly stepped onto the old, rotted, wooden porch. I could feel the wood give a little beneath my feet.

"This doesn't feel stable at all. Be careful." I whispered to Sam.

He nodded, as he watched his feet. As we stood in front of the door, hanging from its hinges, and the screen ripped halfway down, I felt that old familiar rush.

It wasn't often that we got to just explore places anymore. It was always for a video and always about the ghosts. Exploring was our roots though.

Just admiring the old, abandoned places, trying to figure out what secrets they might hold. I imagined a mother sitting on this porch, rocking a sleeping baby in her arms, as she stared out at the corn field, and waited for her husband to come in from plowing. A simple, but hard life.

Sam pulled the door open gently, then turned the knob on the wooden door behind the screened one. Surprisingly, it gave easily, though it scrubbed against the buckled wooden floor, and squeaked on its rusty hinges. The sound burst through the quiet night like a cannon going off.

"Shit." Sam exclaimed, in a hushed whisper.

I chuckled quietly, because I knew his heart was racing just as bad as mine. It had scared the shit out of me. He looked back at me and took a deep breath.

It didn't matter how many times we did this; the adrenaline and slight fear was always there. We had no clue what we would find behind this door. What horrors might be lurking in the dark, from a rabid animal to a possible serial killer.

The thrill was part of what excited us though.

We stepped inside the foyer and stopped to look around. A staircase, with red carpeting, stood right in front of us, leading up to the second floor. A small, decaying table sat up against the right side of the wall, with a dusty, white ceramic dish set on top of it.

There was still a pair of work boots sitting on the floor, next to it.

"It still looks lived in." Sam said, in a hushed tone. "Like they just left everything and walked away."

"Freaky." I murmured in agreement.

There was a dusty, old mirror, with what looked like brass edges, hanging on the opposite wall. It had handprints placed on it, two, right next to each other. I started recording and panned around the entry way.

"Right or left?" I asked, as we looked from one opening to the other.

"Right." He replied, as he stepped that way.

I followed behind him, taking care to step carefully. This room also looked untouched, like the family had just been sitting around the living room, spending time together. Playing cards were laid out on the rickety, whitish, square coffee table, like a couple of people had just stepped away from a game.

There was a thick layer of dust coating everything in sight.

"Wanna play a hand?" Sam joked, nodding towards the cards.

"Sure." I replied. "We can just guess whichever ghost wins."

Sam grinned, but I saw the shiver run through his body. "I have to admit, this is creepy as fuck. Wonder what made them just up and leave their lives behind like this?" He said, thoughtfully.

"I don't know." I replied. "Wish I did though. Depending on how long ago it was, could've been war, eviction, anything. Did people get evicted a long time ago?"

He shrugged. "No clue, but I feel like farmhouses were usually owned by the farmer. Right?"

"Probably. It's weird seeing it like this, though." I murmured.

We stayed in that room for a few more minutes, going through the desk drawers and the bookshelf. I chose the bookshelf, because the leather bound, vintage books intrigued me. Some were grouped together, wrapped in ribbon, while others were just shoved into their spaces, with peeling covers.

Even as old as they were, you could tell which ones were well read.

I gently pulled one down from the shelf and let my fingers drift over the dusty cover.