The Good, the Bad, and the Gwen | ✔️

27 - The Ghost of Anna Buchanan

We turn on the flashlights from our phones and step over the withered threshold, entering what I believe was once considered the kitchen.

I'm not sure how I know this because there aren't any appliances, but there's an enormous fireplace taking up the entire length of one wall, the mantle above it still holding various jars and containers. A large, rectangular table sits cockeyed off to the side, the surface long hidden under a layer of dirt and time. The chairs, if there ever were any, are nowhere in sight.

"This is intense," Sully whispers. I wait for Nick's belittling comeback, but there isn't one.

My eyes won't stop moving, they're sucking in the scene like a sponge. Paint yellowed with age dangles from the walls in thin strips, while mold and mildew devour the naked wood left behind, and the skeleton of an old chandelier droops from the ceiling.

Not that I'm looking for them, but a new worry enters my mind. "What if we're not the only ones here?"

Hartley flashes her light in my direction and I raise my hand to block eyes. "Of course we're the only ones here. Why wouldn't we be?"

A chill crawls over me for the first time in weeks. "What if there's a homeless person living here or something? Maybe that's why the door was open?"

"Does it look like anyone's living here?" Nick runs an index finger along the edge of the table, leaving a trench of grime in its wake. He cringes and swipes his hand along the side of his expensive-looking shorts. "I'll bet no one's been here in years."

But the graffiti scrawled across some of the walls leaves me unconvinced. "But what if—"

"Hello!" he calls out, interrupting me. Darkness swallows his voice, leaving behind a muffled echo. I strain my ears listening for a response that doesn't come. Nick gives me a smirk. "Satisfied?"

I brush an invisible cobweb from my shirt, determined to hide the fact that his cockiness bothers me, even though it does.

My cover-up doesn't escape Hartley's attention. "Don't be an ass," she scolds her boyfriend. With a huff of indifference, he turns away, obviously in no mood to apologize.

The light from Sully's phone sweeps across the room, casting shadows along the crumbling surfaces. "How did you find out about this place?"

Hartley walks around the corner of the table to investigate the containers above the fireplace. She pinches her phone between her chin and chest and turns a jar over in her hands before setting it back on the mantle. "I've known about it for a while and thought it'd be the perfect location to investigate." Her eyes gleam in the dim glow of our flashlights. "And now that I have a magic potion, I figured why not?"

"Well, what are we standing around here for then?" Nick demands. He waves a hand in the air, shooing away the dust particles that are dancing in the stream of his light. "Let's check out the rest of this dump."

A musty stench devours us as we walk deeper into the residence. The house is mostly empty with the exception of some broken furniture; a three-legged table leaning against one wall; a Victorian-style chair with the seat missing against another. An enormous staircase across from what must be the front door curves its way to the second floor, while frames void of pictures hang crooked against the peeling paint.

"Do you really think this house has been empty since the 1800s?" Sully says. He flashes his light across a black and white image that's lying tattered on the floor. "I'm not sure anything would have survived from when Marshall and Anna lived here."

The hair on my arms rises at the mention of their names. I know that once upon a time this was the Buchanan's home but I don't particularly want to announce it. I don't want their spirits—if there's such a thing in the first place—to overhear and assume we want to see them. Even if we were forced to open our third eyes.