The Face in the House

19

At the halfway point, they stopped for gas. Malcolm was sure to fill the tank until the nozzle came to an abrupt stop, then topped it off even more. The country roads were growing quieter, small towns coming fewer and farther between as they traveled. There was no telling when they'd encounter the next gas station.

Malcolm drove the rest of the way, flipping through radio stations without much luck while Owen slept in the passenger seat. He must've been more exhausted than he was letting on, Malcolm thought, as another burst of radio static roared from the speakers. Owen didn't stir, his head just bobbed lightly against the window with the movement of the car.

In the last hour of travel, the sky opened and rain pounded the windshield. Malcolm slowed his speed and turned on his brights. There was no one on the road to blind.

Finally, a small town appeared in the distance and Malcolm knew they were close to the hotel. It was a secluded college town, with the only hotel in a 50 mile radius. Malcolm had to shake his brother awake when they pulled into the parking lot.

Even with the rain, they made great time. Once they checked into the hotel, they had a cheap lunch at a diner across the road — Owen barely touched his burger and fries — then they went back to the hotel to rest. While Owen napped, Malcolm stared at the little box that housed the spider, turned it over and over in his hands. He pondered the magic he held, the impossible creature he had watched twitch to life.

There was fear in his heart for what they might discover that night, but it wasn't the fear of ghosts. It was a fear of disappointment, a fear that it was all a trick. It was a fear of the logical explanation, the undeniable truth that would bring this fantasy crashing down.

I want to believe there's something more, he thought. Whatever it is.

***

"Is this it?" Malcolm said as Owen pulled the car up to a small, dark house.

Owen gestured to the street — nothing but the dark evening sky, an empty road and rolling hills as far as the eye could see.

"Hmm, I don't know, maybe it's the next one?" Owen said, lips upturned.

Malcolm hit him on the arm and they both laughed. It eased the tension that had built between them since the car ride began. He was glad to see Owen's sarcasm was returning. They got out of the car and ran to the door, covering their heads from the rain.

Owen rang the doorbell. While they waited, Malcolm straightened his tie. Owen adjusted his beanie.

The house gave off a sense of abandon. There was no movement, no trace of life visible from the exterior. The windows were dark, thickly curtained, and the dark front door stood guard, heavy and unmoving. Just as Malcolm's chest began to tighten, his eyes dropping to his sneakers, his heart giving up hope, the guard stepped aside.

A girl stood in the doorway, tall and ghostly pale. She wore a jet black dress, near-invisible against the darkness of the room behind her. It gave the illusion of a floating head. Malcolm was surprised by her youth. Though there was a clear effort to look older — deep red lips, eyes lined dark, cheeks sculpted as if with shadow — she couldn't be a day over 20.

"Welcome to Thornewood House," she said, voice low and powerful. Malcolm recognized her voice from the phone call. It didn't match this young girl's face. She gestured opened the door wider to allow them through.

"I am Theodora White, lady of the house and liaison between this world and the next," she said as they stepped inside. "On behalf of all the spirits present tonight, we welcome you."