“Scaredy-cat!” Jasper sneered, as he roughly pushed the doors open and blew at the cobwebs.

“I’m not scared” Elara said, trying to look much braver than she felt.

“Prove it, then.”

Elara shivered. She couldn’t tell whether it was because of the cold night breeze or the growing spark of fear. Narrowing her eyes, she glanced at her fate. The building loomed over her, making her feel tiny. This was no ordinary building. It was the talk-of-the-town building, the building that had been abandoned ever since the previous owner brutally murdered his wife then hung himself. The building that had been snapped from each angle by the police and press photographers. The building that had once been ornamented with the yellow ‘Crime scene: Do Not Cross’ tapes.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up. She felt goosebumps all over.

“Legend has it that the wife’s ghost roams the corridors at night,” Jasper hissed, “And according to rumors, the man’s body still hangs from the ceiling fan. The police left the remains to their fate.”

Elara groaned. Jasper was making it worse.

Nobody had dared enter the building in the past three years since the gruesome details were revealed. And yet, here stood Elara, facing the building because of a lost game of truth or dare.

She wondered if everyone in her class took such dares seriously. Would she be laughed at for pursuing the dare? Maybe she would be labelled a Heroine? She liked the latter idea. Feeling involved, finally having friends, people to talk to, parties to attend, her list was endless. 

The smile vanished from her lips as she opened her eyes. “A matter of just a few minutes,” she whispered to herself, “What can go wrong?” Elara shuddered, even though she was trying to motivate herself.  

The overgrown ivy gave the building an ominous look. The trees behind them swayed and whispered, as if warning her to turn back.

Elara’s heart skipped a beat. Did the plant on her right just shift on two legs or was the moonlight playing tricks on her? Her mind raced, a dozen terrible thoughts fighting their way to the front.

She turned her head around, desperately scanning her vicinity for anything that would help her escape the situation. Maybe she could say she had a headache? Or her torch ran out of batteries? Maybe she left her specs at home? No, that wouldn’t work. She didn’t wear specs.

A mild buzz snapped her back to reality. Jasper was recording. Elara sighed, accepting defeat. She knew what would happen if she stepped back now. She could almost hear the laughter and jeers she would have to endure for the entire term.

Jasper cleared his throat and jerked his head towards the mansion. Elara suddenly felt a bug crawling up her leg. She kicked out viciously, and, at the same time, the wind blew a leaf onto the back of her neck. With a shriek of fear, she stumbled, knocking herself off balance.

Jasper cleared his throat again. Elara didn’t look strong enough for this. How did Philip succeed every time?

Philip was Jasper’s elder brother, and the bravest person Jasper knew. Philip had done ding-dong ditching with his friends, spray painted the principal’s car, pickpocketed from the teachers and even blew up the washrooms in school with fireworks, all without ever being caught. Jasper couldn’t be known as the weakling anymore. He desperately needed to prove himself. He motioned to Elara to get up.

Fear visibly dancing in her eyes, Elara slowly stood up. Jasper already had enough footage to make her the laughingstock at school. Elara squeezed her eyes shut and took a step inside. Her heart pounded in her chest. Eyes still shut, she slid her hand into her pocket and pulled out her torch. It flickered into life, giving her the slightest strength to proceed. The wind danced into the house, carrying the fallen leaves with it.

Elara shakily swung the torch, taking the room in. What had once been a beautiful living room lined with tapestries and a heavy chandelier was now drowning in cobwebs and dust. The roof was sagging under the weight of time, with several tiles missing or broken, allowing dark shadows to play across the wooden floor. The windows, most of which were now shattered or covered in grime, stared out like hollow eyes. The moth-eaten wallpaper revealed the peeling and faded paint on the walls beneath. Overgrown ivy, with its finger-like tendrils, gave the house a suffocating aura. A spider suddenly dropped from the ceiling to the display of her torch, casting an eerie shadow on the wall, making Elara jump.

Her breath shook, spiraling in front of her eyes. Jasper gently pushed her, urging her to take another step. Elara’s heart was now a wild animal, painfully hitting her rib cage with every beat. She took another step forward, Jasper at her heels.

“Proven” she said, her voice barely a whisper, “Let’s turn around and leave now.”

“Not yet,” Jasper laughed, “We need to see if the rumors are true.” He jerked his head towards the stairs. “The crime was committed upstairs.”

Elara’s stomach churned. A cold sweat broke out on her brow as she tried to ignore the unsettling feeling of impending misfortune. She stepped aside, prodding Jasper to take the lead. He shook his head and pointed towards the stairs.

Elara shuffled her feet, hoping this would be a clear message to Jasper. Either he couldn’t understand what she felt or chose to ignore it.

She slowly ascended, taking one step at a time. The creaking and groaning of each step amplified, fueling her growing terror. Spiders scuttled out of her way as she tore their webs with her boots.

Elara suddenly screamed. A cobweb brushed against her bare arm, making her recoil in a sudden surge of fear and disgust. Jasper snorted.

He pointed to the first room on the right as Elara climbed the final step to the landing. Fear ran its icy fingers down her spine. Didn’t Jasper think this was enough? He nudged her towards the closed door. Adrenaline blew away the webs from the door handle for her. She squeezed her eyes shut and gingerly turned the handle, mentally picturing a woman in white feeding on decaying pieces of flesh.

The door swung on its hinges.

A musty smell escaped, choking her momentarily. A fraying rope hung on the rusting ceiling fan, now home to a large spider the size of Elara’s fist. She gulped in terror.

A raspy voice suddenly hissed in her ear.

“I’ve been waiting for you,”

Elara froze.

“Not funny, Jasper,” she whispered, collecting herself.

She turned round to face him and gasped in horror.

Two burning coals were floating where Jasper’s eyes should have been. As her eyes adjusted, she saw a charred hand emerge from somewhere under the burning coals.

Fear rooted her to the spot.

“J-Jasper?” she sputtered.

The charred hand reached her face, its touch cold and decayed.

Her paralyzed limbs refused to obey the constant shouts of ‘Run!’ from her brain.

With a sudden force, the hand pushed Elara’s face, forcing her to stumble backwards into the room. The torch fell from her hand and clattered to the floor. It flickered once and went out, plunging her in pitch-black darkness.

The door slammed shut and the bolt fell into place.

Elara was trapped.