House on Haunted Drive

Gray. A storm painted the world with a pallet of grey. The darkness of night could be lit. The brightness of day could be dimmed. A storm was constant. Do what you would, the gray would find purchase in your very soul because it wasn't your sight that the storm affected most but that tiny feeling prickling the back of your neck. A storm was nature's raw emotion. You would have to be crazy not to sense that faint brush of fear against your throat.

A bump in the road brought you out of your ruminations. The water cascaded down the passenger-side window as Jack continued to praise the genius of the party you were headed to. You had heard it all already. The Williams family had purchased some old house on the outskirts of town with the intent of flipping it, but, before the renovations started, their daughter had insisted on using it as the "Halloween destination," wasting no time throwing so many flyers around the college campus that one would think walking from class to class would need to be done through a waste-high marsh of paper. Still, the promotion had worked well enough to make it common knowledge.

Next to you, Jack continues to go on about how the house had been left abandoned for years, a trait you mostly chalk up to it being a proper mansion with, no doubt, a price tag to match; however, Jack insists it is really because of the ghosts of those women murdered by the home's previous, deranged owner. At least, that was his most recent story. The tales of terrible acts and horrid monstrosities seemed to get better with each telling, as with any myth.

Honestly, you were in the minority of your student body as this sounded like a really long drive for the novelty of having the party in an old house in the middle of nowhere. Still, Jack has been your closest friend since, well, forever, and that meant tagging along when he got one of those excited looks that said, "We NEED to do this!" There was really no reasoning with him at that point. In the end, a party is a party.

"And here's the best part," Jack exclaims as he turns down a dirt road with a sign labeled "Haunted." The end part had worn away; so, you just take your pick of road, avenue, street, or whatever. "How cool is that? The place's address is literally haunted."

"Yeah, super," you offer, allowing him to continue his ramblings about how much he was going to drink and what girls he was going to track down.