When we moved into my dead grandfather’s house after he died, I knew it was going to be creepy. But I never expected it would be like this. I stare at a stuffed cat laying on a shelf gathering dust. No, not a stuffed toy..a real stuffed cat. Like I said..creepy! Next to the cat there’s an old portrait painting of a little boy. The painting is bulky on the wall, like..too bulky. Almost as if something was under it making it stick out.. I walk over to the painting and unhook it from the hook it’s hanging from. There’s a..mirror. Just a mirror. Why would someone cover this? If it were my choice, I wouldn’t in a million years pick this room..let alone this house. Since it’s not, I’m stuck here.                     

I start to count the minutes until I hear a knock on my door. “Alissa? Are you in there?”

“Yeah, mom.” I put the painting back on the hook and sit on my bed.

“Can I come in?”

“Mhm.” I nod, for a second thinking she can see me. The door creaks open and mom walks in. She sits on my bed and smooths her skirt. Why does she look like she needs to tell me something..

“Are you,” she looks down. “Okay with all of this?” And she’s asking me this question NOW? Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this question and she asks NOW? After we’ve moved, after the decision has already been made and done? I roll my eyes and storm out the door. I decide to invite my friend over for a sleepover. At least something to take my mind off this creepy old house with creepy old mirrors and creepy old paintings. And hey, let’s not forget the creepy old stuffed cat! I unpack my sleeping bag just as the doorbell rings.

I run to the door. “I’ll get it!” I call. When I open the door my best friend Lia steps in and gasps.

“No. Way,” her eyes bug out.

“I know.” I laugh. All night we talk about the creepy house, tell ghost stories, and eat popcorn while watching movies. Surprisingly, it doesn’t take us long to fall sound asleep. The next morning Lia isn’t in my room. I look around the house, ask my parents and they both say they haven’t seen her. She must have left early in the morning.

“Frosted Flakes or Cheerios?” My mother chirps as I sit down in the creaky chair.

“Not hungry.” I frown.

She puts down the cereal boxes and takes a note off the fridge door. “Here,” she smiles handing me the note. “A list of things we need. I think you should get out, it’ll be good for you. Don’t you think?” Mom looks at dad and clears her throat when he doesn’t answer her. He flips a page in the newspaper and says “Huh? Oh, yeah I agree.” without looking up from The New York Times. “I’ll give you a $50, you can even buy yourself a candy bar if you’d like. Just don’t waste it!”

I walk out the door with the list and the $50, then bike to the local store. When I get back with a few plastic bags, the door is a little open. I remember closing it when I left.. “Mom? Dad? Hello?” the house seems empty. They probably went out. I call both their phones on the home line but then I realize their ringing on the kitchen counter. Running to my room, I drop the bags. The painting is on the floor. The mirror is cracked, and written with blood is “HELP US”. I scream and look at the mirror. I’ve never noticed there’s a hole in the side of it. I put my eye to the hole, hoping to see nothing scary. Hoping gets you nowhere because another eye is staring right back at me..