Expecting a kingly, or rather habitable house, we were accosted by a dilapidated form of a house shaped building.

It looked like it was preserved for the next Halloween. Around it was a makeshift police tape with the wordings, 'POLICE WORK IN PROGRESS, KEEP OUT'

Its roof was black with climbing plants, fungi, and dead leaves on it. A large tree besides the house leaning on a broken side of the roof.

Most of its windows were broken and through them I could make cobwebs. Its colour which was supposed to be white, as supposed by the others besides it, was brownish and at some parts the color had pilled itself off leaving cracked wooden walls.

At the very pick of the house, it had an cock shaped wind vane squeaking rowdily at the blowing wind like it had not been oiled for ages.

The picket fence around it had faded-off colour, some rails broken and others cracked.

We slid under the police tape, and once again confirmed the address on the letterbox and at the picket gate with a golden, dingy, faded sticker on it. 37-233 was the address. I doubly confirmed and that was it.

"We are not going in there," I told Isabella sliding to the other side of the police tape.

Maybe this was the part where he traps us and we are both on the next trending hype butchered to unrecognition.

"Wade, or the person who made that address appear wants us to go in there for some reason," Isabella argued.

"Exactly," I nodded at her, "and that reason could be shredding us to itty bitty slices."

"And that same reason could be, getting Wade in there waiting for you to have an adult, fruitful conversion. No one deceives the school about his or her address."

"He is everything but stupid Isabella!"

"I know that. So' I guess you are comfortable with every other guy you come across in your life dying, right? You know what I don't even know why I'm helping you. Let me call Camilla and tell her you cowered," she slid under the police tape.

I hated to admit it, but Wade could be the murderer or hired a psycho to stalk me. If being his friend could do much, then it was worth it.

"Okey__" I sighed, "but we won't take long," I pointed at the sky which was now getting obscured by dark grey clouds. The torrential downpour that fell on downtown during such seasons was detrimental. Not just to ourselves but also to any creature in the town. Furthermore neither of us would want to get stuck in such a house for hours of serious downpour.

"Ooh, wait did I hear T the wuss say okey," Now she was teasing me.

I pushed open the picket gate in a creaking sound, like in horror movies, and animatedly slunk in.

The short alleyway, towards the main door, in front of us, was full of broken bricks, and fungi at its edges. There was overgrown, chest-sized, thick grass, besides both sides of the alleyway. I could almost bet if well looked at it could have a snake. An anaconda sized one.

We slowly crept in keeping a low profile to the maxim.

Most of the aged veranda slats and rails were broken like they had been crashed on. The floor boards were dingy, cracked and creaked at every step.

The old, wooden door had golden, thirty seven, sculpture on it. Reassuring us that we were in the right house.

I grazed my right hand down to the golden but a little rusty knob, with a key hole in between, and turned it after taking in and out a deep breath.

My mind still had backpedaling thoughts gliding around, and Isabella knew that so she pushed the door ajar, for me. To my surprise, it wasn't locked like I was wishing it would be so we would go back uninjured but disgusted.

Ushering me in, the door's top hinge broke lose. It swung like one that was waiting to get touched and fall of squeaking deafeningly, in a swinging movement.

I looked at it and switched my gauze towards Isabella. She raised her shoulders and proceeded. This could be an alarm to the psycho or something so I had to utterly my wary.

There was a short hallway towards the parlor, which had faded pictures mounted on its walls. Some had fallen on the floor and shattered into pieces of sharp glasses. Others were broken but were still hanging on the walls.

It was as if there had been a serious scuffle or rampage that led to all those damages or someone broke them intentionally.

I grazed at one of the pictures and failed to recognise the characters.

It was some sort of a wedding picture, but the characters were so ugly that I felt nauseous. They had lined up each uglier than the other.

A man in a black suit, a lady in a vast white wedding dress and two ugly kids both in black suits. They were humans, but if there was any possibility that there was a crossbreed between alien and human then it would be them.

We swerved over the shattered glass pieces to avoid being pierced, for the parlor. I failed to recognize any of the pictures we met so if they were supposed to light any bulb, then they had failed miserably.

The parlor was semi-dark, but would have been astonishing if not for its unkempt appearance. There was a brownish cobwebbed dangling chandelier above us, three coaches each dingier than the other and torn, a dusted glass table in the middle of the room, a wooden rocking chair at one of the corners of the room, and a small wooden stool with some old books on it.

The walls were plain with cobwebs and spiders, and dingy like everything else.

Isabella opened the dusted curtains, to allow light to illuminate itself in, which in return propagated a voluminous cloud of dust making us both chock.

The light wasn't enough. Grey clouds outside had obscured the sun to nearly complete darkness.

Turning on the light switch, the chandelier buzzed to light and then turned itself off. A few seconds of starring at it, it flickered on.

The light was a little muffled, with dust, but was enough to aid us scan the room.

The fire place had dead ashes, as if it was last lit when earth was formed. On the mantle shelf, there were some book, a dead flower pot on the far right and some pictures.

All the pictures were equally normal. Faded colours and brown, wooden frames, but there was this peculiar one. Black and white in colour like one that had been taken in the early nineties when polaroids were invented, and a pealed golden-brown frame.

It had the same ugly kids from the wedding picture, and some more other pictures around. They were in oversized dust coats, gloves, and one of them was holding a irrigation can. The background was that of corns.

Being distinct, I turned to open the frame at the back. It was stuck. I used the tip of my nails to dig into the edges of the where the picture had been kept.

It almost almost ripped my nails apart. Pulling it out, I stared assessed its back. It had some black italicized writings on it. I worked for this. They didn't ring a bell nor make any sense.

I showed it to Isabella and she snatched the picture, skimming it to see if there was something else scribbled. She even angled it towards the dull chandelier to see if somehow magically light would illuminate through and some wordings that would make more sense would appear. There was nothing.

'I worked for this' the words reverberated around my mind each echo addling than the previous one.

Isabella shoved the picture in her pocket, "it might help research the owner of the house," she explained herself after seeing the glare I had fixed at her.

The dining was equally dingy. The vast, round dining table had a little cracked across it.

Isabella lit her phones flash light, and meticulously skimmed every inch of the dinning table, inclusive of its base and below its top surface. There was nothing fishy. The dinning chairs, were also vintage, aged, normal chairs.

Like a detective, she grazed the tip of her index finger on walls as we toddled for what I presumed was the kitchen. Navigating my feet cautiously through the semi dark house, we found ourselves in there.

Isabella found the light switch to the kitchen lights, and turned it on.

The muffled florescent bulb illuminated the haphazard kitchen.

Heaps of dirty utensils with mould on them laying everywhere. I almost tripled on a pan that was recklessly placed on the floor near the entrance.

The place was eerie quiet only tense filling the air around me. I tried to steady my breath but it got heavier by a step.

I still wondered why anyone would want us to go to such a place, or why Wade lied about his address. Some part of me felt like there was a character behind everything that was happening, and we were doing exactly what he or she wanted us to do.

Abruptly, I heard loud clattering behind me. Jumping with a whimper, I spun my like a top.

Only to realise that Isabella who had blindly bumped into some utensils dropping them on the floor.

I almost had a semi-heartattack and there she was laughing at me.

"Its not funny," it became even funnier.

Spinning my head back, I noticed a knife rack on the floor, but it had no knives. Not a single one of the six.

"Isabella."