The Forgotten House

It was just another ordinary morning, one that caused Lance to stare out of his yellowing window blinds. He cracked his neck, rubbed with absentmindedness. ¡°I am so bored. I need a new adventure. Everyone is busy busting their asses, making a buck while breaking their bodies and minds. I believe I can find ways to do it without that nonsense,¡± he spoke out loud into an almost empty bedroom.

No real furniture gathered inside, only a full bed with a worn-down mattress. A floor lamp, tilted by gripping and twisting it in frustration, and a short black stand which held his box television set. Its antennae had seen better days.

The sounds of the bustling city filtered through the thin cracks in the window pane, hints of what he could be doing. Cars roaring their engines, woofers thumping, people yelling. The cacophony had become too normalized for Lance¡¯s taste. He lived in this area of West Virginia for two decades. Nothing seemed to change except for a storefront here and there.

His fingers swept through thick blond short locks, and he was catching reflections of his deep brown eyes through the held-open blinds. He looked so melancholy. No love interest, no real friends, his family chose to ignore him. They didn¡¯t understand that he grew exhausted from one day job after another.

Lance decided to explore an abandoned house he had heard rumors about. It was said to be haunted, but he didn¡¯t believe in ghosts. He grabbed a flashlight and headed out. The house was rugged and broken down, and he was surprised it was still standing.

As he entered, the door creaked open, causing a cloud of dust to erupt in his face. The wallpaper was torn and hanging, pictures hung crooked on the walls, and some were lying shattered on the floor. Lance¡¯s heart pounded as he made his way upstairs. The old chipped stairs creaked under his weight, and he hoped they wouldn¡¯t break.

When he reached the top, he stopped and peered down the hallway. Suddenly, there was a loud crash in the room, and he froze. He felt a hand on his shoulder and whipped around, but there was nothing there. His heart raced even faster as he saw something on the wall. It was blood, written in shaky letters: ¡°Watch your back¡±.

Lance turned around and ran, but he missed a step and tumbled down the stairs. He landed in front of the bathroom door, where a shattered mirror hung on the wall. He had always been afraid of mirrors, and now he saw a face in the mirror. He forced himself to look away, but when he looked back, the face was gone.

He got up and tried to leave, but suddenly, he felt a cool metal object against his head. He turned around and saw a man dressed in black, holding a gun. The man¡¯s face changed, revealing razor-sharp teeth and bloodshot eyes. Lance twisted the man¡¯s hand, and the gun fell to the floor. He ran for the door, but it had disappeared.

Lance was trapped in the house, and he saw his friends hanging from the ceiling, lifeless. In the corner, a figure held a knife and turned around. Lance realized he was not alone in the house, and he was never going to leave.