I Am The House, I Am The Haunted
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Four years. That's how long it took Democrats to ruin our economy and plunge our southern border into anarchy. Who helped them hurt us? Ruben Gallego. Washington could have cut taxes for Arizona families, but Ruben blocked the bill. And his fellow Democrats gave a bigger break to the millionaire class in California and New York. They played favorites and cost us billions. And Ruben wasn't done yet.

We'll be right back.

Carrie and the Republicans will secure the border, support our families, and never turn their backs on us. Carrie Lake for Senate. I'm Carrie Lake, candidate for U.S. Senate, and I approve this message. Paid for by Carrie Lake for Senate and the NRSC.

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There are certain points in everyone's lives when they find out who they really are. It was the summer of 1984 when I learned I was a cruel bastard. That was the same summer I met true evil. To think they are not related would be delusional. July 23rd, 1984 was a Monday. My parents had split up, so my mother was at her new part-time job selling art supplies on the college campus.

My father was traveling the state, selling whatever the hell he was selling at the time. On that Monday, with a whopping $6 in my pocket, I rode my bike to my friend Carl's house, because Carl had an Atari. Back then, I switched best friends like my dad switched products he sold. Carl was okay, but if he hadn't had that Atari, well, I probably wouldn't have even talked to him, let alone ridden over that day.

"I'm bored," I said after losing 12 straight games of combat to Carl. "Let's go see Ghostbusters. I can't," Carl replied, starting a 13th game. "My mom says Ghostbusters is against God. It teaches about the Devil. Ghostbusters?" I laughed hard. Carl winced. His mom was really religious, and he got embarrassed about it super easy. "Ghostbusters doesn't have a damn thing to do with the Devil," I continued. "It's supposed to be fucking hilarious."

Carl nearly pissed himself when I said the F-word. He jerked like I'd shocked him with the cattle prod. Then he looked around, certain his mom had heard me. "She's outside watering her flowers," I said, and pointed to the large window that looked out on their immaculate backyard. "I can't," he said. "Tell your mom you're going to see the Muppets take Manhattan," I said. "She'll let you see that, right? Is that on?" Carl asked. He actually looked excited.

"At the 12th Plex," I replied. "There's like a two o'clock showing or something. We'll be late if we have to ride our bikes over," he said. "So, we get your mom to take us and our bikes in her station wagon," I said. Carl thought, then nodded. "Okay, I'll go ask," Carl said. I knew lying was gonna tear Carl up, but I was just learning my cruelty then, and I wanted to see Ghostbusters, dammit.

I had that $6 burning a hole in my pocket, which was just enough to get a matinee ticket, a large popcorn, a large coke, and red vines. With maybe a quarter left over, so I could play Joust or Donkey Kong, or whatever arcade games they had in the theater lobby.

Carl's mom agreed to give us that ride, and it was the last time she'd see her son alive or dead. "Aw, man," I said after we bought our tickets. We walked into the lobby, and the arcade games were being hauled out. "What the hell?" The teenager taking tickets looked over his shoulder as he tore ours in half. "Oh yeah," the teenager said. "We're getting new ones. They switched them out on Mondays." "What are the new ones?" I asked.

He shrugged. "I don't know, kid. Enjoy the show." "What do we do for an hour now?" I said as Carl and I wandered over to the concessions counter. "My mom's going to ask me about the Muppets," Carl said. I looked at him and frowned. "So? Make something up. She hasn't seen it." "I can't lie to my mom," Carl said. "You already are, Carl," I responded. "Stop being stupid." He looked over his shoulder. The first theater door was for the Muppets.

"'Maybe we should just go see the movie instead of Ghostbusters,' he said. "'Are you kidding?' I laughed. "'I am not seeing The Muppets. That's a little kid's movie. We start middle school in two months, Carl. Do you want to talk about The Muppets at school, or do you want to talk about Ghostbusters? Don't be a fucking baby, Carl.' God, I was a shit. I could tell he was getting ramped up. The kid had some issues.'

We all did back then, but Carl was a little left of the dial when it came to being anxious. He'd be diagnosed in five seconds nowadays, but not in 1984, no? In that decade, Carl was just what they called sensitive. "Fine," I said, afraid he was going to have a freak out. "We'll go watch like 15 minutes, then come back, get concessions, and snag our seats for Ghostbusters." "Okay," he said.

except we had no idea the assistant manager was watching us. It was Monday, a slow day, and the guy was a prick. The movie was already playing and we just found seats in the back when hands grabbed our shoulders. The prick dragged us, literally, out of our seats and back into the lobby. "You didn't buy tickets for that movie, did you?" he asked with a shit-eating grin on his face. "Yeah, we did," I said. "Show me," he responded, his hand out.

He snapped his fingers when I didn't give him my torn ticket. "Come on, kid, give it to me. I threw it away," I said, thinking I was so smart, when the prick looked at Carl. His shit-eating grin got even wider. The prick could smell Carl's weakness. He snapped his fingers again. "Give me yours," he said to Carl. Carl didn't even hesitate. He pulled out the torn ticket and handed it over. "This says Ghostbusters," he said.

My mom said I couldn't watch Ghostbusters, so we said we were going to see The Muppets instead. Carl blurted out, Jesus Christ, Carl! I muttered and shook my head. You two are out of here! The prick said and threw Carl's stub in his face.

"We paid to see Ghostbusters!" I shouted. "Yeah, then you snuck into a different movie." The prick replied. "You want me to call the cops? I'll do it." "Cops?" Carl nearly shrieked. He started to hyperventilate, and his eyes went huge as he looked over at me. "Calm down, Carl." I snapped and took a step toward the prick. "We paid to see Ghostbusters." "Fine," the prick said, and walked off toward the door of the ticket booth. "We'll see what the cops say."

Carl gripped my arm and his nails dug into my skin. "Ow!" I said and yanked my arm free. Then I gave him a good look and realized he was definitely going to have a meltdown right there in the lobby.

"Fuck you!" I said to the prick and pulled Carl out of the theater. "What did you say?" the prick shouted as he followed us outside. "Come here, you little piece of shit! Say that to my face! Come on, say it to my face!" "We're eleven, you fucking asshole!" I screamed at him. "You like fighting kids?" Some teens were walking toward the ticket window, and they all stopped and stared at us. The prick looked around and went back inside without saying another word.

Then I saw him appear in the ticket booth, pick up the phone on the wall and start dialing. "Shit!" I said. "We gotta go!" I worked the four-digit combo on my bike lock and got it off the rack. Carl was just standing there, looking like he wanted to shit himself. "Carl! We gotta go!" I said and pointed at the ticket booth. "That prick is actually calling the cops!" Carl shook off his freak out enough to remember his combo and he got his bike off the rack.

In seconds, we were pedaling down 11th Street, heading back to our side of town. Five turns and a quick shortcut through a park, and we were halfway to our neighborhood when Carl ditched his bike and fell to his knees next to an abandoned lot. He crouched there and puked his guts out.

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It's the new Ghost Burger from Carl's Jr. It's a juicy char-boiled Angus beef burger.

I peddled in circles out in the middle of the road while he threw up.

Cars whizzed by and came close to clipping me, but most of them swerved around me or I got out of their way, except for the last one. So to say I have no idea why I did what I did would be a full-on lie. I was frustrated with Carl. I was bored with his baby crap. I was pissed off I didn't get to see Ghostbusters. And what I know now that I didn't know then is that I was just as much of a prick as that assistant manager.

I saw the car coming but I continued to fuck around. Except, instead of swerving out of my way, the guy in the Charger sneered at me and gunned it. And instead of me getting out of his way, I stopped pedaling and stood there right in the middle of the road. He sneered. I stood. Carl puked. Then I realized the guy really wasn't going to stop. I had a second to jump off my bike and dive toward the sidewalk.

As I hit the asphalt and took a layer of skin off my knees and forearms, I heard the crunch of metal and the squeal of brakes. "Look what you fucking did!" The guy roared when he got out of his car and went around to the front to look at the damage. Only half a handlebar could be seen. The rest of my bike was completely under his car. His shiny chrome front bumper was majorly scratched and dented. So was his grille.

"You little fucks are gonna pay for this!" he shouted. I got to my feet and ignored the blood and pain coming from my arms and knees. "You tried to hit me!" I screamed. "I'll tell the cops!" "Oh, you will?" he said, then went back to his door and reached into his car.

When he came back out, he had a baseball bat in his hand. "Hard to fucking talk with your fucking mouths bashed in, you little fucks!" He shouted, then sprinted toward us. "Oh fuck!" I yelled, and yanked Carl to his feet. He had puke all down the front of his shirt. "Come on! Run!" To Carl's credit, the second he saw the guy with the baseball bat, he put on some serious speed. I had to struggle to keep up with him as we sprinted through the abandoned lot.

The guy was shouting all the horrible things he was going to do to us when we reached the rotted wooden fence. Carl's survival instincts found a loose board and we squeezed through into a different abandoned lot. We ran through an overgrown orchard of apple and cherry trees, then slid to a stop in the weeds and loose gravel at the edge of the orchard. The Lane House. I think both of us would have turned around and ran back the way we came if the guy wasn't still chasing us.

We could hear him yelling, and then we heard rotten boards breaking as he bashed his way through the fence with the baseball bat. "We gotta hide," I said, and pulled Carl toward the old house. The place looked almost exactly like the Bates house in Psycho. Carl tried to fight me as I pulled him toward the storm doors over the basement stairs. "What are you doing?" he screeched. "Shut up," I snarled at him. "We have to hide. That asshole is gonna fucking kill us."

Carl shook his head over and over as I grabbed one of the storm doors and yanked it open. Then I shoved Carl in, almost sending him tumbling down the short flight of steps. But he kept his balance and made it down to the basement door. I hurried in and closed the storm door. Then I crept down to where Carl stood and stared up at the thin line of daylight streaming through the gap between the doors. I'm gonna fucking bash your fucking brains in, you little fuckers! The guy screamed.

We held our breath as a shadow passed the storm doors. He raved and ranted, his voice getting farther and farther away. I counted to a hundred and was about to climb the steps when a shadow fell across the storm doors. "I'll fucking find you!" he screamed. "And when I do, I'm gonna give you a Louisville enema!" He burst out laughing at his own joke. Carl whimpered behind me, and I clapped a hand over his mouth.

The guy's laughter finally faded away as he left us down there in that stairwell. Once I knew he was gone, I let go of Carl's mouth. He collapsed to the ground, curled up into a little ball against the basement door, and burst into tears. That was when my cruelty revealed itself. Instead of opening the storm doors, I pretended to push against them over and over. "Oh shit!" I said. "He must have put something through the handles! The doors are stuck!"

Carl cried harder and my cruelty grew. I hated his weakness right then. I hated that he was the reason I didn't get to see Ghostbusters. I even hated Carl's Atari because I couldn't beat him at combat. "We'll have to go through the basement," I said, knowing it would freak Carl right the fuck out. Carl's crying stopped almost instantly. "What? No!" Carl shrieked, still in a ball. "This is the Lane House!"

"It'll be fine," I said and reached for the doorknob. "It wasn't fine for Seth Diaz and Marla Powers," Carl screeched. "Stop being such a fucking baby," I said and turned the knob. The basement door creaked open. "They died in this house," Carl whispered. I stepped over him and walked into the dank, dark basement.

All I could see were the outlines of old crates and furniture. What little light filtered in through the muddy windows was barely enough to make out the rows of hanging yard tools on the far wall. The rest was darkness. The place smelled like a raccoon or possum had crawled into the basement and died. Come on, I said to Carl. Let's get out of this shithole. No way, Carl whimpered.

"Because of Seth and Marla?" I asked and shook my head. "Don't be a pussy. Their friends said they were coming here, that's all. The cops didn't find any signs they were actually in the house. My dad said the cops were hiding something." Carl responded, still in his ball. "My mom says…" He trailed off because he knew I was gonna give him shit if he finished that sentence.

I gave it to him anyway. "What? That the devil is in this house?" I asked, mocking him. "Your mom is batshit, Carl." It may have been cruel as all hell, but at least it made him mad enough that he looked up at me and glared. "What do your parents say, dickhead?" Carl asked. "My dad doesn't give a shit unless it costs him money," I answered. "And my mom doesn't give a shit unless it means she has to get off her ass."

With my patience for his crap already gone, I walked back to Carl, grabbed his shoulders, and jerked him up onto his feet. "Stop being a pussy," I said. "We'll go upstairs. We'll leave out of a side door or window or whatever. So move your ass, you fucking baby." He tried to pull free, but my grip was like steel. I'd learned it from all the times my dad would grab my shoulders and shake the shit out of me when he was trying to teach me a lesson, some shit like that.

I didn't shake Carl. That would have broken him completely. But I held him still until he calmed down a little. "Ready?" I finally asked. "No," he said. But he followed me anyway when I let go of him and made my way through the basement junk and over to the stairs. Carefully, we got up the old stairs and into the house's kitchen. There were beer bottles and torn fast food bags everywhere.

The smell was worse in the kitchen than down in the basement. "Look at this crap," I said. I pulled the collar of my shirt up over my nose. "Bobby Snow's older brother says kids used to party here before Seth and Marla went missing," Carl said from right behind me. I turned to say something smartass, but the words caught in my throat when I saw what was standing in the basement doorway right behind Carl. Someone tall and skinny was at the top of the stairs.

but I couldn't see any features. No face or eyes or anything. It was as if a black blob of evil decided to become person-shaped. "Karl!" I croaked. Then Karl was gone. The shape grabbed him with pitch black hands connected to pitch black arms connected to that pitch black body. Karl screamed as he was pulled down the stairs and back into the basement. I screamed as the basement door slammed closed.

Before I could think of what to do, the sound of rusty hinges echoed from behind me. I spun around and stared in horror as the ancient refrigerator door started to slowly creep open. The horrible smell got a million times worse when the rotten hand from inside the fridge slid around the door. That's when every thought in my head left. All I remember is running. I know I fell a few times as I escaped that house. I had the wood slivers to prove it, but I don't actually remember leaving.

What I do remember is my mom coming home that evening and freaking out when she saw me sitting on the couch. Between the road rash and the huge slivers, I probably didn't look so good. Then I remember my dad being there. He was pissed because I'd lost my bike and my clothes were all torn and bloody. I told them what happened, and while neither believed what I said about the person shape pulling Carl into the basement and the hand coming out of the fridge, they did believe me about the asshole in the charger.

My dad called the police, while my mom doctored my wounds as much as she could before bundling me up in a towel and walking me to my dad's car. After that, it was the ER and the cops. The doctors asked me questions. The cops asked me questions. I told them everything I remembered. Everyone thought it was the asshole with the charger who came back and took Carl. They said it so much that I started to believe it.

By the time I got home, got clean, and finally fell asleep in my soft, safe bed, I too thought it was the asshole with the charger. I not only learned cruelty that summer, but I also learned self-denial. It would serve me well later, and be the end of me as well.

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It was 1994 when I learned that my cruelty and self-denial had birthed a vengeance streak in me that I would ride for the rest of my life. I was 21 and was home for the summer before my senior year of college started. My college roommate and I were just driving around, smoking a joint.

I was supposed to be showing in my hometown, but I was so pissed off at him that I was really just taking random turn after random turn. "When do your parents get back from vacation?" I asked. After taking yet another random turn, that wasn't the question I really wanted to ask him. "End of August?" "Joey," my roommate said. "But they're renovating the house, so I can't go home then. I'll have like a weekend after Labor Day to get my shit and head back to school."

He took a long drag off the joint and handed it to me. "Thanks for letting me crash with you, man," he said after blowing smoke out of his window. "No problem," I lied. No, it was a fucking problem, alright. The night was clear and not too hot. Above us, fireworks exploded in the sky, set off by people who had gone out of state to get the good stuff. We both peered through the windshield and watched the spectacle of barely controlled chaos.

A horn blared and headlights blinded me. I swerved to the right, not realizing I'd drifted into the other lane. When I finally came to a stop, I was up over the sidewalk and halfway into someone's front yard. "Shit," I said as I tried to start the car back up. It cranked and cranked, but refused to turn over. "Pop the hood," Joey said and put the joint out in the ashtray. "I'll take a look." I popped the hood and we both got out.

That's when I realized what yard we were in. And that's when I knew what I was going to do to Joey. "Let's walk to a gas station and call AAA," I said, turning away from the house to talk to Joey. I didn't want my back to the house, but Joey could smell a setup, so I had to be careful. Joey was already under the hood and wiggling wires. He looked over at me like I was an idiot. "Chill, man," he said. "I can figure this out. Get back in and crank it one more time."

Then his eyes looked past me as I hoped they would. They narrowed and he straightened up. "That's a creepy house," he said. "Yeah," I said without turning around. "It's the Lane House. Looks like it should be torn down," Joey said, walking away from the car and past me so he could get a better look. "They tried, but there's some lawsuit over whether or not it's a historical landmark," I said. "Landmark for what? A fucking ghost hotel?" He said and laughed.

I turned and tapped his shoulder. "Let's go," I said. He looked back over his shoulder at me and frowned. "What's wrong with you?" he asked. "I was kidding about the ghosts, man." "I know," I said, but acted like I didn't. "We should go. We can walk back to my mom's house from here. I'll call AAA there." "Wow, this place has you freaked out," he said and laughed. "First you wanted to go to a gas station. Now you're ready to go run right to your mama."

He crossed the yard and put a foot on the front step. "What are you doing?" I yelled. Joey spun around and laughed at me some more. Oh man, if I wasn't pissed at him already, that mocking laugh did the trick. "Dude, chill," he said. "I just want to have a look." "No!" I shouted, laying it on thick. "No, please, let's just go." Joey walked up the steps and stood at the front door. The glass in the door had long been boarded over.

Joey knocked. "Hello? Any ghosts home?" He called out, still laughing. I followed him up the steps. "How was she?" I asked, not intending to. My plan was to get him inside first and see what would happen then. Joey glanced back at me just as he was gonna knock again. "What?" He asked. "Denise," I said. "My girlfriend? How was she?" Joey lowered his hand and turned to face me.

"What are you talking about, dude?" he asked, but I could see the panic in his eyes. "She told me just before school ended," I said. His eyes widened. "Fuck," Joey said in a quiet voice. "Listen, Maddy, dude, I'm so-" The door flew open, and black hands grabbed Joey by the shoulders. He was yanked inside and the door slammed closed before he could even cry out. I muttered as I stared at the door. Apparently, I didn't need to get him inside after all.

I turned around to face my car. "Well, shit," I whispered. I was about to walk down the steps when I heard the door creak open behind me. I stopped and turned. Carl was standing there just as he looked when he disappeared. Well, almost. He was missing an eye, and his jaw was hanging by a thread from his face. It just dangled there in the breeze, twisting back and forth. Then he waved at me.

"Hi, Maddy," he said. I don't know how he said it with his jaw hanging there, but I heard the words. "Why'd you leave me?" I swallowed hard. I wanted to turn and run, but my feet were frozen to the ground. I wanted to scream, but my throat was almost closed. I wanted to be anywhere other than where Carl was. "Doesn't matter," Carl said and stopped waving. "I have lots of new friends now. Better friends than you, Maddy."

They aren't mean to me like you were." He cocked his head, and his jaw tapped against his chest. "You should come meet them, Maddy," he said. I shook my head no. Carl shrugged. "Okay then," he said. "I'm going to meet our new friend, Joey. Were you mean to him like you were mean to me?" Joey screamed from somewhere inside the house, and that broke the spell. I spun around and ran as fast as I could, leaving my car there.

I made it to my mom's house in record time. I have no idea what all I told her, but I know she instantly was on the phone and calling the police. I started to regret what I had done to Joey, and I hoped they would find him just stoned and wandering around the house. But they didn't find Joey. Not then, not ever. What they did find was my car halfway in the Lane House's yard, and the joint in my ashtray. Joey's fucking joint.

All regret and guilt went out the window as I sat in the interrogation room. "You a druggie, Matthew?" the police detective asked me, slapping an evidence bag down next to a file folder on the table in front of me. "Was Joey your source? Did you two have a fight maybe over a deal and things went wrong? It's okay to tell me what happened, Matthew." "I told you," I said. He went up to the door and it opened. Then someone grabbed him and pulled him inside.

I didn't say a word about Carl. No fucking way. I'd have been committed to the loony bin in a heartbeat. "We didn't find signs of anyone in the house," the detective said. "There weren't even footprints in the dust. No one has been in that house for a long time, Matthew." He opened the file folder. "Maybe as long as the last time you were at the Lane house," he said, and flipped through the papers in the file. "They never did find Carl.

"You know, your other friend that went missing in that house? What can you tell me about that?" "Nothing," I said and nodded at the file folder. "It's all in there, I'm sure." "Oh, there's a lot in here," the detective said. "And a lot that isn't. Maybe we can talk and you can fill in some gaps?" "No," I said. "I want to go home." He tapped the bag with the half-smoked joint. "You aren't going anywhere yet," he said. I slumped in my chair.

He asked me questions for three hours. I answered what I could without sounding insane. He got frustrated with me. Told me he knew I wasn't being honest about Carl or Joey and threatened to have me locked up for life. I never wavered. They eventually let me go. I got a misdemeanor for the joint. It was later expunged after a year of community service. I was interviewed a dozen more times before I had to go back to school.

Once I was out of town, there were a few follow-up phone calls, but by Christmas break, the cops stopped bothering me. Everyone at school wanted to know what happened. Just like with the cops, I told them what I could without sounding crazy. It got me a lot of sympathy, but again, just like with the cops, by Christmas break, no one was asking me questions anymore. As the new year approached, I tried to forget what had happened to Joey.

Except a little slice of that memory was always with me. Because I not only learned I was vengeful that summer, but I learned that I was good at it. All thanks to Joey. I applied for law school in the spring.

Oh, it's such a clutch off-season pickup, Dave. I was worried we'd bring back the same team. I meant those blackout motorized shades. Blinds.com made it crazy affordable to replace our old blinds. Hard to install? No, it's easy. I installed these and then got some from my mom. She talked to a design consultant for free and scheduled a professional measure and install. Hall of Fame's son? They're the number one online retailer of

Custom window coverings in the world. Blinds.com is the GOAT. Shop Blinds.com right now and get up to 45% off select styles. Rules and restrictions may apply. It's 2024 and I've learned so much over the years. Mostly, I have learned that if you try to bury your past, your past just ends up burying you. I'm now a managing partner at my law firm and have three busted marriages under my belt with two bleeding ulcers right above it.

For years, it was worth it. The late hours, the ruined relationships, even the ulcers. I'm one of the state's top criminal defense attorneys, and I've gotten some downright awful, horrible, disgusting people off the hook, and made a fuckton of money doing it. But as I stand here on the sidewalk in front of the Lane House, I know what truly defines me. Two summers, ten years apart.

When I came home to visit my mom, she said someone had bought the Lane House. I looked up from the sandwich she'd made me and frowned. "What do you mean?" I asked. She was old and frail, a sight that had me thinking about my own mortality, and the mortality of the friends I'd sacrificed. "Someone bought it," she said. "They're fixing it up, all according to the rules for a historical property like that, of course."

"Apparently, it'll look just like it did when it was first built." "Oh," I said and took another bite. "A young couple are the new owners," my mom continued. She eased herself into the kitchen chair to eat her own sandwich. "They have two young children, I hear." A chill ran down my spine, and the bite of the sandwich I had just taken turned to yuck in my mouth. I forced myself to swallow. It tasted like guilt and regret.

"They're not living in the house now, are they?" I asked. "No, no," my mom said. "They've rented a house down the street while the renovations take place." Then she gave me a weird smile as she took a bite of her sandwich. "You had a couple of bad run-ins with that house," she said around her bite. "It'll be nice to put all that behind you." She kept eating. I only sat there and watched her eat. "Yeah, Mom, I had a couple of run-ins with that house, all right."

I went by the house a day later. When I stood there on the sidewalk, staring at the place for an hour, the foreman finally came out to talk to me. "Maddy?" he asked. "Maddy Fisher?" I tore my eyes from the house and looked at the man. "Tim," he said. "Tim Verdasco, from high school. Oh yeah. Hey Tim," I said and held out my hand. "Good to see you." We chatted for a couple of minutes, but my eyes were always on the house.

"Anything weird happen?" I asked, interrupting some story he was telling me about his wife's brother or whatever. "All the fucking time," he answered without even a second's hesitation. "I got two guys out with workers' comp after they both fell down the basement stairs. Fell or were pushed?" I asked. I smiled so he'd think it was a joke. "How'd you know they said they were pushed?" he asked, looking alarmed.

"You should quit this job, Tim," I said. "Take whatever you've been paid and go find a different job." He looked at me funny. I didn't blame him. Then he shook his head and laughed. "I wish I could, man," he said. "But shit's rough right now. This gig is all that's keeping the bills at bay. You hear me?" "Yeah," I said. Even with my fortune, I had three busted marriages, so I understood trying to keep the bills at bay.

At that moment, I still could have just walked off and never looked back. Except that Carl was busy waving at me from the attic window, while Joey was standing next to him, flipping me off. Every window I looked at, some kid was staring at me. They all looked like bloody, horrible nightmares. And when the front door opened so one of Tim's workers could run an extension cord out onto the porch, I saw the Persian shape standing there.

No one acted like they saw it. But when the worker with their extension cord went back inside, he instinctively moved around the shape. "It was nice seeing you, Tim," I said and walked off. "Oh yeah, great seeing you, Matty," he called after me. Then under his breath, but not quite enough, he added, "Fucking weirdo." Now, 40 years after that first day, 30 years after that night with Joey, I stand here on the sidewalk,

the moon high above me, and a gas can in my left hand. The place is dark and silent, but I know the silence is all a lie. I cross the yard and thread my way through stacks of lumber and concrete blocks. When I place my foot on the porch steps, the door creaks open. "Come on in, Matty," Joey calls from somewhere inside. I walk up the steps. On the porch to my right stand two teenagers.

Their faces have been ripped off, but it's easy to see from what's left of their bodies that it's a boy and a girl. I look to my left and see three kids squatted down, playing with marbles. Each of them is missing an arm. Two of them are missing their scalps. The third has his back flayed open, and I can see his spine through the strips of flesh. "Hi, Maddy," Carl says from the doorway. "Hi, Carl," I say. "You finally came back to stay with me," Carl says.

No, I said. Oh, okay. Carl says and shakes his head. His loose jaw swings back and forth. You never were a very good friend. Come on, kid. Give the guy a break. Joey says as he comes down from the second floor on the newly rebuilt stairs. Dude, come in. It's totally cool. From the look of Joey, it is not totally cool. His belly is ripped wide open and he's trailing intestines behind him.

They flop and flap against each step as he descends the staircase. His arms are out, ready for a bro hug. "Dude, you gotta see what's in the basement!" he exclaims when he reaches the landing. "I plan to," I say. "Oh?" Carl says and steps aside. "Then come in!" I do, but before I step across the threshold, I set the empty gas can down on the porch. It has served its purpose.

The house is definitely different than the last time I saw it, but even with all of the new wood and paint, I can still smell the rot. Which is saying something considering what I smell like. Or maybe I'm smelling my own guilt. Doesn't matter. It'll be over soon. "You know where the basement is, right?" Joey asks as Carl closes the door behind me. Joey wraps his arms around me and gives me one of his patented bro hugs.

It's all squishy and wrong. After a second, I hug him back. It's the least I can do. Dude, you changed cologne since the last time I saw you. Joey says when he finally lets me go. Phew, can't say it's a good change. The basement is this way, I say, ignoring his comments as I head for the kitchen. You got it, Joey says. See, Carl? He's not a shithead like you keep saying. He left me here, Carl says from behind me.

There are others in the kitchen. So many others. But the fridge is gone at least. If I were to see that hand again right now, I don't think I could do what I have to do. It would break me, like it almost did that day in 1984. Joey scoots past me as the others stare. I don't look directly at them. I've seen enough flayed flesh and dragging awful for one night. "So, what have you been up to?" Joey asks as he opens the basement door.

"Nothing much," I say. "Divorced three times, no kids." "Bummer," Joey says, and sweeps his hand at the basement in the universal gesture of after you. "Is it down there?" I ask. Joey nods. "Good," I say. I walk past Joey and take the stairs down into the dank, dark basement. The thing doesn't waste any time. As soon as my feet hit the concrete floor, it separates itself from the corner. I pull the lighter out of my pocket.

When it reaches me and takes me into its pitch black arms, I flick the lighter and place the flame to my leg, and the gas that I had poured all over my leg ignites. As I scream, as the thing screams, as the ghosts scream, as the house screams, I realize it'll all be over soon.

I don't have to be that cruel 11-year-old anymore. I don't have to be that vengeful 21-year-old anymore. I don't have to be that greedy, unscrupulous lawyer anymore. And the house doesn't have to be evil anymore. It's 2024, and I have finally learned something new. That I can be good. All I needed was a can of gas, a Zippo lighter, and my past burning to the ground to help me get there.