The House on Tremont Street

 

The House on Tremont Street

One-shot

Written by: chochowilliams

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved.

Summary: Two friends have a strange encounter at a house that is supposed to be empty.

Warning: 1st person POV, Supernatural, One-shot, Short

Pairings: --

Inserts: --

A/N: The following is a true story. Names have been changed to protect the identities of those involved. Enjoy  

 

oOo  

Do you remember all the stories you made up when you were a child? You would swear on your favorite stuffed animal Johnny did draw on the wall in your mama’s red lipstick.  

It has been said by some people that as we grow up, we lose an innocence that lets us have friends that only we can see, play house and school and run around the neighborhood carefree.  It would make an adult think what happened to me one summer nothing more than a child’s over-active imagination.  

When I was about seven or eight, there was this house on my street that gave me the creeps.  It was a putrid orange color, the same color a pumpkin becomes when it is beginning to rot.  The shingles were falling off, giving us a gapped tooth smile.  Bricks from the chimney littered the grass.  The driveway was cracked and overgrown with weeds.  The front porch stairs were missing and a curtain hung in the front window, bent in the middle.  The foundation was warped, making the house seem like the Leaning Tower of North Tonawanda.  

“Spies,” Carrie told me, her chocolate brown eyes sparkling, her face beaming.  

“Spies?” I repeated, my eyes large.   Carrie Smith was a few years younger than I--I met her through her older half sister, whom I had been friends with before she moved down south with her mother.  

I have no idea where the idea about the house being inhabited by spies came from.  Maybe it was the fact that nobody ever stayed in the house for very long.  Or maybe it was because the place looked like it should be haunted.  Whatever the reason, we had a blast playing up to it.  

The spies were playing a game with us.  They deliberately dropped their “secret coded messages” that looked like garbage for us to find, something a passerby might have tossed aside.  But we knew differently.  We knew nothing about these spies, nothing except that there were two of them.  One we knew nothing about.  The other had only one leg.  

Carrie and I took regular walks around the block whenever we became bored.  We had an unspoken understanding that whenever we passed by the “Spies’ House” we had to hold our breaths, otherwise something bad was going to happen us.  

One day, we decided to take a break from playing and walk around the block.  We were nearly back to her house, only two houses away, when we came across the ugly orange spy house.  Like every other time, we held our breaths, and started to race to safety.  But for some reason, this time we did something different.  

We stopped and stood directly in front of the house, standing where the porch steps should have been.  As if we had rehearsed it, we yelled in unison, “Is anyone home?”  

Then we heard it.  Thud…Thud…Thud.  Carrie and I stood rooted to the sidewalk, the summer afternoon sun beating down on us.  Our faces were pale, our eyes wide with fear.  Thud…Thud…Thud.  We knew we should get out of there before we got into some serious trouble.  But for some reason, our feet did not seem to be working.  It was like they were cemented to the sidewalk.  

The thudding became louder as we listened, terrified.  Then everything was suddenly silent.  We held our breaths, hearing our hearts pounding from every inch of our bodies.  Then another sound mingled with the quickening of our heart beats, a deep jingle of metal scraping against metal.  The chain was being slid off the door.  

We snapped to reality, knowing full well that if whoever was inside that house caught us we were in very deep trouble.  Spinning on our heels, we flew down the street and hid around the house next door.  With our backs against the wall and hearts pounding fast and furious, we held our breaths and waited.  

After several agonizing minutes, we peered around the corner of the house and to our surprise and confusion did not see a soul.  The house appeared to be just as quiet and deserted as always.  So, we decided on an encore presentation.   Like moments before, we stood in front of the house and shouted those three magical words.  “Is anyone home!”  

Nothing.  

We shouted again, this time louder.  Again nothing.  Disappointed and a little relieved, we slumped back home.  

Later that night, I told my parents what happened.  Of course they did not believe me.  It was just a child’s over active imagination.  Yeah, right and I have a lot in Brazil I would like to sell you.  

That experience goes to show you not everything a child tells you is just his imagination.  Maybe next time when he tells you that Johnny did it, maybe, just maybe Johnny did do it.  Hey, you just never know.   

…The End