Jumpscare
Jackie felt a tingle race across her skin—the kind that warned the body before the mind could catch up, the kind Mateo always ignored.
A mansion two stories high, with broken windows on the ground floor, stood in front of her. It looked condemned, rotted. Pieces of what used to be its architecture lay strewn about at its base, gobbled up by soil and tufts of grass. The upstairs windowpanes were untouched by local children throwing rocks.
Jackie felt her stomach turn, wondering why it hadn’t been bulldozed years ago.
The black iron gate creaked open with the wind, latch undone from previous guests. She recoiled, fingers trembling in the sharp cold night.
A few doors down, Halloween decorations blinked purple, orange, and green. A white, plastic, sheet-ghost draped against a tree in the front yard.
“Don’t be such a baby, Jacks.”
She heard the smirk in his tone, followed by the chuckles of a young man who thought he was invincible.
“I didn’t want to do this, Mat.”
He scoffed, catching her wrist and tugging her close. Her legs wobbled against his; a shiver ran through her arms.
“I’ll keep you safe.”
His hand slid down her sleeve, stopping at her elbow, his eyes flicking to her mouth.
But she didn’t feel safe—and somewhere inside she knew he was a wimp, deep down. Admitting it would bruise his ego forever.
Worse, she’d lose a prom date. Maybe even the Valentine heart she’d secretly been hoping for. Last year had been humiliating: every girl except Tina—and her—had received one. This year would be different.
Jackie pulled free, lips pressed together, shoving her hands into the pockets of her sweatshirt.
“Fine.”
She brushed past him, gently knocking a shoulder against his. Whether accident or intent, neither of them could tell.
Mushrooms dappled against a lone tree that creaked and swayed.
Moss grew through the cracks of the wood, sealing it, healing it with green.
A vibration buzzed against his leg, and he fished his phone from his pocket.
“Arden’s already upstairs,” he whispered, excitement edging his voice.
He trotted over the wooden steps, the boards splintering beneath his sneakers. The grass along the path was tall and patchy, trimmed maybe twice a year—just enough to stop the neighbors from complaining, never enough to look lived in.
“This is stupid.” She whispered, biting anxiously at her lip and freezing on the porch. Jackie’s glow-in-the-dark polish emanated a faint yellow-green, hovering over the doorknob. “We’ll fall in the floor and get tetanus.”
Mat sighed at her, then swiftly clicked it open, revealing the house’s dark insides.
“You get that from rusty nails—not splinters.” He took her elbow, gentle but insistent, and drew her with him. “Here.”
From his backpack, he pulled a flashlight and clicked it on. The yellow beam spread across the entryway—over warped wood grain, across an old rug whose pattern had faded into dust, and into a hallway that smelled faintly of iron and rain.
With hesitation, she slipped it into her palm, heavy.
“I know it’s from nails…” She grumbled, speaking in hushed tones, as if the house might hear their intrusion. Her light flicked from one side of the room to the other, searching for danger, holes, or large rats. Only cobwebs clinging to corners and trim. A gentle breeze made them move like hair.
The foyer was large. Small ambient light produced from the moon brightened a large bay window with cracked streaks of glass. Furniture, antique, polished, ornate but decayed, sat along the walls. Long accent tables, armoires, short cabinets. Paintings on the walls had been slashed, graffiti sprayed.
One prominent message, bubble-lettered, read:
Shhhh…
Her flashlight grazed the message; she pointed with a shaky hand. A chill crawled up the back of her neck. Her stomach squeezed.
Mat laughed, a small breathy chuckle, as he turned toward it.
“Spooky.” He shot Jackie a disarming smile, but she could barely see him, the bright lights washing him in the contrast of the night.
He flicked his light toward the archway leading to the rest of the house. Mat took a few steps before she tugged on his jacket, pulling him against her as he stumbled back.
Her voice, an even smaller whisper now, heeding the message, “Shouldn’t we be able to hear them? If they’re already here?”
“Tch,” he breathed, gently yanking from her grip. “Jackie, you gotta relax, it’s a big house.”
But there was no noise. Only the pull of the wind, the slow whip and brush of what was once white, now beige, curtains. “C’mon.” Mateo gestured an elbow for her to follow.
Jackie swallowed hard, taking soft steps, dragging her light against the walls, her mind trying to interpret objects as fast as they came into her vision.
“Wow…” Mateo said to himself, looking down a long hallway. “They really cleared out the place.”
He meant everything that hadn’t been damaged. Empty clean spots on the walls, the absence of dust in the form of circles, ovals, and rectangles, where paintings and photos had been ransacked. Just like the foyer, only damaged furniture remained.
Jackie didn’t respond, pointing her light to a staircase that led up, turned once, and continued on. The center of the steps slumped slightly, as if it had been used many times to go up.
Mateo spun around.
“Kitchen—cool.” He peered in the doorway for moments that felt forever.
With clenched teeth, Jackie felt stiff, her legs locked into place, shining her light passed Mateo and down a skinny hallway.
A light flashed. One click. A switch flicking on, then immediately off.
Her chest held a breath.
“Arden?” Mat asked, but no reply came. He didn’t even bother looking in Jackie’s direction, huffing, “that jackass.”
“Mat—” she whispered, forcing her leg to move one large step, attempting to grab him. But he was already walking down the skinny hall. “Mat stop.” She urged, both their lights converging down the hall, creating a long shadow of his silhouette that bent and twisted as she pointed it against the ornate wallpaper. It split and tore at the ceiling.
Shining into an open door in the hall revealed a bathroom. A rusted porcelain tub, pink from hard water. She clutched her chest, imagining fingers reaching upward, her mind creating hallucinations. But it was only a grimy toilet with weeds growing out of it.
Still, a cracked mirror, pieces missing, the light reflecting and bouncing against the walls. Her gaze lingered in there, and then down a small, tucked-away hall, an open window fixed at the end, pointing out toward the backyard. Grass came all the way up to it, blowing in the small winds. It rustled, begging her to leave, telling her the stories of this manor: who had come, who had left, who had stayed, and who had regretted it.
But she didn’t speak grass.
Mat’s steps were slow, steady, yet heavy with frustration. The wood whimpered and squeaked under their feet.
“Arden, knock it off.” He breathed, a tremble in his voice.
He turned the corner, and disappeared, only the sounds of his steps and white light washing and bouncing.
Jackie clenched her fist, deliberately pacing after him. She refused to look at the details now, only scaring herself more as she walked about the old dilapidated McMansion.
Just as she turned the corner, and watched as Mat stepped through another threshold, a large dark figure burst next to his silhouette, and they both screamed.
Then—giggles. She groaned, a sweat beading against her temple.
“Arden!” Mateo slammed his light into his friend’s shoulder.
Arden grunted through laughter, holding his stomach.
Jackie wrung her fingers and shoulders out, adrenaline pumping under her skin. “Jerk.” She muttered, thrusting through both of them.
“Where is Chrissy?” Her voice boomed now, the slightest noise echoing against the large space.
“Upstairs.” Arden flung a hand out, aimed at another set of stairs going to the second floor. He elbowed Mat, who was still shooting him glares. “Dude you gotta check out this pool room.” Arden motioned further down the hall.
Jackie felt a heavy dread fall against her. “I’m gonna go find Chrissy.”
“She’s in the last room, on the left. Can’t miss it.” He replied, pulling Mateo before he could answer.
For a moment, she considered following them. An easier, and what felt like safer, choice.
But something was grabbing at her. At her skin, eyelids, the webbing between her fingers— goading her to come up. It breathed, pulsed, and slithered along the folds of her mind.
Chrissy had snacks. Chrissy had the music player. Chrissy wasn’t annoying like the guys were.
So she took the steps up, small creaks under her sneakers, her fingers barely grazing the railing.
The boys’ faint laughter faded in the distance.
Mat & Arden
“You finally showed up,” Arden, with round black-rimmed glasses, and brown curly hair against a tanned, freckly face, smiled at Mateo.
“Dude, I don’t know if we’re gonna last.” He replied, brightening a large green-upholstered pool table. Only a few balls left, beaten up, their stripes and numbers disappearing with age.
“What—cause of this?”
A chill breeze whooshed against their legs from a cracked window.
Arden paced around the table until he met with his friend again.
“You wouldn’t believe what it took for me to convince her.” Mat shook his head, running a hand through his short blonde hair. “She did not want to do this.”
He promised he’d do a couples costume with her and see a scary movie in theaters. He didn’t like scary movies, but if it meant having some fun with Arden, he’d do it.
“What?” Arden grabbed a pool stick coated in dust, jokingly mimicking a real game. He rubbed it against the edge, an eye closed, hunched. “What’d it take?”
A smirk came over Mat—a lie—one that only another teenage boy would love, one that might get him closer to Marissa, a curvy girl in his Spanish class.
“You can’t tell anyone.” He breathed, knowing Arden would tell anyone with ears.
“Okay—what?”
“A finger bang.”
“What?” His mouth dropped open, “Yeah right.”
And for a moment Mat thought his bluff might have been called. He just shrugged his shoulders, taking a few steps away to hide his bad poker face.
“What’d she sound like?” Arden licked his teeth, leaning the stick against the table.
The few pool balls that were still on the table, clacked, and they both froze.
“Dude,” Arden’s eyes flew to Mat, who was shining a light on the spheres as they slid.
“What? I didn’t do that.”
“The fuck you did.” Arden paced angrily, shoving a hand into Mateo’s chest.
“Dude, I didn’t.” A striped ball spun the wrong way, and Mat flinched. “You’re the one pulling pranks tonight—not me, asshole.”
“I swear.”
And Arden’s face, Mat’s shining light against it, was plain, a simple pinched brow. He was telling the truth.
“Well it wasn’t me.”
Arden shook off his fear, rolling his neck, “just this damn house.”
