The door creaked as we pushed it open. Jimmy was the one who turned the knob with his sleeve pulled down over his hand to avoid the dirt. Roger and I provided shoulders against the wood.

We had climbed the front steps, dodging the holes that seemed to provide an opening to hell. Of course, we knew better, but we had accepted the dare to visit the haunted house.

Our flashlights offered beams of light as we entered, each feeling a sense of doom with a hint of success. We had made it this far.

The stale air reeked of musk, dampness and something else. Together it made our noses twitch with irritation. Cobwebs hung everywhere. Dust bunnies were so abundant, a zoo could have been started. The furniture was minimal, tattered and covered with dust and webs. The droppings on the floor were from an obvious infestation of mice.

The goal was to take a picture of each of us in a room, capturing as much as we could in the photo. We managed to complete most of the downstairs despite the shivers down our spines and the hair raising on the back of our necks. The parlor-done, the living room-done, the dining room-done, then came the kitchen.

There was a rustic brown blood stain covering a great deal of the floor, part of the old table and most of the dilapidated chair. We looked at each other, realizing the stories had been true about the horrifying murder that took place over fifty years ago.

It was then that I also saw the old snakeskin by the stove. Now, I can be just as brave as the two guys, but I definitely do not love snakes. I screamed and ran from the room. Jimmy and Roger were right behind me. Jimmy at least remembered our deal and snapped a frightened Roger in the doorway. His picture showed the old blood, the skin and Roger. Whew, thank goodness, he remembered.

Reluctantly, we climbed the stairs to the three bedrooms. The first two were normal old bedrooms, but the third held a surprise.

Jimmy, who was considered the bravest, checked out the closet, looked out the window, pulled open a few drawers, then looked under the bed. He screamed and it was blood curdling. Roger and I bent over, seeing a decomposed body or to be blunt, a skeleton. When we all stood, and there before us was the ghost of a young girl.

Picture be damned, we beelined from the room, stumbled down the stairs and out the door. Our dare was over. We collided with several others who had prompted the dare as we ran.

Perhaps tomorrow, November first, we would notify the police. Not tonight, we all wanted the safety of our own beds, our own homes.

460 words.