Luna threw down her bike and stumbled onto the dry, browned grass of the front lawn. Ahead of her stood an abandoned two-story house; a display of chipped white paint coated patches beneath the crumbling black roof. It appeared as though it previously had doors on the porch and second floor balcony, but those were long gone and dead vines clung to the empty arches in which they had resided.
“Shall we go in?” Luna questioned, a smirk spreading across her face as she dusted herself off.
“I’m not so sure. Looks like it’ll cave in right on top of us,” I said quietly. She could sense my angst, my facial expressions tend to give me away.
“C’mon Charlie, quit being such a killjoy. It’ll be cool, an adventure! I didn’t come all the way out to the boonies for you to chicken out on me.”
Luna was always the daring one. She’s been my neighbor since I can remember; even when we were five she could climb higher than me, run farther, dive deeper. She can be fearless, but also impulsive, and turning fifteen has made her even more extreme. Her family worried about her; her brother Ben possessed the same traits and was abducted a few months before this. He was eight. My parents constantly reminded me to keep an eye on her.
“Fine. Ten minutes, tops.” I mumbled in defeat.
Grinning mischievously, she headed into the house, me following closely behind. Her dingy converse creaked on the old wood floors. Every step felt as though we would fall through. The first floor reeked of mold and something stronger, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. To the right of the entryway was the living room. Furniture cluttered the room: couches, leather chairs, tables, all in oddly good condition. A television sat in the corner.
“It’ll never be turned on again. Isn’t that sad?” Luna whispered. I remained quiet, there was an uneasiness that wouldn’t leave the pit of my stomach. The stairs in front of us seemed unstable, but Luna waltzed up them carelessly. When she reached the top, she peered down and motioned for me to follow. On the back of her t-shirt, “beetlejuice” was written three times. We ventured into the rooms, each with bare walls, some completely empty others with bedframes. One had a full bed with unmaid flannel sheets and old pillows.
“How old do you think this bed is?” Luna wondered aloud as she plopped onto the mattress.
“Gross!” I muttered, “A better question would be ‘how many bugs do you think are in it?’”
She scooted off the end, rolling her eyes. In the corner of the bedroom was a Mickey Mouse stuffed animal, oddly familiar but I couldn’t think of why I recognized it. Bored of our plain surroundings, Luna returned downstairs. I lingered in the room for a bit, then joined her. The sun was starting to set, and I doubted the house had electricity.
Entering the kitchen, the bad smell grew stronger. Luna was standing at the desk against the wall, staring at something. The scent of the room was overwhelming and unbearable.
“I think there’s a dead animal somewhere in here,” I said through a plugged nose, “Don’t you smell that?” I looked at Luna, waiting for a reply. She hadn’t moved and continued to stare down. As I moved closer to the refrigerator the stench intensified. I reached to open it, but then noticed something on the counter next to it: a cup of tea, still warm.
“Where did you find this mug?” I asked frantically. This didn’t make sense, Luna hates tea. I looked across the kitchen at her, and that’s when saw it. Dried blood smeared all over the den floor, connected to the kitchen. A chill spread from my scalp down my spine. There was an obvious struggle; it was everywhere. I looked at what was in her hand: a mets cap.
“Ben- this was ben’s-he-he wore this when-” she stammered out in a choked whisper. A sudden realisation flooded my brain: the Mickey Mouse was Ben’s. I looked at the fridge, still emitting the smell. A floorboard creaked near the front entry, then another one, then another one. Then, I was running. I didn’t stop. I didn’t turn back until I was home. Luna wasn’t behind me.
The police searched the house and nearby areas, but no one could find her. The report mentioned only old blood, and a lingering smell. The house was left empty. Sometimes I feel bad or selfish for leaving her behind. Then again, Luna always loved an adventure.