Mira Domsky

Dares and Doors

 

Some people swore that the house was haunted. Well, mostly just Benny said it was haunted. The grass grew to the top of the wrought iron fence, but the dilapidated roof was still visible. I remember the day Benny and I were walking home and stopped to look. I remember it perfectly.

 

“I dare you to touch the front door, Amber,” said Benny.

 

“No way!”

 

“Chicken.”

 

There’s something about a boy calling you chicken: you can’t let them get away with it just because they’re boys. Besides, I was almost eight years old, too old to believe in ghosts.

 

“Fine, but you have to come with me,” I said.

 

“Nuh uh! I dared you, so I don’t have to go.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

 

“Well then I dare you! But if you’re too chicken. . .” Benny crunched his mouth and eyebrows up in a terrible face. I could see him wondering whether he was right or I was, or if it mattered since I’d called him chicken.

 

"‘Kay,” he conceded.

 

We slipped through the fence and waded through the scratchy dry grass. It was taller than we were, and it rustled as we pushed through it.

 

“I feel like an explorer, hunting lions in Africa or something,” I said.

 

“Shh!” Benny replied.

 

The grass thinned and I could see the side of the house now, paint peeling from the graying boards. The door had been white, with a dusty window set into it. I put my foot on the first sagging step, and it creaked. I jumped, my heart pounding. Breathing deeply, I reminded myself that this was just an old house, nothing more. I took the last two steps to the door. I wasn’t tall enough to see through the window, but it was dark inside anyway. I reached my hand out and touched a finger to the door. Then I turned and stuck my tongue out at Benny. He stood at the edge of the grass looking nervous.

 

“There, I did it! Now who’s chicken?” I asked, just to be sure he got the point.

 

“’Kay,” he said, his eyes glazed. This made me angry. I’d done his dare, but he wasn’t impressed. I wanted him to acknowledge me.

 

“So I’m braver than you!” I said. Benny snapped out of his trance.

 

“Not even!”

 

“Fine, if you’re so brave, then I dare you to go inside!” I shouted. I regretted it immediately as his face went pale, but you can’t unsay a dare. He gulped. His eyes were huge as he walked up the steps. He put his hand on the rusted doorknob. It occurred to me that the door was probably locked, and wouldn’t open. Then we could go home with our pride. Benny took a deep breath and turned the knob. It made a grating sound as he struggled against the rust, but it turned. He pulled the door open and stepped into the dark doorway.

 

“I’m so glad you came,” said the shaking voice of an old woman. Benny screamed. The door swung shut in my face. I grabbed the door handle, screeching Benny’s name, but the knob wouldn’t turn. I pounded on the door and screamed. Then I tore down the steps and through the grass. I sprinted all the way home.

 

My parents and the police went back to the house to look for Benny. But they didn’t find him. They didn’t find anything. No one blamed me for what happened, but they should have. Benny’s family moved away a year later. For years I had to walk past that house, all boarded up and condemned, by myself. Sometimes I would stare at it in the twilight, hoping that Benny would find his way out. He never did. 

 

The house was demolished when I was in high school, but the empty lot still hasn't been sold all these years later.  The sky above the lot looks empty without a house to fill it. Tall grass and weeds still grow inside the fence, covering the rubble of the foundation. I wonder if it's covering anything else.