There's No Such Things as Ghosts

“Oh come on, ya frickin’ pansy!” a tall blond-haired jock bellowed, shoving a sniveling young boy, his taped glasses falling down to his nose. “I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts!”

“I-I don’t, man…it just…” reluctantly eyeing the morbid drapes and scorched surface of the abandoned house behind him. “E-ever since what happened yesterday…”

“Are you frickin’ kidding me? That was such a hoax! I can’t believe you fell for that!”

Licking his lips and glancing back and forth, he stammered, “A hoax…r-really?”

“YES! R-really! Jimmy’s just having some Halloween laughs! He’s always pullin’ pranks like that. He, also, didn’t need anyone here holdin’ his hand, either!”

The slamming shudders on the upper story and eerie wind that whistled through the cracks and crevices of the house filled the background as the young, frightened boy held his head.

“Well?” the jock shoved the boy again.

“Aright! Stop pushing me!” Turning around, the boy shuffled towards the crooked front door, the old wood of the porch whined under his weight.

Slowly opening the crooked portal to the macabre dwelling, the hinges screeched and dust fell from its settlement on the wood, powdering the skinny, four-eyed boy. Hacking clouds of dust, the nerdy boy whipped out an inhaler and took a deep puff. Settling himself, the boy gazed into the opaque shadows within the house, “Okay…so I just have to stand here, right?”

With a curling smirk, the jock, in a single motion, shoved the boy in the darkness of the house.

“Hahaha!” the jock folded in half, his hand holding his sides from the pain of his laughter.

“What did you do that for?” the boy yelled from within the shadows.

A lively tune sounded from the jock’s jersey jacket, and he retrieved from it his cell phone.

“I gotta take this…now remember, you have to stay in there for five minutes. No wussin’ out!”

“Yeah, yeah…” the boy stuck his hands in his pocket and sighed as he planted his feet and waited.

“Go ahead…” the jock spoke on his phone, “he’s being initiated right now…who?…what about Jimmy?...so where was he?...what do mean he…wha…” The jock’s breathing slowed. Color drained from his grave face.

The boy inside called out, “What’s going on?”

Hesitantly glancing back to the house, the jock’s wide eyes met the concerned gaze of the boy within the house. It took only a moment for the fear to transfer. “J-Jimmy…”

“W-what’s wrong?” the boy asked, his voice broken. Before the jock could answer, the hinges screamed and the door slammed shut.