The House Next Door

December 27th

“Only a few more days now,” the boy announced to his brother one gloomy, late December afternoon. The clouds hung low overhead, threatening to rain at any moment. The holidays were over (not that they meant much to him anymore), and New Year's Eve was fast approaching. Despite the weather outside, the boy felt lighter and happier than he had in years. The only thing weighing him down at this moment was just how much still needed to be done. No detail could be left to chance. Timing was everything.

“Yeah,” his brother replied, but the boy could tell he wasn't all that excited.

The boy turned and glared at him. “What?”

His brother looked down, studying his shoes. “Nothing. It's just—”

“Oh no,” interrupted the boy. “Don't even start with this again. We're going through with it.”

His brother scratched his cheek and shook his head, letting out a long sigh. He paced back and forth on the worn floorboards that creaked beneath his feet, finally stopping to gaze out the window. The air was thick with the approaching storm, and, as usual, he felt like he was suffocating. It was the time of year that he felt the most cooped up, but was that enough reason to go through with the plan?

“So, are you in or out?” the boy prodded. “I mean, I could do it alone, but you'll regret it. I know you will.”

“Just let me think,” his brother snapped. He was tired of this constant pressure. He just needed more time to decide, and time unfortunately was running out. “It's just such a big decision. Do we really want to do this to other people? They seem so nice. . . .”

“But it's
our
turn,” the boy was quick to reply. “And it's now or never.”

At that moment, as though on cue, lightning streaked
across the sky. A crack of thunder followed right after. The storm was right on top of them. As the first drops of rain began to pelt down, the boy's brother turned to him. There were risks, sure, but the boy was right. Now was the time. Slowly, his brother began nodding.

December 31st

“I'm glad it will be dark by the time our guests arrive,” Alyssa Peterson remarked to her sister and mom as they drove down their quiet, one-lane street. “That way nobody will have to see that house.”

“It looks creepier than usual today,” Amanda replied. “At least in the summer it's hidden behind the trees.”

“I wish the town would just tear it down once and for all,” Mrs. Peterson agreed as she turned to pull into their driveway, kicking up dust in their trail. Their last-minute trip to the grocery store for a few missing party items had resulted in bags and bags of must-have snacks. She gently leaned on the horn. A second later
her youngest daughter, Anne, bounded out of the house to help unload the car.

The girls were almost finished bringing the bags inside when Alyssa motioned for her two younger sisters to huddle around her.

“Everyone at the party tonight will probably want to hear stories about the house next door, but let's try not talk about it,” she began. “This is going to be our biggest and best New Year's Eve party yet, and for once I'd like the party to be about us and not that thing next door. Agreed?”

As if on cue, all three sisters turned and stared at the house. The house was something they avoided as much as possible. Its facade was in shambles—glass was cracked on some of the windows, shingles often blew off the roof, and paint was stripped from the wooden boards that loosely held the house together—but they had heard the inside was even more decayed. None of the Petersons had actually been inside the house, but according to town gossip, floorboards were rotting away, doors were hanging loosely on rusty hinges, and some of the electrical wiring was dangerously exposed. Judging on the condition of the lawn, it was easy to believe the
rumors. An old-fashioned wheelbarrow was overturned and corroded with rust on the dead grass. And a broken light post that stood near the wheelbarrow sometimes flicked and buzzed with a surge of electricity.

The sisters turned back and looked at one another.

“Agreed!” Amanda and Anne said in unison.

“It's almost time, Amanda!” Mrs. Peterson called up the stairs to the second floor. Amanda quickly glanced at the clock on her nightstand and frowned. Her guests would start arriving soon, and she wasn't close to being ready for her family's annual New Year's Eve party. She swiped a tiny brush across her fingernail, adding a final coat of dark berry-red polish.

“Be right down!” Amanda replied. She lightly blew on her fingernails—trying to dry them as quickly as possible—as she walked over to the mirror hanging on the back of her bedroom door for one final chance to examine her outfit before joining her sisters downstairs. The corner of her mouth tilted slightly upward as she admired her new skirt in the reflection. It was a Christmas present from her younger sister, Anne, and
to her surprise, she loved the soft pink color. She twirled around and the skirt's light, airy fabric billowed around her. Smoothing down the ruffles, she looked herself over from head to toe, from the slightly darker pink shirt to the white ballet slippers.
All right,
she thought,
maybe I've gone a little too girly
. She slipped out of her shoes and tugged on her favorite pair of silver-metallic high-top sneakers. As she tied the laces, she started thinking about Paul Furby, hoping that he would finally notice her this year.

“Amanda, we need you downstairs now!” Mrs. Peterson called again.

Amanda swung the door open and stepped into the hallway just as raindrops began pattering on the roof. She ran back into her room and peered out the window. Thick, dark clouds hung heavily over their house. She leaned closer into the window until she could see down to the porch below. After lots and lots of begging by the three sisters, their parents had finally agreed that this year the adults would stay upstairs while the girls would be allowed to host their own party in the basement. It would be guys and girls until midnight, and then the boys would leave. The girls would stay for a sleepover
and Mr. Peterson's famous New Year's Day breakfast. Strictly no adults allowed. And the sisters were hoping the mild southern Texas weather would hold throughout the night so they could mingle outside on the porch too. But as Amanda saw the rain streaking down her window, she wondered if they were doomed. She hoped this bit of rain would pass soon.

Slowly, her gaze swept across the wildflower fields and toward the creepy old neighboring house. She could barely even make out its silhouette in the dark night, but her thoughts raced to a memory she'd rather forget.

Months earlier, Amanda had been throwing a softball back and forth with Anne, breaking in her new catcher's mitt. Amanda was always far more athletic than her sisters, so when she tossed the ball to Anne, she didn't expect her sister to hurl it back so forcefully. It went straight over Amanda's head and way past their lawn. After scouring the meadow for the lost ball, Amanda finally found it, and she turned to tell Anne. But when she reached down to pick it up, the ball had disappeared again. Amanda walked a little farther and still couldn't find it. As she walked on, she saw the
ball roll out of the tall weeds and into the lifeless yard of the abandoned house—as if something or someone was using the ball to lure her closer to it. When Amanda finally snatched the ball up, she was right next to the house, nearer than she'd ever been. She heard whispers coming from inside. She wasn't sure, but it sounded like they were saying “stay away.” She ran back to Anne and told her that she was done playing catch and wanted to go back inside.

The thought of that day still made Amanda uncomfortable. She sighed and decided it was finally time to join her sisters before her mom called her again.

Amanda flew down the stairs. She stopped abruptly when she reached the dining room, blinking her eyes in disbelief. Her parents had transformed their country-style home into a glamorous nightclub. While they were at the grocery store, Mr. Peterson must have swapped the large shabby-chic wooden dining-room table, where the family ate dinner together every night, with three tall glass-and-chrome tables. Amanda ran her finger along the smooth glass as she walked past each table. Her eyes feasted on plates piled high with fresh shrimp and cocktail sauce, sushi, spring rolls, and seven different kinds
of dip surrounded by veggies and crackers. There was even a chocolate fountain for dipping fruit and pieces of cake, and a large crystal bowl filled with frothy, pink punch. The Petersons' New Year's Eve party had never been so elaborate.

Ten years earlier, when the Petersons first moved to Glory, Texas, Mr. and Mrs. Peterson had invited a few of their coworkers over to clink glasses at midnight. Every year, as they made more friends, more guests were invited and the party had gotten increasingly impressive. Amanda had never seen her home as luxuriously decorated as it was tonight. This year, it seemed like all of Glory had been invited, and that made them the most famous family in town—at least for tonight.