The Runaway House wasn't the sanctuary that Kendrix led me to believe. From the moment I stepped inside, a profound unease settled into my bones, a stark contrast to the welcoming façade. The air was heavy, carrying a scent of dust and something vaguely medicinal. As teenagers drifted through the common areas like ghosts, their eyes held a weary, vacant look that spoke of drained dreams and lost ambitions.
As we stepped further in, the wooden boards beneath our feet groaned loudly, echoing into the halls as though the house itself reacted to our arrival. One of the ceiling lights flickered violently and buzzed, before finally stabilizing. Somewhere deeper inside the building, a sudden crash echoed; like a table being knocked over, followed by muffled shouting before silence fell again.
"Hey, you guys, something doesn't feel quite right about this place," I whispered to Amanda and Braxten, pulling the collar of my jacket tighter around my neck.
"It's like the walls are watching us, like something here is…"
"Don't let your imagination get the best of you, Gabby," Amanda interrupted, though her own eyes darted nervously around the room.
"This place seems normal enough to me."
Just as she finished her sentence, a girl with listless eyes, who had been staring blankly at the wall, began walking forward until her forehead bumped into the brick wall, making a soft, dull thud. As she remained there, motionless.
Braxten flinched, stepping instinctively in front of us as though expecting the girl to turn around and attack. Another teenager jerked awake in a nearby chair before falling to the floor, limbs stiff like they had been asleep for years. The house moved for a moment… then went still again.
"That was weird, wasn't it?" Braxten murmured, his voice low.
"What's wrong with these teenagers?" asked Amanda.
Kendrix, ever the placid guide, simply brushed off the question.
"Please, you're imagining things. After all, it's late at night, isn't it? Your minds are playing tricks on you; that happens when exhaustion sets in."
Her casual dismissal did little to soothe our nerves, but I was exhausted.
"She does have a point," I conceded, though doubt gnawed at my chest.
"Why don't we call it a night for now. I'll check back with both of you in the morning after I've gotten some rest."
"You sure you want to stay the night here, of all places, Gabby?" Amanda asked, her concern evident.
"I'll be fine alone for one night," I assured them, forcing a confidence I didn't quite feel.
"In the morning, I'll decide if I'm going to stay here longer."
As they walked away, a rumbling tremor passed beneath the floorboards, causing a picture frame to fall off the wall and shatter on the staircase. The sound echoed long after Amanda and Braxten had left.
"Follow me right this way," Kendrix said, her voice unnervingly cheerful given the chaos we'd just witnessed.
The hallway stretched before us, longer than it should have been for a house this size. Dim bulbs hung from the ceiling at irregular intervals, casting pools of weak yellow light separated by shadows that seemed too thick, too solid.
Our footsteps echoed on the worn wooden floorboards, each creak seeming to announce our presence to whatever lurked in the rooms we passed. The walls were lined with old portraits; stern-faced people from another era, their eyes following me as we walked. I tried not to look at them directly.
Kendrix kept up a steady stream of commentary as we walked. "The house was built in 1892, quite a history here. Many young people have found refuge within these walls." Her tone was light, tour-guide pleasant, completely at odds with the oppressive atmosphere.
We passed several closed doors. Behind one, I heard whispered crying. Behind another, nothing, not even the sound of breathing. A third door was slightly ajar, and I caught a glimpse of a teenager sitting motionless in the corner, staring at the wall with those same vacant eyes I'd seen downstairs.
"How many people stay here?" I asked, my voice coming out smaller than I intended.
"Oh, we have a capacity of thirty. Currently, we're at about twenty-two." She smiled at me over her shoulder. "You'll have plenty of company."
Something about the way she said "company" made my skin crawl.
The cold seemed to intensify the further we walked. I could see my breath forming small clouds in the air. When I pulled my jacket tighter, Kendrix noticed.
"The heating system is a bit temperamental," she explained. "Old house, old pipes. You'll get used to it."
We finally stopped at a door near the end of the hall; room 217. Kendrix produced an old-fashioned key from her pocket and unlocked it. The door swung open with a groan that sounded almost human.
The room was small. Sparse. A twin bed with a thin mattress, a wooden desk and chair, a dresser with a cracked mirror. A single window overlooked what I assumed was the backyard, though I couldn't see much in the darkness.
"Bathroom is shared, down the hall to your left," Kendrix said, still with that unsettling cheerfulness. "Breakfast is at seven sharp. Don't be late." She handed me the key, her fingers cold when they brushed mine.
"Sleep well, Gabriana."
She closed the door behind her, and I heard her footsteps retreating down the hallway. Then I heard something else; the soft click of a lock.
I tried the door handle.
It didn't turn.
I was locked in.
After they left, the silence of my assigned room felt suffocating. As I lay there quietly, staring at the water-stained ceiling, listening to the old house groan around me. But sleep wouldn't come. My thoughts wouldn't settle. Every creak, every shift in the building seemed to echo with intention, as if the house itself was breathing and waiting.
A sudden loud THUD shook the door violently. My body jolted upright. Then another. Something or someone — collided with the hall wall repeatedly, like a body slamming against plaster.
The silence afterward felt worse as I pulled out my diary and started writing the next entry.
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Dear Diary
I don't even know why I'm writing this. Maybe because it's the only thing that feels normal right now. Everything else is... wrong.
I ran away. I actually did it. Snuck out my window like some stupid movie character and now I'm in this place; this runaway house that Kendrix brought us to. And I don't know if that was the smartest decision or the dumbest one I've ever made.
The house is wrong. I know Amanda said I was imagining things, but I'm not. There's something off about this place. The teenagers here look like zombies. One girl literally walked into a wall and just... stood there. Another one fell out of a chair like they'd been asleep for years. And Kendrix just brushed it off like it was normal.
Mom's going to kill me when she finds out I'm gone. If she finds out. Maybe part of me wanted her to worry. I wanted her to see that I'm serious, that I can't just go to some boarding school and become someone I'm not.
But sitting here in this creepy room, listening to the house groan around me, I'm starting to wonder if she was right. Maybe I am making horrible choices. Maybe I am destroying myself like she said.
I keep thinking about the sermon from last Sunday. About God's love, about faith, about turning the other cheek. But where is God right now? In this place? In my mess of a life? I want to believe He's here, but it's hard when everything feels so dark.
The door's locked. I tried it after Kendrix left. I'm locked in this room. Why would they lock me in? Amanda and Braxton are gone. I'm alone in this house full of zombie teenagers and creaking walls and I don't know what I've gotten myself into.
The stars are out tonight. I can see them through the window. They're supposed to remind me of God's promises or something, right? But they just look cold and distant. Like they're watching but not really caring.
I don't know what I'm going to do tomorrow. I don't know if I should try to leave or stay. I don't know if I can even get out of this room. I don't know anything anymore.
All I know is that I'm scared. And I'm tired. And I'm so, so alone.
Bible Verse:
"The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." (John 1:5, NIV).
Reflection:
I want to believe that. I really do. But right now, sitting in this locked room in this creepy house, the darkness feels pretty overwhelming. The light feels very, very far away.
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Before long, a strange, unnatural chill began to seep in from under the closed locked door. I forced the door open before following the source of the cold into the hallway, raising goosebumps on my arms. It was a cold that felt wrong, a cold that seemed to carry a current of dread.
The temperature continued to drop as the ceiling bulbs dimmed and flickered uncontrollably. Even the shadows stretched like something alive, bending in impossible ways.
The corridor was long and poorly lit, lined with closed doors. Each door I passed seemed to hold secrets behind its thick wooden frame as I stared at it.
I noticed a figure standing guard. It was a young lady, her posture tense, blocking a heavy, padlocked door that led to what I assumed was the basement.
She didn't breathe normally — she stood rigid, like a soldier prepared for war.
"Excuse me," I whispered, my voice startling her.
"I thought I felt a strange chill coming from the hallway. Would you be able to help me find the source?" I asked.
"You startled me for a moment. You can call me Blossom," she explained as she turned to me with wide, fearful eyes.
(Blossom Guarding the Basement Door, Fearful Eyes Photo)
"Not another curious soul," she mumbled to herself. Her voice was trembling with barely contained desperation.
"Look, you shouldn't be out in the hallways this late at night. It's for your own protection, trust me." She positioned herself more firmly in front of the basement door.
Suddenly, a loud bang shook the door behind her.
Dust rained off the wall. The hinges rattled violently. A muffled, desperate scream bled through the thick wood.
My blood ran cold.
"What was that?" I demanded, my voice frantic as I stepped closer.
"Excuse me, that sounded like screams coming from behind that closed door. Would you mind stepping aside? I want to make sure that they are alright."
Blossom's expression hardened as her hands grasped the pendant around her neck, a blue cherry blossom branch. A flicker of something orange began to glow faintly within her eyes. The air around her suddenly shifted, filling with a sweet citrus scent with warm notes of clove and cinnamon.
"Don't make me do this!" she stated, her voice losing all its earlier warmth.
"I'll give you one last warning and one only. Pretend that you didn't hear anything just now. Because as far as your memory is concerned, you didn't hear anything at all."
As she spoke, her voice echoed throughout my mind as a thick haze enveloped it, blurring the edges of my thoughts as I stepped back. The screams, the fear, the cold—it all began to feel distant, like a half-remembered dream.
I found myself convinced that I had imagined the whole thing. Nodding slowly, as I turned and walked back to my room, the sweet citrus scent followed behind me like a shroud.
I closed the bedroom door behind me, and the moment I lay down, the mental fog cleared. But instead of clarity, there was just this frustrating emptiness where my thoughts had been. I tried to grab hold of whatever it was, but the effort felt too heavy. As sleep claimed me almost immediately.
On the other side of the door, Blossom collapsed against the doorframe, tears streaming down her face. Her whole body shook with silent sobs as she clung to the copper door handle.
"Please don't make me do this," she mumbled to the empty hall.
"If you wake up once more, I won't have any choice this time. I don't want another person tonight to suffer, not like that poor soul. I tried to warn her! I tried so hard—I don't want another person tonight to suffer like that poor soul. I tried to warn her!" She continued to repeat silently to herself the entire night.