What If... Next Part

“Look,” a white puff of breath shoots from Matt's mouth and evaporates inches from your face. “I've seen this house sit here empty for too long. Year after year I've seen people buy her and then pack up and leave a week later. They spread stories of it being haunted, but I know that's not true. Tell me, what exactly is going on?”

You jerk your arm away, your heart pounding, but instead of sliding into your car, you allow the door to swing shut. “I'm sorry,” you begin. “It's just that …”

“That what?” He urges you on.

“It's this.” You fish the note out of your purse.

As Matt unfolds the yellowed note, a light of recognition twinkles in his eyes. The wrinkles of frustration smooth on his forehead and a chuckle escapes his lips.

“What? What is it?” You grasp his arm.

“I can't believe she did this.” Matt chuckles again.

“Who? What are you laughing about?” You stomp your heel on the shoveled drive. “You know Nadine?”

“No.” Matt shakes his head. “But I know who wrote this note.”

“Tell me!”

“My grandma.”

“What?”

“My grandma.”

“You're kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Your grandma must be cruel.”

“Not really. Just a bit ornery, and maybe a little overprotective.” He laughs again, shaking his head. “I still can't believe she did this.”

“Your Grandma owned this house?”

Matt nods his head. “And she grew up here. As did my mother.”

“Wow, that's why you care so much about this house.”

“Yep.”

“Then why don't you just buy it?” You plant your hands on your hips.

“Well, I'm currently finishing up my doctorates degree. It doesn't exactly allow the time or money to fix up a place like this.”

“Oh,” you say, knowing exactly what he means. You let your hands fall to your side. “So... why does your Grandma want to scare everyone away from this place?”

“She doesn't, exactly. At least, I don't think so. I think it would be best if you just played along. Then you might figure out what this is all about..”

“You mean, find Nadine?” For some reason excitement races up your spine.

“Yes.”

“Will you help me?” The words slip out of your mouth before you've had time to think them through.

“I'd love to, but I think this will require a little more knowledge than what I can offer.”

“What do you mean?” You take the note from his hand.

“I'd like you to show the note to my mom.”

“Your mom?”

“Yeah, come on.” Matt starts his way down the drive way, swinging the snow shovel at his side.

You glance back at your car, then at the note, and back at Matt, then follow.

To be continued....

Sorry, I'm trying to end the story and need to get you a bit closer to something else in the story before I let you make anymore choices about where the story goes :) It doesn't sound fair, but I was beginning to feel like the story wasn't going much of anywhere.

What If... Part1BcA

...Then something catches your eyes among the yellowed folds of paper. You scoop it up, turning the paper every which way until you find the proper angle. A small flower is sketched in one corner of the paper, and for some reason it looks familiar. But from where? You examine its sun-like shape and the branches of skinny leaves growing up from the base. Yes, you've seen this before – here, in this house as a matter of fact.

You stand, curiosity getting the best of you. Scanning walls, windows, and doors, you move back through the living room and into the dining room. Well, you certainly didn't see the flower on the stained glass window. No, it's just some ribbon/wreath arrangement you're not quite sure what to call.

You let your eyes follow the trim up the wall, over a door, and back down to the floor. Ah-hah. You kneel down by the doorway and trace your fingers through the flower. The trim is a bit worn on the edges, but the flower is in perfect shape. Simple, but adding an elegant touch. The grain of the wood even swirls around the flower as if it were a magical blossom. You glance around at all the other doorways. They too, have flowers stationed on either side in the trim. Why hadn't you spotted them sooner?

The words of the note flash through your mind. My name is Nadine. I live here … I like flowers. Those last words had seemed so random, so out of place with the rest of the note, but now it hits you. It's a hint, a clue, but to what? To find Nadine? If you want to live here, you'll have to play with me... So this is a game. Will you play it or not? 

Bzzz, bzzz. Your phone vibrates in your pocket. You slip it out. Dad. Finally.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Sweetie. What's up?”

“Well...” You pace the room. “This house is kind of weird.”

Dad chuckles. “Has character, doesn't it?”

“That's not exactly what I meant.” You shake your head despite the fact that he can't see you.

Dad is silent for a moment. “Are you telling me you don't like it?”

“Not exactly... It's just that some really strange things are going on.”

A boisterous laugh fills your ear. “Sweetie, are you paranoid? I assure you, it's not haunted, no matter what the locals say.”

“It's just that Carl gave me this creepy note.”

“Read it to me.”

You read it, all the while wondering how unbelievable this sounds over the phone, like something from the movies.

Dad is quiet for a moment. Then he speaks, his voice strange, “That is weird.”

“Do you suppose this is just a friendly prank or ...” Your voice trails off.

“I don't know... I'm going to call Carl. In the mean time, why don't you check in at a hotel for the night?”

“Okay,” you say, but you don't sound relieved. Why are you disappointed? Oh, well... Better safe than sorry. “Bye, Dad.” You choke out.

“Bye. Love you.” He hangs up.

You sigh and slide your phone back into your pocket. The note you tuck into your purse. Fishing for your car keys, you head for the door. You take one last look at the ghostly furniture and the shadows lurking behind, just waiting for Nadine to pop out, but she doesn't. You swing open the door and step outside.

Oops, you forgot about the slippery steps. Your feet fly out from under you, and thumpety-thump-thump, you slide down the stairs on your behind. Matt throws his snow shovel to the side and catches you at the bottom. “You okay?”

You avoid his gaze, expecting him to say something about how clumsy you are or about how you and stairs just don't get along, but instead he sits down beside you. “I really need to get that rail fixed.”

“Don't worry,” you try to stand. “I'm leaving.”

“What? Why?” He steadies you as you start to wobble again.

Pain shoots up your back, and you grimace. “This place – is – dangerous.”

“I think you've said that before.”

Heat rushes to your face. “Yes, well, it is.”

“There's something else, isn't there?” Matt grabs your arm.

Your hand freezes on the car handle. Can you trust him? No, no you can't. You made that mistake with Oren. One you promised you'd never make again. You swing open your car door, but Matt's grasp on your other arm prevents you from sitting down.

“Look,” a white puff of breath shoots from Matt's mouth and evaporates inches from your face. “I've seen this house sit here empty for too long. Year after year I've seen people buy her and then pack up and leave a week later. They spread stories of it being haunted, but I know that's not true. Tell me, what exactly is going on?”

You jerk your arm away and...

A. Say, “I can't talk right now. I've got to go.”

B. Show him the note.

C. Ask him, “If you want to know, why don't you buy the house?”

What if... Part 1bc

Despite the shiver climbing up your spine, you rip open the envelope. The letter isn't special - It's just notebook paper. You unfold it with shaky fingers.

My name is Nadine.

I live here.

If you want to live here,

You'll have to play with me.

I like flowers.

What sort of prank is this? Not exactly the ghost note you expected, but goosebumps dot your arms. Something in your gut tells you prank or no prank, this might be dangerous. You decide, for caution's sake, it would be best to call your parents. They always know what to do.

With sweaty hands you withdraw your cellphone from your purse. You select Dad's work phone from the list and stomp your foot in frustration when you reach his voice mail. Then you try Mom. Still no answer. You leave a message for both, but you know it'll probably be awhile before they get back to you. Should you call the police? No, no, that's silly. There hadn't been a crime – yet.

You sink down into one of the sheet-covered couches with a groan. This place is just getting weirder. You can't bring yourself to think “spookier.” No, you don't believe in ghosts, but – you glance at the note again – this all seems very unreal.

Bzzzz. Your phone vibrates against your leg. 1 New Text Message flashes across the screen. It's from Dad. Hey Sis. In a house tour. Will call back in a few.

Relief floods through your veins, and you sit back, waiting for the minutes to tick by. You would hike back out to your car to retrieve your luggage, but you're not sure you'll be staying here much longer. Still, your phone is silent.

You crane your neck to peek out the window. Matt's still out there, tossing snow. Maybe you'll show him the note. No, no – you don't trust him yet either. For all you know, he could be in on all this – this – whatever this all is. You toss the note to the side, and it flutters to the ground.

Then something catches your eyes among the yellowed folds of paper. You scoop it up, turning the paper every which way until you find the proper angle. A queer flower is sketched in on the back of the paper, and for some reason it looks familiar. But from where? You examine its sun-like shape and the branches of skinny leaves growing up from the base. Yes, you've seen this before – here, in this house as a matter of fact. You decide to...

A. Search the dining room for the flower. There was all that fancy trim and also the stained glass window.

B. Search outside for the flower. It must have been in all that scroll-work on the railing.

C. Search the bedroom. There were flowers on the headboard of the bed.

What If... Part 1B

“Uh, I guess I'll see you later?” He says as you shove the old door closed. You ignore his implied question and lock the door behind you. With a sigh, you slide to the floor. What a day.

A few short seconds later you dare to peek out the window. He's gone, and you finally feel secure. Then you remember you're in a strange dilapidated house that is probably haunted and dusty among other things. Oh well...you definitely are not driving back to Phoenix. A sudden creak and rattling of the windows sends you flying to your feet. You're not sure, but you think you might rather be outside freezing your toes off with your much too friendly neighbor. Taking a few deep breaths, you shrug off your fear. It's probably just the wind, anyway.

You wander through the living room to what appears to be the dining room. You hold your breath. The wood work is gorgeous. Little swirls fill the grain of the trim and doors. A huge window with stained glass at the top covers the south wall. Lights of yellow, red, and blue fall through the window and dance on the table top. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad staying here, but then you run your finger across the table. It's coated in at least a inch of dust. you cringe and wipe your finger on your jeans. Fortunately most the furniture is covered with sheets. You spot an old radiator in one corner of the room. It's dusty too, but you lean up against it, bathing in the warmth. The heat is on and running, just as Dad's friend promised. You can see the kitchen through another doorway, but three other doors block your view to anything else beyond the dining room. You try the first one on the north wall, only to walk into an empty room with more doors, so I back track and try the next door. It leads to a stair case that creaks as soon as you place a foot on it, and you promptly decide you're staying downstairs as long as you have too. The last door on the west opens into a huge bedroom with rusty-colored carpet and a ceiling too tall for even Goliath. Perfect. 

All the woodwork is darker in here, and the walls are cream colored. A fireplace with empty bookshelves above it fills the west wall. Your bed is on the north wall. You throw off the dust sheet only to find an empty mattress. Ugh. Why didn't you think to bring bedding? Maybe one of the bedrooms upstairs has bedding. Walking over to the windows, you fling open the curtains, allowing what little sunlight there is to stream in, but you immediately regret it. Dust flies everywhere, stinging your eyes and itching your throat. You sneeze, cough, and blink. By the time you have yourself under control again, you realize someone is banging on the door.

You scramble to the front door and peek out the window. Your lovely neighbor grins at you, holding a snow shovel to the glass. You crack the door a bit. “What do you want?”

“Mind if I shovel your driveway?”

“I suppose it wouldn't hurt.” You open the door an inch wider. 

He smiles. “Suppose?”

“Yes, I mean, that would be really nice. Thank you.” 

“No problem.” He just stands there, grinning sheepishly.

“Alrighty then...um I better go start cleaning this place up.” You try to shut the door, but he lodges his foot in the way.

“Wait,” he says. “Do you have a name?”

You sigh. “I'm not too fond of handing it out to strangers.”

 

He chuckles, his eyes twinkling. "Well, I'm Matt." He extends his hand.

You eye black-gloved fingers. If shaking his hand is what will get him to move his big foot, you decide you'll take the risk. You extend your scrawny pale fingers. He wraps them in a hearty squeeze and then waves goodbye, the wind whipping at his scarf. "I better get to work." He nods toward the driveway.

Yes, you better. You find yourself sighing again when the door clicks shut. 

Thump. Thump. Creaaak! You jump. So maybe that wasn't the wind earlier. Footsteps sound on the stairs. You grasp the door knob, ready to dart into a snowdrift if needed. The steps sound louder, and then a figure appears. "Miss Addie?"

You let your hand slide from the door knob. A stick-like man in a white dress shirt and tie walks toward you, a smile wrinkling his face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Your father sent me over to turn on the heat and water, and I was just checking things upstairs. Didn't think you'd be here yet."

You place a hand over your chest as if to calm your pounding heart. Any friend of your Dad's was okay. "Carl, right?" You try to smile.

He nods, running his fingers through his gray hair. "If you need anything, my wife and I live two blocks down on the corner." 

You almost roll your eyes. People here are much too friendly. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

He smiles. "Well, have a good day." Carl disappears into the kitchen, but reappears within seconds. He drops a yellowed envelope into your palm. "Forgot to give you this." He winks, and disappears again. You hear the back door click shut and examine the gift. Flipping it over, you read the words scrawled neatly on the back: To Whomever Buys This Home: Beware.

Despite the shiver climbing up your spine, you rip open the envelope. The letter isn't special - It's just notebook paper. You unfold it with shaky fingers.

My name is Nadine. 

I live here. 

If you want to live here, 

You'll have to play with me. 

I like flowers.

What sort of prank is this? Not exactly the ghost note you expected, but goosebumps dot your arms. Something in your gut tells you prank or no prank, this might be dangerous. You decide to...

A. Look for Nadine. No worries, you'll keep your cell phone handy.

B. Laugh and toss the note into the waste basket. Dad really got you good this time.

C. Call your parents. They always know what to do.

What If... Part1C

“Uh, I guess I'll see you later?” He says as you shove the old door closed. You ignore his implied question and lock the door behind you. With a sigh, you slide to the floor. What a day.

A few short seconds later you dare to peek out the window. He's gone, and you finally feel secure. Then you remember you're in a strange dilapidated house that is probably haunted and dusty among other things. Oh well...you definitely are not driving back to Phoenix. A sudden creak and rattling of the windows sends you flying to your feet. You're not sure, but you think you might rather be outside freezing your toes off with your much too friendly neighbor. Taking a few deep breaths, you decide to investigate the sound. It's probably nothing, but you like to know for sure.

Before you can convince your shaky limbs to move, the eerie sound sets that ball bouncing in your chest again. You're know that if you lay a hand across your heart right now, you would see it jump with every heartbeat. Forcing your worries to the side, however, you put one foot in front of the other. And then the other. You repeat this process, until you run smack-dab into a set of enormous double doors. Great. Where are the door knobs? You glare at the tiny swirls in the wood, wishing them to evaporate or sprout a handle. But they don't. You take a step back, bumping into a giant sheet-covered couch. Maybe the doors are automatic and malfunctioning? Is there a switch somewhere? 

Then it clicks. You let out a nervous laugh and place your hand in the grooves where it looks like a door knob should be. Pocket doors. You had heard Mom and Dad talk about these but you had never actually encountered them. Pulling to the right, you awaken your dormant muscles. The door groans, but slides into the wall a few inches. Natural lighting streams in from the other room as the door budges a bit more. Muscles aching, you squeeze through the opening.

Aaah! A stained-glass window! Impractical, but gorgeous. The colored light paints a pattern on the dining room table, adding a bit of cheer to the dusty surface. You turn to examine the rest of the room, and panic builds in your chest. What is up with all the doors? You know there were at least two sets of doors in the other room, but here there are four. At least they aren't pocket doors.

Creak! You jump again. That was definitely right above your head. One of these doors has to open up to a stairwell. You swing open the first door on the far wall. Yuck. It only leads to more doors. You try the next. Perfect. Taking another deep breath to calm your thumping heart, you mount the first couple steps. Creak! Creak! Creak! Well, you certainly won't be sneaking up on anyone.

By the time you reach the top of the second landing, you're legs are burning. That's what you get for sitting in front of a desk day after day. Maybe you will apply for a gym membership here. If this town even has a gym... 

"Good afternoon, Miss." 

The warmth rushes out of your limbs, and your body grows cold with fear. You stumble backward. Thwack! Your body smacks the stairs, but still you tumble. The scarred wood of the dining room floor rushes back at you. Your head slams the finish first, and searing pain paralyzes your body.

"Miss! Miss! No! Can you hear me? O please, God, no!" You hear footsteps pounding down the stairs. A white clad figure bends over you, his voice haunting your fears. His face is terrified, ghostly looking, staring over your broken body. You try to say something, reach for something, but the world fades black.

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I felt bad doing this to you all the first time around, but I'd designated C as the "bad choice" ahead of time and told myself I couldn't change. Sorry!

Anyway, looks like we're back at the beginning already. Since you just read it last week, I'll just re-post the choices here (well, the two that are left). So which do you want?

A. Fly out the door and catch up with your neighbor. Maybe he'll check the house for you.

or

B. Ignore the sound. It's probably just the wind. 

What if ...

Here's how we're going to start this: I'm going to write a brief clip from a story. You will be the main character. In other words, it will be written in second person. At the end of my story clip, I will give you three choices. It is your job to vote/discuss which choice you will make. After you all agree on one, I will continue the story from there the next time I post. Here's the catch: one choice every time will be a bad choice. It won't necessarily look bad, but it may lead to the destruction of the mission/adventure. If you choose the wrong one, the story automatically ends and you have to start at the beginning again. Ultimately, your goal is to reach the happy ending and solve the mystery. Sound okay? Any questions? Here we go:

 You stand shivering in two feet of snow, gazing up at the giant house looming over you. The wind catches your hair and whips it across your face. You extract the wispy tendrils from your line of vision and tuck them back into your hood. Having lost its favorite playmate, the wind takes off with your letter instead, ripping it from your hands and dropping it into the snow. You stumble after it, scolding yourself for wearing high heels. Mom had warned you about Kansas weather, but you had forgotten about snow. You're an Arizona girl, after all. Scooping up the paper, You double check the address. Two-twenty-three South 8th St. Yes, this is the place.

It's old, Dad had written. Older than your great uncle Charles. Yeah, right, you had told him, but now you're nodding your head. The white siding is fading and falling, the red brick steps are crumbling, and the painted metal scroll work on the railing is chipping and rusting. This place is old. Older than uncle Charles' great uncle.

You cautiously place a foot on the first step. Your heel digs through the snowdrift on the stair only to discover a thin layer of ice. You slip forward and grab the railing, but it teeters under your weight. Great. You fall onto your forearms, barely saving your face from smacking the next stair. Pain shoots up your arms, but you think you'll be okay. You may have a lovely pattern of bruises on your arms, but at least you still have a face. The last shred of gratefulness you had toward you parents collapsed with the railing. You ask for a nice quiet place to stay for the Christmas Holidays, far away from the city where your troubles started, and they give you this – an ugly old house in an ugly old town. Had you not put enough emphasis on nice? They could have at least let you stay in one of the houses they had partially fixed up. This house is a killer.

“Hey, are you okay?” A young man leans over you, his hands on your shoulders, trying to help you up. You scramble to you feet.

“Yes, yes, thank you. I'm fine.” You feel your cheeks glowing red. “This house – it's um, dangerous.” You twist a strand of hair around your fingers, trying to hide your embarrassment. The amused grin on his clean-shaven face tells you that you're failing, so you bite your lip instead.

He gazes up at the house as if it's an old friend.“Yeah, this place is over a hundred years old.”

“I can't tell,” you mutter. You bend over and reach for the railing, trying to lift it back into position, but your numb, cold hands aren't of much use. It slips from your grasp and clanks against the steps. You hear the man chuckle.

“Don't worry about that. I'll come over and fix it tomorrow.” His brown eyes are twinkling. They remind you of Oren's. You had better get inside.

“Oh, no. It's okay,” you say, practically crawling up the stairs. He looks at me, his dark eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. “Really. It's okay. You don't have to bother,” you assure him. “My parents bought this place. They'll fix it later.”

“Are you sure you don't want it fixed sooner?”

“I'm sure.” you dig through your purse, searching for your keys.

He just watches you, creeping you out. Finally he bends over and scoops something up out of the snow. “Looking for these?”

Of all the nerve... He tosses you the keys. “Thanks,” you catch them out of the air and turn your back to him.

Still he doesn't leave. “Look,” he says. “If you need anything, we live right across the street.”

We? You glance at the amazon green house across the street. Is he married? Your anxiety fades. “Thank you, but I think I'll be fine.”

He doesn't look convinced, and you're trying all your keys in the door for the second time when you remember the key you want is still in your pocket. Now you're really embarrassed. Your neighbor doesn't say a word, but you're sure he's laughing – on the inside – when you finally pull the key out of your jacket and wrench open the door. You strut inside, pretending nothing was ever wrong. 

“Uh, I guess I'll see you later?” He says as you shove the old door closed. You ignore his implied question and lock the door behind you. With a sigh, you slide to the floor. What a day.

A few short seconds later you dare to peek out the window. He's gone, and you finally feel secure. Then you remember you're in a strange dilapidated house that is probably haunted and dusty among other things. Oh well...you definitely are not driving back to Phoenix. A sudden creak and rattling of the windows sends you flying to your feet. You're not sure, but you think you might rather be outside freezing your toes off with your much too friendly neighbor. Taking a few deep breaths, you...

A. Fly out the door and catch up with your neighbor. Maybe he'll check the house for you.

B. Ignore the sound. It's probably just the wind. 

C. Investigate the sound. It's probably nothing, but you like to know for sure.

To be continued....