20- House Of Memories

                                    

                                          
Pete quivered in the torchlight as the door creaked open. Patrick walked in ahead of him, gently dancing over the threshold, and into the house. It was dark, but the torch illuminated a tiny patch of the ground in front. It only succeeded in giving the house a more eerie vibe. Pete could see in the dark, but only in red outlines, and that wasn't the most comforting thing, especially in a haunted house.
                          
"Patrick? You know what's cool? Staying outside the haunted establishment," Pete whispered over the eerie dripping sounds. 
                          
"Well I was so cool in high school that I did Misfits covers so shut your ass." 
                          
Pete seemed to forget his definitely not fear and where he was. "Oh my bats, I was in a band."
                          
"Did you just say.. 'oh my bats'..?" Patrick said, glaring.
                          
Pete huffed. "Can we just un-spook this place?" He grumbled, crossing his arms and moving unsubtly closer to the shorter man. 
                          
Patrick sighed and turned forward again. He slowly moved through the damp darkness, further into the house. A floor board creaked up the once elegant staircase. Pete clung to Patrick's arm, which he would totally deny later. 
                          
"Is this gonna be like monster house..?" Pete asked softly. He squinted through the darkness to try and make sense of some lines that were assembled in an odd shape. 
                          
Patrick didn't respond. "Wanna let go, Princess?" He asked softly, shining the torch into a larger room, dimly lit by a hole in the wall. 
                          
"Not particularly." Pete mumbled. He moved impossibly closer to Patrick. "How do you do this shit..?" He mumbled. 
                          
"Watch your eyes." Patrick warned and flicked a switch. Pete hissed and blinked a couple of times. Patrick walked into the room with an air of unknowing confidence. 
                          
The bulb shone dimly, giving off only enough light to see into the room. The corners were left pitch black and unknown. The fancy wallpaper was hanging off the walls in an unpleasant manner. Old, moth eaten furniture was placed oddly in the room, as though they had been placed with no care. 
                          
An over-exaggerated fireplace was proudly placed in the middle of the far wall. Old, dust covered picture frames littered the mantel piece. Above it, an old, grimy mirror hung on the wall, bordered with designs that could easily be another language. 
                          
"If I turned into a bat do you think I could chill here?" 
                          
"Pete? Shush." 
                          
Pete pouted and decided to explore the room further. Patrick walked over to the almost green mirror. 
                          
A voice emanated from behind the mould.
                          
"I KNEW YOU WERE IGNORING ME!"
                          
Pete jumped about three feet into the air, and landed on the cushy armchair  behind him. He shivered.
                          
"W-who said that?" 
                          
Patrick shook his head. 
                          
"Yes, Ryan, I have. Because you keep annoying me."
                          
"How am I annoying?"
                          
Pete piped up.
                          
"Why is the mirror talking?" 
                          
Patrick sighed, and crossed to the mirror, wiping some of the mould clean. A brown eye glared accusingly out from the rat-grey surface.
                          
"I'm trying to get all the gossip I missed. How long was it? Atlanta? It was Atlanta, wasn't it?"
                          
"What's he talking about, Patrick?"
                          
Patrick sat down on the couch. A great cloud of dust billowed around him.
                          
"Ryan is a ghost, Pete. Just ignore him." He said, picking an old book off the shelf, and putting it back with a definite "No." He continued in this vein for quite some time.
                          
"I can hear you!" Ryan protested.
                          
"You're meant to." Patrick said, casually flicking through another book, and putting it into his bag.
                          
"Awh cmon. Is it about the vampire kink? Because that was just a joke, ya know?
                          
"Ryan." Patrick said, warningly. 
                          
"Vampire kink? You have a vampire kink?" Pete asked.
                          
"No. I do not.. Here it is." Patrick said, taking an ornate bronze key out of one of the books. 
                          
"What's that?" Pete asked. 
                          
"It's the key that M-"
                          
Patrick turned on his heel and flung his double-edged knife right at the mirror. It rippled upon impact, then broke apart, leaving Ryan's half-pronounced "Ike" hanging in midair with no mouth.
                          
"Seven years bad luck." Pete said, mechanically. Patrick slotted the key into the bookcase, and pulled it open. Spiders scuttled from within, and the dead carcasses or previous arachnid generations lay littered across the floor of the corridor ahead.
                          
"Secret passageway! Cool!" Pete whispered.
                          
Pete walked along the walls, straying far from the dark corners. He wiped away at a picture frame, immediately regretting it and coughing up dust. He swatted the air in front of him. Pete looked at the pictures, quickly getting bored. A boring family taking a boring portrait. A bored looking tall boy with cold eyes and pointed features stood in the centre. He was taller than both his parents. Pete looked away. The boy gave him the creeps.
                          
He glanced around again, now noticing some boarded up windows. They were framed with murky brown curtains that some creature had been chewing away at. 
                          
Pete looked passed the old picture frames and noticed some odd objects. "Did a witch live here..?" He asked no one in particular.
                          
He examined a pristine white horn, striped with red, wiping at the golden plaque underneath it. He gasped rather loudly. "Unicorns?! Patrick! Unicorns!" 
                          
"Yeah, the people who used to live here were unicorn breeders." He said, with throwaway disgust.
                          
Pete felt a chill go though his entire body and flinched. He heard footsteps upstairs and other loud sounds from the house. It was as though the place had expanded and contracted just to scare him. 
                          
And scare him it did. He let out a yelp and jumped back, accidentally pulling the horn off its rotted wooden plank. He tumbled backwards and dropped the horn. 
                          
He sat on the floor and took a minute to recompose himself and tell himself that no matter what he did; he would always be mommy's strong boy. 
                          
He slowly stood up and felt an odd sensation go through his body starting at the leg, not even a good one. It buzzed.
                          
"Umm.... Patrick? I think i got magic-stabbed."