I tucked my phone into my pocket. Brynn’s Granny had been a mother figure for both of us growing up, and even though she was in a home now, I had only the fondest memories of her. Brynn was right though–she had some wild stories. I turned toward the back of my truck. My apartment had been small, and my few belongings would barely fill one room in the massive house. But that was what thrift stores and flea markets were for, right? I’d bring my boxes inside, get settled, take stock of what was already here, and then come up with a plan. I grabbed the first box out of the pile, balancing it on one hip, and grabbing my key with my free hand. This was it. This was the moment I had been waiting for since I had first laid eyes on the house.

Hell, I had been waiting for this moment my entire life. A place to call my own. I walked up the porch steps, enjoying the way they creaked under my footsteps, as if adjusting to the weight of their new owner.

I couldn’t breathe as I slipped the key marked “front door” into the knob, my heart thumping as the locks clicked out of place. Would it be everything I had imagined on the inside? This couldn’t have been a mistake. Everything felt too right for it to be wrong. The door stuck, jammed with age and disuse. The humidity probably wasn’t helping, either. I threw my shoulder into it and felt it bow beneath my weight. Since rust was a hazard of thrifting, I knew I had some lubricant spray stashed in my truck. I’d go out and find it as soon as I dropped this box in the living room. If the door ever decided to unstick.

Finally it gave, swinging open to reveal the entryway of my dreams. Dark wood caressed the walls, and a sweeping staircase punctuated the edges of the room, filling the high ceiling. In the middle, a heavy, brass chandelier hung low–in desperate need of a polish, and most likely, new bulbs. Built-in cabinets occupied either side, heavy mahogany that emphasized the aura of the house. I took a step inside the doorway, wanting to get closer, to touch and feel every bit of my new residence.

I thought buying the house was my moment everything changed. My first footstep into the house proved me wrong–the real moment everything changed. A gust of wind pushed against my back, forcing me to stagger deeper into the foyer. I dropped my cardboard box as I stumbled forward, trying to stay on my feet. Behind me, the door slammed shut.