Sadina grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the fire-wrecked, weed-infested house into which the shadow had disappeared a few minutes earlier. Isaac resisted for half a second but then gave in, surrendering himself to her whim, trusting her more than himself. They crossed the cracked sidewalk, entered the yard, all kinds of dry vegetation swishing and grabbing at their legs. The house loomed, holes of darkness dominating the facade.

Isaac reassured himself. Tried to. If this man wanted to hurt them or kill them, there were easier ways to do it than luring them into a house with a hastily written note tied to a rock. Or maybe that’s exactly what a psychopath would do. They didn’t teach this in primary or secondary school on the island. His parents had never told him bedtime stories of what to do when a creepy old man threatens to kill all your friends.

“Where are you guys going?” Trish yelled from behind them.

“We wanna check out this cool haunted house!” Sadina replied, somehow making her voice as light as a holiday morning. She didn’t break her stride, continued to pull Isaac along. “What’re you, my mom?” she added, then made a weird howling sound. Her real mom, Ms. Cowan, had been asleep in a patch of grass for twenty minutes.

They reached the porch, or what had once been a porch. Now it was merely a mound of greenery, traces of faded red brick peeking through, the bare remnants of a wooden railing hanging precariously over the edge. The house had no door, only an open maw of black space, the frame of the threshold resembling an oval more than a rectangle. If it had been up to Isaac, they’d have stopped at the foot of the broken heap of porch steps, but Sadina didn’t hesitate, leaping up them like a frog scaling the mossy stones of a waterfall. He followed, and braced himself for what waited inside the house. They went through the vacant doorway.

The floor creaked beneath them, each crack of wood seeming to unleash the smells of an ancient, abandoned tomb. Rot and decay. Dampness, the kind that never had or never would have a chance to dry, its moisture a recipe for grotesquerie. The scant light from the front door stretched Isaac’s and Sadina’s shadows across a dusty minefield of warped floorboards, an obvious set of footprints the only disturbance. The deep impressions ended on the other side of the room, where a tall, bulky man faced them, his back against the wall, his face hidden in the darkness.

Just the sight of him sprinkled a shower of terror over Isaac’s skin.

“What do you want?” Sadina snapped. In his entire life, Isaac had never seen such bravery on display, and he swore to become more like his friend.