“Are you sure this is safe?” Laura breathed. Unsettled, she stepped towards the derelict abode. She looked up at him, waiting to devour his words. 

 “Of course,” he whispered against her lips, trying to change the mood. Accepting his words, she stumbled towards the wreck of a house. 

The door creaked open. Laura took a sharp intake of breath; her body went stiff. “Move!” she whispered to herself, but her body shook as she entered. 

Step. 

Step. 

Step. 

Her hands went as cold as ice, so did Marc's. “It's just the wind,” Mark said, too quick to feel reassuring. A sick feeling washed over her. 

As they plodded through the house, she swore she could see the devil in all the corners. That should have been her first warning. Then her mother's words echoed through her head:  

“NEVER go to that old house, promise me!” 

She started noticing things she didn't see before, like the small red stain by the window or the scratches on the wall. A deep red liquid fell from her head. Before she had time to think, she heard it again. 

Step  

Step. 

Step. 

Her face was ashen. “Marc, MARC! I want to leave!” He ignored her, drawn to something; was it the long-lost photos, or the silence? 

Step.  

Step.  

Step. 

“Hello Marc. Hello Laura.” A young but demented voice broke through the house. “Please come out and play, I won't bite!” 

Step. 

Step. 

Step…