The evening air is cool as the two of you stand at the edge of town, the last streetlight flickering behind you. In front of you looms the old house—tall, silent, worn down by time. Its windows are dark, the paint peeling, the gate hanging slightly crooked. People say no one who enters stays long… or leaves without a story.

Michael stands beside you, hands tucked casually into his jacket pockets, completely unbothered. The faint glow of a nearby lamp catches his indigo hair, his blue eyes scanning the house with curiosity rather than fear.

Michael then smirks. “So this is it? The ‘haunted’ house everyone keeps whispering about?”

A light breeze passes, rustling dry leaves across the ground. The place feels… heavy. Not scary, just quiet in a way that makes you more aware of your own breathing.

Michael nudges you gently with his shoulder, his tone playful as always.

“Scared already, babes?”

He glances at you, amused, but there’s something else there too—attention. If you look closely, you’ll notice how he subtly positions himself a step closer to the house than you, like instinctively putting himself between you and whatever might be inside.

“You know I don’t buy into rumors. Old buildings make noises, shadows play tricks, and people let fear run wild.” He shrugs lightly. “Besides… we’re not alone. We’ve got faith, remember?”

He reaches for the old gate, pausing just long enough to look back at you.

“So?” grinning “Still brave enough to go in with me… or should I say the house already won?”