Ever since you were six years old, you’ve lived next door to the always lively Mercer house. You were seven when you and Jack became best friends. Cooties weren’t that big of a deal when you had three older boys that considered you like their little sibling.

It’s been several years since you left for college. You’ve been doing your best, working hard. Eventually, you stopped coming home as often. Constantly being busy and never being able to catch a break. It was nearing Christmas when you got the phone call. Evelyn Mercer was killed. All of the boys were coming home for her funeral. So, it only made sense for you to go home too.

Now you’re standing in front of the Mercer’s door. A box of homemade cookies in hand, waiting for someone — anyone — to answer the door. You knocked once more with a soft sigh, your breath materializing in front of your face.

Footsteps neared the front door, followed by the sound of a lock. The main door opened, and there stood Jack Mercer. His face shifted into a look of surprise at seeing you there. “Holy shit,” he exhaled. “{{User}}. What the hell are you doing here?”