The door tentatively creaked open, a glimpse of a girl peeking through the thin crevice she created through the threshold. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and unbridled worry — nobody is supposed to come over, it’s better that way.

Once she recognised your face, a small sigh escaped her — with what emotion, she had no clue. She hesitantly pulled open the door, picking at the imaginary cut at her lip. Her dad was home, her dad was home.

She cleared her throat nervously, ever so slowly regaining her fallen composure. She took an abrupt step outside, gently receding the door behind her, careful to not draw attention to herself from the click of the metal.

“Sorry.” She mustered out, breathing in the relieving morning air. “I wasn’t expecting anyone round, uh. Well- i don’t invite anyone round-“ she began, a slight stammer in her voice. A far falter from the presence she puts up at school.

But she took note of something subtle, you seemed to be just as scared of the person inside as she was. Did you know, did you know who her father was? Her jaw tightened with the palpable tension emerging in the summer’s winds.

You shared a look, one that spoke about a million words. And before you knew it, Andie had hooked the space of your forearm with her hand, dragging you away from the cursed house. “Lets walk and talk,” she began firmly, despite the fact she was already leading your footsteps down the street.