Lightning cracked overhead; rain sheeted down, turning everything into a dark morass. Joe only stared at Stacy. He couldn't have heard that. She couldn't have said that.

"It was made by those who are dead, and the dead keep it," Kris muttered, from the backseat. "The way is shut."

It had the sound of a quote; Joe decided not to ask. Stacy, though, startled, then glared.

"Oh, you recognize it?" Kris sounded way too innocent.

Stacy only pulled from Joe's grasp, slammed the van door behind her, and started up the hill, towards the house.

Joe wavered — part of him wanted to drive off and forget he'd ever met the girl, but she was obviously in some kind of trouble. Big trouble. And very pretty. He couldn't forget that part. He sighed, shoved open the van door to go after her.

"Figures," Kris muttered, squeezing past the front seats, obviously intending to follow. "She looks like Galadriel on an acid trip — she can't even be original."

"No, tag!" Joe stopped her. "Stay here. Please." He heard sounds of car tires in mud, further down the hill, saw flashes of headlights on leaves and brush; Kris opened her mouth. "Please." Joe shook her shoulder for emphasis and shoved the van keys into her hand. "If this goes bad, get out. Go for help." He glanced back down the road — a car was just making the last turn. "Hide in the back. Stay out of sight."

She met his gaze, then nodded, slid quickly into the back of the van.

Joe took off running up the hill, a steep, treacherous climb made worse by mud and slick grass, and that long grass hid mole hills, ankle-turning rocks, dead branches. He made the porch just as the cars and trucks were screeching up to the gates; he shoved the front door open, stumbled in, slammed it behind him, then looked around frantically for something, anything,to block the door with.

Wait…

He took another look. A deadbolt?

For that matter, for such a dilapidated-looking house on the outside, the windows were un-broken and the door was surprisingly solid. Joe slid the deadbolt home, then pulled the curtains on the door window back slightly to look out. Down by the gates, men had gathered in front of the van, arguing and gesturing towards the house. A few moved up closer, yelling — the word "witch" ringing through loud and clear.

Dear God, hopefully they wouldn't spot Kris.

Breathing out hard, Joe let the curtains fall back before the men noticed him, but then stopped again, rubbed the lace between his fingers. It felt dusty and a little sticky, but still not as worn or threadbare as he would've thought, given how the exterior looked.

Oookay. This wasn't making sense.

Joe turned. He stood in a large foyer, solid intact stairs complete with spindle-railing — and carpeting — leading up to the second floor. Oil paintings of spooky children in Victorian garb covered the walls. Above him, a chandelier thick with cobwebs. A table in the foyer held books; an old-fashioned high-backed chair was next to it, along with a grandfather clock. Spiderwebs and dust covered everything, but other than that, the place didn't look abandoned, not at all.

Now it really wasn't making sense. He'd explored abandoned houses before, with Frank and Kris alongside and Kris chattering about whatever ghost story she'd read that day. Usually such places were a wreck. Thieves and vandals would grab everything not nailed down and destroy the rest, and what the vandals didn't get, the weather and elements did.

He couldn't stop shivering; probably just the cold rain. But something about the place felt off, like something was watching — no, he was letting his imagination run away with him. Old spooky house did not equal ghosts, no matter what the tagalong or a crazy beautiful girl said. As Joe stared around, an open door on the other end of the foyer slowly squeaked closed, then swung open again.

"Stacy?" Joe went to the door, just as it swung closed, and grabbed it, yanked it back. A small dining area and kitchen, complete with an ancient gas-oven and icebox, but otherwise empty…and clear of spiderwebs.

And it had a back door.

Joe went over — another deadbolt, and he locked that one, too. It probably wouldn't hold if the men were angry or desperate enough to put effort into it, but still…

He stopped in the middle of the floor. The kitchen wasn't just clear of spiderwebs, it was in good repair, for an abandoned house. The counters were clean, the cabinets un-rotted. He went over to the sink, tried the faucet; the water was still on.

Maybe the house wasn't that abandoned…which meant he could add trespassing on top of everything else tonight. Wonderful.

He went back out to the foyer. The feeling of being watched scraped his nerves again, doubled, tripled, and Joe backed up, stared at the second floor landing. No one up there that he could see, no movement. But there was flickering light under a door to his right, and he smelled wood smoke. He slid the door open, stopped in surprise. A full fire roared in the fireplace…

…and Stacy sat in a rocking chair in front of that fire, rocking back and forth.

"Y'know," Joe said, trying to ignore the fire and not entirely succeeding — no way, she had no time to build that, a decidedly-spooked corner of his brain insisted — "there's an angry mob out there, and they seem to be chasing you. Daydreaming in front of a fire is not a survival skill right now."

"They won't come in here," Stacy said dreamily. "He'll protect me." She was looking around, unfocused, not seeing him. "Don't you hear her?"

"Hear who?"

"Her. She just screamed. Now she's crying. Soft, heartbreaking sobs."

Joe throttled his anger. Shaking her probably wouldn't do any good, and he didn't want to hurt her, yet. "Look, me and Kris just put ourselves in a lot of danger for you. 'They won't come in here' is not an answer and not an option!"

Her gaze settled on him again. "You're very kind to have helped me. I didn't mean to drag you into all this. Other people's troubles should be their own."

"Yeah, well, I have a tendency to get involved in other's problems," Joe snapped. She was the one who'd jumped in front of his van, but it was hard to keep that in mind, looking into those green eyes again. "Look, we need to get out of here. We can probably get out the back before they figure it out —"

"It's okay, Joe." Unconcerned, child-like. "They won't come in here. They're scared."

It had to be his destiny to be a confused straight-man for spooky girls. "Scared of what?"

Her smile was feral, just a hint of bared teeth. "The house."