The house had been restored not long after the fire, the Historical Society sending in workers every few weeks to ensure the house stayed in pristine shape in case any tourists wanted to walk the famed halls. After the murders seven years previous, Allerdale Hall had been on any self-respecting ghost hunter's bucket list. People swarmed the property on Halloween, paying buckets of money just to peek around inside and see the ruined elevator that had been August Hasting's doom.
No one was quite sure what had happened or who had killed everyone, but most people whispered that the son had gone insane after being stuck in the house for a month with only his family to talk to. They said he'd pushed his father into the unstable elevator, killed the maid and her daughter, and then murdered his sister when she tried to get away. Others said that the Sharpe bloodline was cursed, that it was only a matter of time before the curse took them all out, and it was helped along by the idea everyone had that ghosts were the problem.
But all the fear in the world didn't stop the newest group of ghost hunters from driving all the way there, their cars laden down with equipment and food, music playing loudly as the passengers sang along to it. There were five people in all and they couldn't look anymore different. All were in their late teens, but the different styles they sported would be enough to send someone's head spinning—the oldest boy was dressed in designer clothes, the girl next to him sported what she lovingly referred to as hippy-chic, the girl in the back had curly black hair and managed to make a tomboy-styled clothing look girly, while the boy in the other car dressed in rumpled clothing from the night before, and the boy next to him had a style all his own that made him look adorable.
The two cars parked in front of the house, everyone getting out to stretch and shooting each other excited grins. This was like their very own Stanley Hotel and they were all hoping to get some evidence before they had to head back to school. "What did I tell you," the hippy, Rachel, asks, bumping her shoulder against the boy to her left.
"Well, it doesn't look too shabby," the boy, Mike, replies," but if I get lice from this place, you're doing the treatments." Rachel just grins, not taking her eyes off the house. It was amazing, like something out of one of her ghost stories.
"Where do you want this, Eggs," Benjamin asks, holding one of the heavy bags. His glasses were halfway down his nose, but he never seemed to notice. Before Rachel could answer, Noah spoke up, using his free hand to fix Benjamin's glasses. There was definite chemistry between the two boys, but it was better left as friendship since Noah and Titch were dating.
"Follow me, Benji," Noah instructs confidently," I'm sure we can find you a room that's not too dusty." Titch grins and follows the boys inside with her own bag and the expensive boxed-up tent Mike had generously bought for them all. Mike was loaded, but he made a point not to brag about it, and that was what Rachel liked best about him. Well, that and the way he could scream like a girl whenever his precious hair was mussed.
"Shall we enter the house on haunted hill," Mike asks, waggling his fingers in a dramatic attempt at horror.
"After you, my good sir," Rachel says with a bow. Mike gains what Rachel called his 'aristocrat' face, the one he pulled whenever he was around super important people and had to be on his best behavior.
"Come along, Eggs. I want to bust me some ghosts." As the pair crossed the threshold, Rachel became aware of faint whispering that grew louder the closer she got to the kitchen. Thinking her friends had found something interesting in there, she moves to look inside, finding the room completely empty of people.
"…Think they'll be scared if we slam the shudders," a male voice asked. Rachel smiles, having studied the house's history long enough to know that the voice must've belonged to Milo Hastings. From what she'd read about him in his obituary section, he'd been the type to pull pranks while his sister and father were more subdued.
"Sorry," she says by way of answer, enjoying the surprised gasps she got from the ghosts," slamming shudders are just part of the job and you'll have to do a lot better than that to get us scared."
