"No Regrets" by Joseph Sackett

No Regrets 

by Joseph Sackett

 

Finn's pulse spiked as they pushed through the final wall of kudzu. The Bowen house loomed ahead, its Victorian frame twisted by decades of neglect. Black mold crawled up the clapboard siding between the spray-painted pentagrams and red spray-painted letters spelling WITCH.

"Holy shit," Justin breathed. "Place looks worse than last time."

Finn pulled out his phone, angling for a shot that captured the sagging porch roof. "When were you here last?"

"Spring break with Tyler, but we didn't go in." Justin glanced at Eda. "Cops showed up before we could."

Eda gave a flirty smile and crouched near a rusted mailbox half-buried in weeds. "S. BOWEN" was still visible beneath layers of rust. She snapped a photo with her iPhone.

"You know, they say she was the mother of the Roadside Killer?" Eda stood, brushing dirt off her knees. "I found the police reports. Seven victims, all found within two miles of here."

"Eight," Finn corrected, already moving toward the porch. "Kyla Berry never made the official count, but she disappeared the same week the killings stopped."

The front steps groaned under his weight. Paint flakes drifted down like dead skin.

The door frame splintered as Finn worked the rusted hinges. Years of moisture had swollen the wood, and when it finally gave, a cascade of dust and plaster chunks rained down. All three of them doubled over, coughing.

"After you," Finn wheezed.

Eda flashed him a smile—the one she gave baristas and cashiers. Not the warm grin she'd just given Justin five minutes ago. His stomach twisted as she went inside.

Justin waited until she'd disappeared into the darkness before sticking his tongue out at Finn and throwing him the bird. The gesture stung.

Finn ground his teeth. His supposed friend had dated half the decent-looking girls at school—Sarah Tingey, Laura Moss, that sophomore with the nose ring. Justin collected them like baseball cards. But Eda wasn't like those girls. She actually gave a damn about the real history of places like this, not just Instagram opportunities. She'd spent weeks researching the Bowen murders at the library while other kids got drunk behind the Dairy Queen.

That's why Finn had invited her here. Their shared obsession with this house's dark past.

The living room stretched off the narrow foyer, furniture draped in yellowed sheets. A china cabinet stood against the far wall, plates arranged behind cracked glass. The dining room, connected by pocket doors that stuck open, revealed a massive oak table set for two with tarnished silverware and dusty plates.

Finn's flashlight swept across crayon drawings still clinging to the old Frigidaire in the kitchen. The heads were lopped off in each drawing. The pantry door hung crooked on its hinges, revealing empty shelves and mouse droppings.

"Second floor's where it gets interesting," Finn said.

The attic. Every kid at school knew about the attic. Sybil Bowen had locked her son up there, cast some spell to trap his spirit, or so the story went. Did Finn believe it? Not exactly. But enough to make his palms sweat.

Justin bounded up the stairs two at a time, then turned back. "You coming, pussy?"

Eda chuckled and tapped Finn's shoulder. "Don't be scared. Police searched the entire home. Nothing was ever found."

Finn shook his head. "Yeah, but when Sybil died, they said the attic had been untouched. No one's ever been up there. You know the rumors."

Finn found himself alone in a narrow hallway. He checked the first bedroom. It was empty except for a brass bed frame and water-stained wallpaper peeling in sheets. The bathroom door stuck halfway open. He pushed through, flashlight catching a clawfoot tub filled with debris. He realized he was alone.

"Guys? Hello?"

Nothing.

"Fuck..."

Where did they go? He backtracked toward the master bedroom. The door sat slightly ajar, and through the gap came muffled sounds. Heavy breathing, fabric rustling. Finn eased it open another inch.

Justin had Eda pressed against the wall, one hand tangled in her red hair, the other sliding up her waist. Her arms wrapped around his neck as they kissed.

Bullshit. The word burned through Finn's mind. He'd put in all the goddamn work to get them here. Weeks of research, mapping the property lines, finding the gap in the fence. All to impress Eda, maybe finally get a date. But no. Fucking Justin had to ruin it. Finn hadn't wanted him along for exactly this reason, but Eda had insisted when she'd heard Justin mention the house at school.

Cock blocker.

Finn shuffled backward when a scraping noise came from behind. Turning, he raised his flashlight and saw it. The attic door bore a massive red X across its surface, another pentagram below that. SON OF THE WITCH in dripping letters. Someone had added crude genitalia in black marker.

The handle burned cold against Finn's palm. Every horror movie he'd ever watched screamed at him to stop, but the image of Eda wrapped around Justin made his fingers tighten.

A whisper drifted through the wood, soft as decay. "I'll take care of them... just let me out."

Finn's bladder clenched. His legs locked. But then Justin's laugh echoed down the hall. That same cocky laugh from when he'd stolen Carmen at homecoming.

Fuck him. And fuck her.

He slowly opened the door. Darkness poured out thick as tar, carrying the stench of death. Finn gagged, eyes watering. At the top of the attic stairs, two white pinpricks blinked. Eyes.

Finn's sneakers slammed against rotted floorboards, down the stairs three at a time, shoulder-checking the front door hard enough to leave splinters in his jacket. He stumbled onto dead grass, chest heaving, and spun to face the second floor.

The attic window glowed faintly. Then came the screams—First Justin's, raw panic, then Eda's, higher, desperate.

After a moment, a pale face looked out with a grin.

He'd opened the door, and he'd do it again.

Finn smiled all the way home.