It had been decades since the last visitor. Sure, there were the occasional rowdy kids, pushing, prodding their way in, hoping for a scare or to prove a point, but they never knocked. So, it was a surprise when a wooden thunk echoed through the rooms and halls, so firm, so polite. The last person to come knocking hasn’t been seen for a long time. 

She stood at the doorstep, a strangely familiar woman, but certainly a newcomer. She had such an earnest demeanor, the wide-eyed curiosity of a thinker, surely she was a woman of science. 

So, for the first time in decades, the door opened voluntarily. No broken windows to be repaired, no busted locks that time, the front door simply swung open. She seemed surprised, yet not frightened as those children would be if the door were to open for them. She moved her head left and right. She didn’t see who she was looking for.  

Her voice called out, it reverberated off of every hard surface. She was asking questions, and there would be an attempt to sate her curiosity, but first there were questions about her that needed answers. She called out again. The bathroom echoed her words. She followed the sound, her steps squeaking the old floorboards. The wood was so weakened that it could easily break underneath her, a few little snaps and she may never be seen again, but the floor held steady underneath her confident stride.

She saw herself in the bathroom mirror, and she was seen now too. Her hair stuck in odd angles off of her head, her manner of dress was unique, she was so young, there was so much life left in her. The strange familiarity now seemed much less strange. She blinked and pulled back her lips to check her gums. All these odd facial expressions were repeated back to her with an uncanny precision. The bathroom light flickered, a chandelier, inexpensive but beautiful, heavy enough to break a rock yet nothing compared to the elegant number in the main hall. Its chain was rusted, it could easily snap and fall with the slightest influence. She mouthed something. A question.

The phone rang. 

Undeterred, she made her way over and picked up the phone. A voice came through the speaker; it was clear she hadn’t the slightest who it belonged to and yet she spoke as if she were talking to just anyone. She introduced herself politely, explained that she had recently moved into the odd house just down the road and was looking for some information about someone who lived in the neighborhood prior, and since this abode seemed quite lovely and vintage she hoped that maybe it had something relevant to her search hidden within.

Years ago the young woman’s mother had paid many visits to the house, and years ago she was let inside since she was so polite and so curious, a woman of science. Her mother had made such wonderful conversation, just as the daughter had years later.

The voice told her of these encounters and the daughter seemed delighted. She asked for more details, and the voice was happy to oblige.

It told her of the leisurely afternoon tea times spent discussing philosophy, it told her how she would come to read books and the local newspaper.

It told her of the time she protested the house’s demolition, preventing the town from going through with it.

It told her of the time she spent rummaging around the drawers when she thought nobody was looking.

It told her that her mother had left one day without a word as to why, and when she returned oh so recently, she took something precious and never brought it back.

The daughter said nothing for a long moment. The house and the voice grew silent too.

Finally, her tone changed. Her heart raced, a drop of sweat dripped to the floor. She was trying to hide it, but it would be obvious even to those who had a dearth of meaningful human contact for years and years and years.

Ever so politely, with only a subtle waverance, she said her goodbyes and put down the receiver.  But, if she were to leave then, her company would be sorely missed.

She walked back to the door, but gone was the confident stride, the wonderful assuredness that carried her safely so far. 

The rotten, molded floorboards creaked and cracked, split and shattered into jagged splinters.

She barely hopped out of the way, nicking her ankle on a protruding piece. Blood dripped from the open wound and was hungrily absorbed into the floor. She started to run. She was nimble, a spry young woman.

The chain on the chandelier hanging from the main hall was not quite in as bad shape as the little one in the bathroom, but at that moment it was needed for it to fall, so the screeching of bending wrought iron filled the house and it came crashing down. 

She got off lucky. 

She had thrown herself onto the porch, escaping her fate by a mere second. She scrambled to her feet, breathing heavily. She gasped out an apology and ran off.

The house would be here if she were to visit again.

She, or any future child of hers.

Or her sibling, perhaps.

The house would, as it had gotten so used to doing, wait as long as it took for another visitor.