Heads turned in the hallway, sniffing out the location of the heavenly smell of french fries, fresh from the frier. Someone had managed to procure a meal from a local burger place for lunch, instantly becoming the envy of everyone in the vicinity. That person was Riley, holding a brown paper takeout bag while fast walking on her way to the cafeteria.

Riley put down the bag in front of a lanky boy with a pretentious hairstyle and scattered bits of facial hair on his chin. He looked up from the bag at the poker-faced girl.

“How did you manage to get this into school still fresh?”

“I have my ways, Ian.”

Riley sat at the seat across from him.

“I’m Riley, Sammy’s campaign manager.”

“I know perfectly well who you are Riley, and I’m wondering why you haven’t left that sinking ship already.”

“…Because Sammy is my friend?”

Ian blinked.

“Ah, fair enough,” he said, opening the bag and inspecting its contents. “Every candidate will get equal space in our upcoming election article, and it will include interviews.”

Ian took out a fry and chomped on it, the crispy exterior crackling between his teeth.

“You’re not here to try and seduce me to try and get a puff piece, are you?” 

“Of course not. Sammy said no.”

Ian cracked a little chuckle. Riley cleared her throat.

“I have a story for you. Sammy has been running around school in her own free time, putting up notes on those… broken doors. All this work for the kids in this school and what does she get? Slapped on the wrist for vandalism!” 

Riley took a deep breath.

“I just think she deserves a little recognition.”

Ian thought for a moment.

“That’s not a bad story,” he started, resting his thumb and forefinger on his chin. “But we don’t have any space in our schedule, not before the election, at least.”

“What can I do to get you to make some changes to that schedule?”

Ian slammed his hand down.

“Riley, do you really expect me to make a mockery of the hallowed institution that is The Walter Mondale High School Times by accepting bribes?”

Riley sat up straight, eyes wide.

Ian burst out into laughter at her reaction, wiping a tear from his eye before settling down.

“Nah, I’m just kidding,” he said, reaching for another fry. 

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll get your story written and moved up in the schedule, and you just have to do me one little favor.”

“Tell me.”

* * *

The house was old, too old. Craterton, as Riley recalled hearing from Sammy, was founded in 1871 by adventurer and businessman John Crater as a hub for adventurers and businessmen. The decrepit house looked more sixteenth century, though it was rather small for something that looked like a gothic mansion. 

Riley was told that nobody had lived there for a long time, and that maybe nobody ever lived there at all. It was a popular spot for kids to dare each other to enter, a mysterious abandoned haunted house. There were very recent rumors that something had happened inside, reports of screeching and crashing sounds one night. Everyone was too afraid to go inside and check it out, but someone needed to take pictures for the article.

Riley looked through the viewfinder of the camera loaned to her by the newspaper club and snapped a picture of the outside as she approached the front door. The door was set under an overhang supported by thin columns, ever so slightly ajar. She peered through the crack, shifting left and right to survey the inside. The floor was cracked, and a chandelier was sunk into the floor.

Gingerly, Riley pushed the door, it shrieked a high pitched creak, slowly swinging open. Riley was struck with the smell of mold, rotting wood, and rust. Every surface seemed coated in a fine layer of dust and cobwebs. Riley shuddered, taking another photo.

She creeped inside, taking slow, careful steps to avoid falling into whatever lay underneath the broken floorboards. The wood squeaked with her every step. As she passed through the doorway, she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was behind her and if she would turn her head she would just be able to glimpse them.

She closed her eyes and shook her head.

Riley wanted to get another angle. She spotted a staircase to her left that could give her a good vantage point. Carefully, she walked up the steps. The wall near the stairs was lined with photos all the way up, Riley stopped and took a closer look, wondering if she could recognize any of the faces. 

There was something indistinct about the people in the photos, at a glance they seemed like fairly normal family pictures, but upon closer inspection, the faces were kind of strange, the lighting on them didn’t seem to quite match the rest of the scene, sometimes the eyes seemed almost smeared, stretched very slightly, and some faces were completely blurred, a mess of indistinct tone. 

Something creaked.

Riley turned her head, looking for whatever made the sound. 

Something creaked from another location.

Riley’s heart pounded. She wasn’t alone.

If she were to move, the floorboards would squeak, giving away her position. She covered her mouth, staying as still and quiet as possible. 

There was a skittering sound of something with many sharp legs and the creaking of wood, growing louder, closer.

Riley held her breath, her palms growing sweaty and her hair standing on end. She felt certain that if someone stood close enough, they could hear her heart beating.

A ringing sound echoed through the house, stuttering and changing pitch with each ring. The skittering grew further away from her, moving towards the ringing. Riley exhaled.

Not questioning why the gothic house had what sounded like a relatively modern landline, Riley dashed down the stairs while whatever was in the house with her was distracted by the phone.

She moved too hastily, slipping on the last step. 

She caught herself from falling, but couldn’t stifle a yelp. Her heart raced.

The skittering, the creaking of the floorboards grew louder and louder.

Quicker than she could react, it was coming towards her.

“What are you doing here?” a voice shouted.

Riley screamed.

* * *

“Sorry, kid, I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just dangerous here,” the voice said through the tinny speakers on a little dome shaped robot.

Riley stood near the street outside the old house, looking at her shoes.

“What are your robots doing here, Dr. Destroia?”

“Science.”

“…Science?”

“Mad Science. What are you doing here, Riley?”

Riley explained.

“You’re putting yourself in danger like this to help Sammy win?”

“Please don’t tell her. She’d kill me if she found out.”

“I don’t know, I feel like Sammy killing you would defeat the purpose.”

Riley glared at the little robot.

“Fine, fine. I won’t tell. Don’t do any more stupid stuff like this, you hear? You never really struck me as the type to throw yourself into harm’s way like this.”

Riley lightly pushed the robot with her foot. Its legs moved, adjusting its balance.

“You must really care about her, huh?”

Riley’s eyes widened and she turned red. The robot’s lens narrowed.

“Wait a minute, do you—”

“Shut up! What do you know, tin can?”

Riley stuffed her camera into her bag before storming away.