The House Gibson Stayed In

Nathan was exhausted and the last goal felt impossible. He dashed down the field as two opponents surrounded. The firm ground grew muddy, the air filled with moisture, and sweat pooled on his back. The dark clouds clamped down on the sunlight — reminding him of a church pamphlet.

He cut through the guards and shot the ball down the field. Everyone's eyes glued to the ball, waiting for that last point. Sure, it was only practice but Nathan needed to perfect his form for the recruiters. In the last second, the wind pushed the ball over. It ricocheted against the rail and straight across the street.

Nathan grabbed his hand quickly before anyone noticed it shaking. “Great.”

“You kick it, you get it!” yelled Brian.

“I forgot all about Gibson’s old house,” said Caleb.

Nathan jogged across the street. To his right and left stood two perfect suburban houses – one being his own. Between them, a battered field with a deathly long driveway stretched yards back to an abandoned mcmansion. Crab grass squirmed through the driveway’s cracks. The grass animal ornaments suffered like the rabid lawn, decomposed and weather-torn.

Luckily, the ball only rolled halfway down. But that was close enough to stare at the decrepit castle. Its exterior blanketed with splotchy, water-stained paint – the eroded skeleton of a suburban dream. Cracks and mildew traced all around its walls like dehydrated veins. Pieces of the facade shed revealing raw cement beneath. Windows decorated with thick grime and dirt trapped between double pane glass.

He let his hand shake. He stared at the window on the second floor, digging at his hand until it stung. He squinted closer — the grime was easier to see through as the last slither of sunlight feathered out.

Someone stood in his childhood friend's, Gibson’s, old room.

Nathan stepped forward. They immediately shut the blinds.

He sprinted back across the street as everyone packed their cleats and towels.

“Did you see something?” asked Caleb, glancing at Nathan's hand.

“Huh? Oh, no, it’s fine.”

“That house is still creepy after all these years,” said Caleb

They all gathered in the field like some sacred bonfire as they exchanged rumors. The light drizzle left a trace of musk in the air.

“How long has it been since anyone lived in it?” asked one of the newer guys in the neighborhood.

“We were what, eight?” asked Caleb. “So about nine years since it’s been abandoned.”

Another chimed in. “Yeah, I heard not a single real estate agent can sell the place.”

One of them looked over to Nathan. “You ok, Nathan?”

He was in his own world. A world that still housed Gibson and his pain. A pain he had to carry. The memories returned; the screech of his cries, the rumble of his fights, the discomfort of his silence. Haunted by association.

“More happened when it was just Nathan there," said Caleb.

“Oh, that’s right,” said Brian, another player. “His parents did beat the crap out of him, didn’t they?”

Everyone stared at Brian. “My bad,” he said. “When we were kids, I always thought his parents did that because he kept kicking soccer balls through Mrs. Green's windows.”

The group chuckled as they recalled how bad Gibson was at soccer, getting into trouble from the crotchety old lady down the street.

“He got the nastiest, deepest gash ever on his hand one time,” said Nathan.

“Would’ve left me traumatized,” Caleb side eyed Nathan’s hand. “It was down to the bone. I know it left a scar.”

“Was it that bad?” asked Brian.

“He often came to soccer with red handprints on his arms,” said Caleb. “You know, he never considered them his parents. Always called them by their first names.”

“I heard it was haunted,” said the newer kid.

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” said Brian. “Remember his room had that weird locked room in it, the one we thought was a closet?”

“Even Gibson didn’t know what was in there,” said Caleb. “And they made sure he didn't."

“Gibson said it was their first adopted son,” said Nathan. “Jeremy.”

“Heard only the parents would enter with a bowl of oatmeal and water,” said Caleb.

“Weren’t they into witchcraft?” asked Brian.

“It's getting late guys,” said Nathan. “I gotta head in and finish my college applications.”

The little circle of soccer players dispersed into the evening – until two were left, Nathan and Caleb. Nathan’s eyes bounced between them and the house.

“Are you sure you ok?” asked Caleb. “You're digging at it again.”

“Yeah, just wish I could've helped him back then,” said Nathan.

Caleb stared at the house as if memories came flooding back. “The recruiters are coming next week to interview us then we do the college tours. I'm just about done with all my applications.”

Nathan stared at the house. “Something just feels off.”

One early night, Nathan tackled his applications. But his mind drifted. Where was Gibson? Was that him in the house? Was he upset at Nathan?

A hard thud knocked against the window. Nathan shot up and stared at the house. One light cut the darkness — Gibson's room.

He scanned the room and focused on that locked door. He scratched his hand until an arm slung around the doorframe and shut Gibson’s light off. Startled, Nathan tripped over his own feet. He stayed on the floor until his body stopped quivering.

The next morning, he searched the web for hours. He looked into every real estate site and it wasn't listed anywhere. He looked into public records; The Thorns still owned it.

A knock at the front door brought Nathan back to reality. He rushed to the front and let Caleb in.

“Dude, they still own the house,” said Nathan.

Good morning to you too,” said Caleb. “Have you finished any of the applications yet?”

“They never get any mail, no one maintains it – why pay for a house you obviously don't want anymore?”

Caleb sighed. “Bro, remember, his parents owned that online herbal business?”

“A Thorns Touch,” said Nathan. “But turns out they built that house themselves. Like a year before we were born. To leave it only five years later?”

“That I didn't know,” said Caleb. “But rich people do dumb things. They probably live in tents off the grid or something now.”

“They kept it for a reason,” said Nathan. “I keep thinking, how could I have helped him?”

After practice the old house held him in a trance until the savory scent of BBQ caught him. He sped to the backyard, set his ball down, and ate before he locked in on the applications.

Nathan woke up to his laptop screen and a burning pain on his arm. A red handprint as if someone yanked him. He snapped around the room, trembling. Nothing. He searched the house as he headed down for ice.

Something caught his eye in the backyard; his soccer ball was gone. He browsed the yard. “I know I sat it here somewhere. Mom wouldn't touch it,” he thought.

Where could it be? Were they robbed? No, not in Suncrest Springs.

He searched the living room. His eyes darted around hoping it would materialize. He treaded back outside.

Mesmerized by the mansion again, he picked the scab on his hand he etched in not too long ago. Was it over there? No. How? Why would anyone want his ball? Unless…

Nathan marched over. The living room window was broken. He trudged inside. Nathan sank at what the grand foyer had become; a relic of wealth. Everything was covered in a velvet layer of dust and grime. The scent of rotting wood clogged his nose. Curved staircases warped from moisture, its railing like a crumbled spine.

The ball rested in the living room in a pile of broken glass. He grabbed it and something stumbled across the floor above. He made his way upstairs avoiding raining debris. Every step creaked throughout the entire blotched, ivory cave.

In front of Gibson's door, they rung in his head; Every scream. Every whimper. Every cry.

He reached for the doorknob. Heavy breathing came from the other side. Not of someone exhausted, but of someone quelling their hyperventilation.

Before he touched the doorknob, Caleb texted him; ‘Dude where are you? Did you forget about our double date?’ Nathan barreled back home.

Not too long after the date, Caleb and Nathan relaxed at home until Nathan’s mom arrived from her shift. She reminded him the recruiters would be there in the morning and to make sure his applications were done.

Nathan popped his laptop open. Tabs about that old house were still open.

“I don't get your obsession with that house,” his mom said. “No one has visited since a little while after they moved out.”

Nathan perked up. “A little after?”

“Yeah,” she said. “About a month after they moved out they came back looking around like they forgot something.”

“Wait,” said Nathan. “I wonder if –”

“Finish the application now!” demanded his mom. “Caleb, can you order a pizza for us tonight? I need to shower.”

Caleb whipped out his phone. “On it, Miss M.”

Caleb asked Nathan about the house. Nathan told him what he heard and how awful the house looked since they were kids. How he swore he saw someone in there.

“Is that why your itching episodes returned?” asked Caleb.

“Why come back a month after. What were they looking for?” asked Nathan.

Nathan’s eyes brightened, he rushed upstairs and returned with his hand balled. He showed Caleb a new, barely used key.

“Whats that the key to?” asked Caleb.

“Im pretty sure the locked room,” said Nathan.

“But how’d you get the key?” asked Caleb.

“One day, his dad was just angrier than I'd ever seen him,” started Nathan. “For no reason at all, he barged into his room and heaved his boot right into Gibson's chest. He made a hole in the wall. A key fell out of his pocket in the process and I grabbed it but I forgot to give it to Gibson.”

“So what are you gonna do with the key?” Caleb gave Nathan a suspicious look.

“I gotta see,” declared Nathan. “This feeling won't leave me.”

The delivery guy arrived and the three of them chatted about the date. Afterwards, Nathan knocked out a few applications and called it a night.

In the middle of the night, a tap at the window. Nathan jumped up. Nothing. But there was another heavy pain – this one on the center of his chest. He looked at his chest; a red mark the shape of a boot. He rubbed it until the pain subsided.

Another tap. More aggressive. Intentional.

He hopped back up. The light was on in Gibson’s room again.

Not a blink. A small shadow stood in the hall, then someone zipped past the doorway.

Nathan caught himself on his book shelf as he lost his breath.

He headed outside. The mansions’ door was cracked open. He turned on the phone's flashlight to light his way. Upstairs, he was frozen at the door.

He held the doorknob. He inhaled and turned.

The room was dark, someone sat on Gibson’s bed. Nathan turned on the light. There was only the bed and a dresser next to it. The guy sitting there looked familiar. It had to be him. So much time had passed.

“Gibson?” Nathan asked.

“The screams won't go away,” said Gibson. He still had that mopey look.

‘What screams?” asked Nathan.

Gibson pointed to the locked door. “I can’t find the key anywhere. I've looked all over my parents house, this house, everywhere. I just need it to stop,” his eyes swelled.

“The key to what?”

Gibson nodded towards that locked door.

“And what are you gonna do in that room?” asked Nathan.

“I have a way to stop the screams. I just need to get in there.”

Nathan’s hand shivered. A weird feeling surged through his body, a jolt erupted in his nervous system. This is how he could have his friends back. It was Gibson's battle.

He handed Gibson the key, shaking.

Gibson's face lit up. “Where was it?”

“I found it in the yard a few years back,” said Nathan.

“Thanks, man,” said Gibson. He stood up as if he just finished midterms. He turned the key, and opened it with a quivering arm.

Nathan's stomach bounced around. He’d finally see that room, that cellar, that prison. A cold breeze wisped out and chains rattled. The darkness kept Nathan back. Gibson pushed forward with purpose. Nathan scrambled for his phone, but Gibson yanked the light switch first.

It resembled an attic, the room came to a fine dark corner where the chains rattled. Nathan’s bones chilled.

In chains a tiny, pale, withered man cowered. One arm and leg were chained to the walls of the room as he rested over a pentagram.

“What the hell…” said Nathan.

Gibson kneeled next to the chained man. He chuckled a bit. “My people were into some dark stuff, man.” Gibson scanned the room and rummaged through splintered dressers and soggy boxes.

Nathan gave the withered guy a closer look. The guy looked over to Nathan and his eyes came to life. “Nathan…”

Nathan took a second glance. An old scar stretched across his hand. Nathan’s heart jumped up his throat and he shot up.

“Gibson!?”

The withered guy looked over. “Help…”

Nathan shot up. That's why he never said his name. “If you're Gibson, then–

A flash of pain shot across Nathan's shoulder, forcing him to the ground. Fake Gibson held the other half of the broken plank.

“Who are you?!” asked Nathan.

“I'm their real son!” he said.

“I thought you died?”

“I was,” he said, pointing to Gibson. “Until he came along. The perfect boy.”

Nathan’s heart skipped.

“They used me,” said Gibson, shivering. “My body was no more than a vessel for their son’s resurrection.”

Nathan locked eyes with the fake. “Then whose body are you in, Gibson?”

“Jeremy's,” said Gibson. “They turned Jeremy’s body into a gate. Tied here to link here with the afterlife.”

“Why keep Jeremy’s body here?” asked Nathan.

“Who’d want a half-dead, now-immortal body lying around their home,” said Gibson. “In order for their son to inhabit my body, the ritual bound me to this body, permanently."

“Why not just switch with Jeremy?” asked Nathan.

“Witchcraft isn't as clean as it is on TV,” said fake Gibson, gripping the plank tighter. “They starved Jeremy then the switch.”

Nathan stared at the real Gibson – withered, weak, and fragile. Then to the imposter. He gave the key to the wrong soul.

Fake Gibson tossed the plank to Nathan and by the time he caught it, fake Gibson's shoulder was planted deep into Nathan’s stomach.

Nathan crashed against the wall with his chest burning. Fake Gibson landed rib shots before Nathan lunged back. They tumbled around the room until Nathan was on his back and fake Gibson pressed down trying to knock him out. He ended up on top of Nathan with a switch blade closing in on his face.

Nathan was worn out and in too much pain to push back. The knife came closer and closer. That was the room; death. Nothing but.

Before the knife reached his face, something crashed into fake Gibson's head. Fake Gibson looked over and Nathan drove his fist into the side of his head, grabbed his wrist and snapped it, releasing the knife. He quickly grabbed the blade.

Fake Gibson was out.

Nathan ran over to Gibson. “So will killing Jeremy’s body return everything to normal?”

“Im not sure how it all works but I think it's worth a try,” said Gibson.

He clutched the knife over Gibson's chest, barely holding it stable. He had to help his friend. That's what it meant. That's what help meant; to be a friend.

“In case you don't make it outta this, I-Im sorry Gibson.” he choked. “I should've told someone. Maybe then you wouldn't be in this mess.”

Gibson chuckled and coughed. “I never blamed you for that, man. Just get me back to my body.”

Nathan inserted the knife slowly into Gibson's chest. He winced quietly as it slid in, the bone crunched as he put his weight into it. One last breath left Gibson before he closed his eyes.

If Nathan was right, he’d get to bring Gibson home. If not, he’d be failing him, again.

Fake Gibson regained himself and jolted to Nathan yelling. “You don't get to take away my life!”

Before Fake Gibson could reach him a surge of black electricity erupted through the entire room. The force threw everyone against the wall and rendered them unconscious.

When Nathan awoke he crawled to Gibson's body and shook it. He placed his hand on his chest — it rose and lowered. He breathed, but who?

They coughed and strained. Nathan leaned in, hoping it was Gibson.

“I haven't gotten used to my body yet, could you help me up?”

Nathan’s eyes swelled – his muscles loosened.

Nathan grabbed his friend and headed out the house. The place one last glance. “Time to leave your old home,” said Nathan.

Sirens blared outside.

The recruiters and cops had arrived. Caleb was there talking to his dad. Nathan’s mom paced outside. Everyone looked over to them in shock.

“This was never my home,” said Gibson.

The End