The Porter House

The huge, creaky house, known as the Porter House, had been abandoned and neglected for as long as anyone could remember. It sat nestled in a grove of gnarled trees with wild, seemingly alive vines creeping closer to the foundation in an attempt to reclaim the land. Alan felt strangely drawn to it, despite it’s creepy appearance, from the moment he first glimpsed it as a child.

His family used to come up to the lake every summer. He and his sister would creep close to the house and dare each other to run up and touch it, but neither of them was quite brave enough to actually do such a thing. His sister would run off, terrified, but Alan would remain, staring at the old house, wondering what secrets lay within.

When the withered old man at the estate agency sold it to him years later, he expected to feel that same thrill of fear he felt as a kid. Instead he felt a sense of belonging, as if he was meant to live here and learn its secrets.

He turned the tarnished brass key in the lock and stepped inside.

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