I grabbed a candle from the mantle and put it in a brass candle holder before moving towards the basement door. I couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of my face and moved slowly down the stairs. I was a few steps down when it felt like something was grabbing my ankle. I fell down the rest of the stairs with a scream. Nichole shouted, “I’m sorry, but I can’t stay.” I heard the patter of footsteps running across the wooden floor as she darted out of the house.

The candle landed a few feet from my face as I landed on my shoulder. The candlestick broke and I found myself on a cold concrete floor in a pitch black basement. I groaned in pain. Realizing where I was, I quickly dusted myself off while shouting, “Harry? Where are you?” I heard something scurry across the concrete floor. “Harry? Is that you?” I asked. I felt around on the floor hoping to find the candle and felt something in my hand. I fiddled with it for a moment only for it flick open with that distinct Zippo sound. I ran my thumb across the striker and it produced a small orange flame. I looked up and that is when I saw a face right in front of me. I dropped the lighter and scurried back on my palms as I stared at that ghastly gray face. Its dead eyes and dirty yellow hair stared back at me as the orange flame of the Zippo grew smaller on the floor in front of me. My eyes scanned the room and I did a double-take where the face was, only to find it gone. I picked up the lighter and found the broken candle. A few seconds later, I had a decent light source and pocketed the lighter.

I surveyed the basement and saw that the first several steps up were broken. Realizing I’d have to climb back up, I decided to look for Harry. I was scared, but I could only imagine how much trouble I’d be in if I’d left him there. Harry Clem, the arrogant bastard that I’d grown to hate sat huddled against a white door in the back of the basement. He was rocking back and forth as he mumbled incoherently. Relieved, I walked up and kicked him on the butt. “What’s wrong, chicken?” I asked.

He looked right through me. No, he was looking right past me. I turned slightly to my side and saw that face again. I planted my foot on the door and ran through it grabbing Harry along the way. Standing in the tiny root cellar I slammed the door and set the candle on the shelf. It was more than enough light fill the room. Resting on the floor in front of the door, I shivered as I felt a hard thump against the door. A few minutes later Harry sat up. He was crying. Tears streamed from Harry’s eyes when he told me a story through his hiccups and sobs.

“I’ve never been here before,” he said. “My older brother told me a story about this place and I thought it would be cool to scare you guys. Jim told me that any kid who went in this house never came out. I didn’t believe him. Tom Schlessinger killed his wife and kids in this house. Now he is gonna kill us.” He put his hands over his face and wailed. “I don’t want to die,” he cried and he leaned back into the wall, almost knocking the candle off its perch. I reached over to stabilize it when I noticed a pile of yellowed papers next to a dusty jar with pickles still inside them. I picked the papers up and noticed the tearing along the left edge. They were the missing pages from the journal. I quickly scanned the pages. Most of them were complaints about bad crops, but the last one sent chills up and down my spine.

“Edna says I’m drinking too much. What does she know. There was no harvest this year. I had to burn the crops. We’re broke. At this rate I’ll have to sell to Bromm and get a job in town. Fuck that. Edna and the kids don’t appreciate how much this farm means. Later tonight I’m going to show that bitch exactly how much it means to me…. with a shotgun.”

I handed the page to Harry and I could see him shake as he read it. It was around that time that my stomach growled from hunger and we both laughed for a moment. I stared at the ancient jar of pickles and wondered whether or not I should eat them, but Harry had caught my eye. He opened them and shoved one into his mouth.

“They’re really soft,” he said with a mouth full of the old pickles.

We ate pickles in the candlelight and shuddered each time there was a crash on the door behind me. The last one caused me to budge a little. Harry started to cry. I motioned for him to come closer.

I whispered, “Okay, if we run to the stairs and I give you a boost you can pull me up.”

Harry shook his head. “What about that thing?”

“I’ll open the door and let it rush towards us. It will barrel in here and then we can pull the door closed behind us and run for the stairs.”

Harry nodded and I stood up.

We both stood to the side of the door and I opened it just in time for the thing to rush past us. Harry pushed the door closed and we darted for the stairs. We heard the creature beat against the wood door. At the foot of the broken stairs, I flicked the Zippo on. I pushed Harry up. I handed him the lighter and he reached down for me. I was about halfway up when I felt a cold hand on my ankle. I pulled on Harry who, to his credit, was pulling with all of his strength. My shoe came off and Harry fell backwards, pulling me up with him. We shot up the rest of the stairs and through the house.

Dishes flew out of the cupboards in the kitchen and crashed into the wall next to us as we ran into the living room. The candles on the mantle were still burning, which illuminated the photographs on the wall. The faces on the figures seemed to push out of the frames and reach out toward us as we ran for the front door. I heard loud footsteps behind me and I turned my head to see a gray skinned man running towards us. Harry and I cleared the porch and made it to the gravel driveway. I winced in pain with each step I took with my bare foot, but continued through the field and a good mile into the woods before we finally stopped to catch our breath. A howling wind tore through the woods as we jogged along the trail guided only by the moonlight. An hour or so later, we made it to an old farm road. Harry grabbed me by the shirt. “Follow me,” he said. “My uncle lives about half a mile up this road.”

We ran for about five more minutes before we were standing outside a run-down trailer. A gruff man in his late 40s met us at the door. “Who’s your little friend, Harry?” he asked. He let us in and I called my mother. She showed up 20 minutes later with a pair of sandals in my size. I thought she’d be angry, but instead she wrapped her arms around my neck.

“I was so worried about you,” she said. I could see tears well up in her eyes. “Nichole showed up at the house saying you went to the Schlessinger Farm.” She grabbed my shoulders. “That place is dangerous. Don’t ever go back.”

I proceeded to tell my mother what happened, minus my make-out session with Nichole. Harry chimed in saying, “He’s telling the truth.”

Harry’s uncle scowled. “Harry,” he started. “I’ll beat the hell out of you if I ever hear of you going back there.”

My mom looked at Harry’s uncle. “My father’s gonna bulldoze that house later this summer. I’m gonna ask him to do it as soon as possible,” she said. Harry’s uncle nodded and I was taken back to my mom’s car. I tried to sleep that night, but every time I closed my eyes I saw that gray skinned man and his cold eyes.

A few weeks passed and I finally saw Nichole again. She was walking hand-in-hand with Harry Clem. I had half a mind to sock him in the jaw, but I just walked up to both of them and put on a friendly face.

“Hey Harry, wanna go throw M-80s in creek?” I asked. He smiled and left Nichole in the dust. We ran off to play.

We’ve been friends for the better part of 20 years now. Believe it or not, this isn’t the weirdest story I could tell you about my time with Harry Clem. One of these days, I’ll tell you about the time we went to Waverly Hills Sanatorium. I haven’t heard from Nichole in years. Last I heard, she was working at Disneyland as Cinderella, but that was 10 years ago.

My grandfather died a few years back and my aunt inherited the old Schlessinger land. I took my 10-year-old cousin up there to go fishing a few weeks ago, but I was sure to have us both in the truck by dusk. As I drove off I could have sworn I saw someone standing where that old house used to be.