Welcome to the Dark House by Laurie Faria Stolarz

peer over my shoulder at the stationery, wondering what it’s
     all about, especially since we’re only here for the weekend.
    I turn away and move over to her bed. Lying on the pillow is an envelope marked with
     her brother Harris’s name. I pick it up and look back at the bathroom door, still
     closed.
    The envelope hasn’t yet been sealed.
    I open it up, trying to be quiet, my eyes darting to the bathroom door. Thankfully,
     it remains closed. Finally, I get the envelope open and take out the card. It’s a
     note to Harris from Natalie.
     
    Dear Harris,
    I know you’re angry at me. Ever since I won this contest, something that was supposed
     to make me happy, it’s been nothing but misery—misery for you, for Mom, for Dad. And
     so it’s also been miserable forme.
    I know you didn’t want me to come here. You made that clear from the start. But it’s
     too late to change things now. If I could I would, because nothing is worth anything
     if I don’t have you in my corner.
    I keep trying to talk to you. I’m not sure if you’re listening. But I don’t think
     I can make it through this weekend without your voice.
    Love,
    Natalie
     
    I return the letter to the envelope. She must’ve tried calling home again. Her brother
     obviously doesn’t want to talk to her. Still, I go downstairs to use the phone, hoping
     that she was the one who made the last call.
    I pass the dining area—still a mess from dessert—and move into the living room. The
     lights are off. I flick them on, noticing a sudden chill in the air. The window over
     the sofa is open. The sheers blow in the breeze.
    I go over to shut and lock the window, suddenly feeling like I’m being watched. I
     peer over my shoulder. “Natalie?” I call, wondering if she might be lurking.
    No one answers. The stairway looks empty.
    I glance over at the kitchen—also empty. And then I look toward the main door, assuming
     that it’s locked. I check anyway, wrapping my hand around the knob. It turns and my
     heart sinks.
    What if someone broke in?
    I lock the door and turn to face the room again. “Midge,” I attempt to call out, but
     my voice is far too soft.
    I take a few more steps, before coming to a sudden halt, feeling my whole body tense.
    Someone’s there. In the closet. The door is partially open.
    I can see eyes through the door crack, watching me, locked on mine.
    My chest instantly tightens. I hurry into the kitchen and grab a knife from the chopping
     block. I begin moving toward the closet. My fingers trembling, I hold the knife down
     by my side. My heart hammers. I can feel the sweat at my brow.
    I whisk the door open with a thwack.
    No one’s there.
    The closet is empty.
    There’s just an umbrella and a pair of binoculars.
    I let out a breath and rest my head against the wall, feeling a giant wave of relief.
     I move over to the desk, grab the phone, and press redial. The phone rings and rings,
     but then someone finally picks up.
    “Hello?” I ask, when no one says anything. “Is someone there?”
    “Who’s this?” A woman’s voice.
    “Is this Natalie’s mother?” I ask.
    “Who’s this?” she repeats.
    “I’m a friend of Natalie’s and she’s here with me now…in Minnesota…on the trip to
     see one of Justin Blake’s films….”
    The woman doesn’t respond.
    “Anyway,” I continue, winding the coil cord around my fingers, “she feels really bad
     about coming here. She knows that you don’t approve.”
    “Well, she’s right. Her father and I don’t approve.”
    “Okay, well she feels really bad,” I say, knowing I’m repeating myself. “And I know
     that if she could do it again—go back in time, I mean—she’d make a different choice.”
    “What did you say your name was?”
    “Ivy Jensen.”
    “And she’s talked to you about things?”
    “Well, I know how she feels about her decision to go on this trip…and how she feels
     about Harris.”
    “She told you about