When she made her way across the driveway of the old Pruitt house, a shiver ran up her spine, and the voice that had been following her around whispered near her ear. “Help her.”

Help who? Abby paused at the old rusty mailbox and gazed at the vacant house. The Pruitt's had not lived in the house since Abby was about six. Abby had always wondered why they had not attempted to sell it. While the house might have been decrepit, the land would still have been worth something. The wooden exterior of the house had seen much better days. The white painted slats now showed the tattered grey wood beneath. The kids all said the Pruitt house was haunted, but Abby had always brushed their words off. Most of them wouldn't know a haunted house from a hole in the ground. They were not cursed with the ability to hear them. Abby had never entered it to test their theory either, but today was a different story. She wasn't quite ready to go home and found the idea of a distraction held an appeal.

Walking up the steps of the house, Abby winced as they creaked beneath her. The wood seemed to crack and pop with each step, making her glad there were only a handful of steps to the front door. After she made it onto the porch which wrapped around the front to the left side, Abby peered into the windows. The complete inside of the house was barren. Abby walked back to the front and debated what her next move would be. She stood there for what seemed a lifetime, wondering if she should try to find a way inside. Abby nearly jumped out of her skin when the doorknob turned, and the door squeaked open on its own accord.

She could have waited some more as she tried to convince herself that it was fine to go inside, but instead, she did the opposite. Pushing the door open more, she slid inside. When it slammed loudly behind her, Abby jumped and took a few more steps into the house. Scanning the room around her, it looked as if someone had attempted to renovate the inside of the house, but had stopped mid way through. The wood paneling on the wall had been painted a stark white, which made her feel like she was standing inside an igloo. The flooring had been ripped up, and only old wooden boards remained. The window frames were covered in paint that had started to chip away.

Abby debated whether or not to explore the house some more, before she was drawn to the small fireplace at the center of the room. Walking closer to the where the old bricks were exposed inside it, she couldn't quite figure out what was drawing her to that spot. As she got closer, she saw a small piece of paper sticking out of the bottom. “That's odd.” How could a piece of paper even be there, considering no one had been in this house for quite some time? Had someone been camping out inside the house? Crouching down, she eyed it once more before curiosity got the better of her.

The moment her fingers touched the tattered slip of paper, a blizzard of air hit her face, and images flashed into the surface of her mind. They came so fast that Abby could not decipher them at all. Her mind was set at warp speed, and nothing could still the pictures enough to figure out what she was being shown. She squinted, hoping that closing her eyes a little would make it easier to process. Not at all. The air around her shifted, and foggy haze crept up the floor around her feet. The air pressure sizzled, and a tight tension squeezed its way into her spinal column. The intensity settling around her was almost suffocating. Abby closed her eyes, hoping that she could imagine a different reality than the one that presented itself to her at the moment. She was more than disappointed when she opened her eyes. The moment Abby scanned the room, she was aware of the spirit that had formed in the corner of the haze before her. The ghost shifted a little, and then floated off the floor.

“Hello?” Abby's voice cracked on the last syllable. While she wondered what the spirit needed, she wanted nothing more than to run away before it could answer. She reminded herself that this was just an imprint, and nothing would happen to her. Unfortunately, her nerves took over. Crumpling the paper in her hand, she zipped out of the room and bounded down the stairs. Abby almost tripped over the last step, but caught herself before she fell.

After leaving the house, her feet moved so fast, she thought she would trip over the laces which threatened to come loose with each step. She made it to her house in five minutes, one lonely foot in front of the other. When she unlocked the door, a familiar buzz greeted her. The television switched on then off, then on one last time.