He could just make out the black plaque beside the door, which his mom said the Historical Society posted a few years before he was born, after the woman died at age 97. But the Society finally gave it to the city planners, abandoning attempts to draw anyone to The House. Everyone was too spooked. For two years now, the city intended to demolish it. It took them that long to find a local company willing to take the risk. Most whispered it was haunted, but the more superstitious said it was cursed. In another month, it would be gone.
James’ hand settled on what had to be the doorknob, but his hand jerked back because it felt like scales. He stared at the dark shape and it didn’t seem to move, so he tentatively reached out again, his hand scrambling all over the doorknob until he recognized the shape of a dragon claw clutching a large orb. The oversized knob didn’t turn, and it took two hands to even attempt that, so he gave it a hard shove. The wood made a splintering sound and the door opened a crack. James leaned his full weight on it and it groaned and gave a few more inches, just enough for his skinny frame.
He took a couple of breaths and worked his body inside The House.
He coughed as he inhaled the years of neglect. Hearing something, he glanced up—way up. A large chandelier gathered bits of outside moonlight from the tiny window a good twenty feet above the door. A gust of wind swirled through the cracked front door, causing the chandelier to make a tinkling sound, and a few hairs rose on the back of his neck.
The faint moonlight revealed a long hall in front of him that lead to another room through a wide arch. A large staircase sat to his left. Just as he reached into his pocket for