Scooter emerged from the weeds on the side of the road and sniffed the grass near the front gate. His black coat glistened with moisture. Rain drizzled onto my head and I tilted my chin upward, letting the drops fall onto my face, hoping to wash away some of the disgusting stink from the pond.

Wolf tied the toolbox onto the back of the four-wheeler. “Let me put Scooter in the truck so he doesn’t get into trouble.” He whistled at the dog. Scooter ignored him, intent on sniffing around the gate. “Come on, boy!” Wolf called, but the Boxer headed back into the weeds.

“Well,” I laughed nervously. “Looks like you have a big future ahead of you as a dog trainer.”

Wolf smirked at Scooter as he climbed onto the ATV. “He's got a mind of his own, kinda like me. Guess that's why I put up with him.”

He started the engine and Benny jumped in my arms. I hugged him against me as we took off, plowing through the weeds. By the time we reached the front porch, rain hammered down on our heads. I raced up the rickety front steps with Benny bouncing in my arms. Paint peeled from the giant columns of the sagging wraparound porch. Weathered porch swings wedged under the bay windows creaked, rocking back and forth in the wind. The massive front door sported a red coat of paint, now faded like a withered valentine.

“Weird. Who would paint a door that color?” I asked.

“Southern superstition.”

“What do you mean?”

“Red is supposed to ward off evil spirits.” Wolf selected a long screwdriver from his toolbox, jimmied the lock and pushed the door open. I took a step inside, carrying Benny on my hip, and cringed. Mildew crawled up my nostrils, making my sinuses scream. I didn't know which smelled worse, me or the old house.

“Hold on,” Wolf said. “I’ll pry the boards off the windows. That’ll give us more light and...um...fresh air.”

My cheeks burned. “Yeah, Good idea.” I wondered if it was possible to die from embarrassment. If so, I expected the Grim Reaper to come swooping down at anytime and drag me into the shadowy underground, and if he had any sense at all, he'd be wearing nose plugs.

I sighed and spun in a semicircle, trying to make out the enormous foyer masked in darkness. Scooter pushed past me, his nails clicking across the old plank flooring.

“Geez dog, you’re brave.”

The Boxer paused and looked back at me with big soulful eyes. He trotted to my side, whined and licked my hand before continuing on into the shadows—almost as if saying goodbye. Like, so long, lady—nice knowing you. I wondered if it was true what people said about dogs being psychic.

A loud screech of nails and wood pulling apart pierced the room. Benny let out a startled cry. “Shhhh, it’s okay, Ben.” I pressed my lips to his head, watching muted daylight spill into the dingy entranceway.

Wolf waved at us through a dusty window, a board in his hand. Benny squealed and waved back. Wolf tossed the wood aside and continued ripping out the planks, flipping open the shutters. Rain drizzled over his head. He shook the moisture from his face and flashed a gleaming grin, his eyes bright. Playful.

Holy Adonis.

I stared, watching his muscles flex through his thin shirt, my insides dissolving like hot Jell-O. I quickly dropped my gaze. Who was I kidding? I knew I didn't have a chance with a guy like that.

I wandered through the foyer and into a large living room. Sheets covered the furniture like ghosts. Floral wallpaper, speckled with mold, clung to the walls. My nose tingled with the scent of old wood smoke and soot. Scanning the dingy room, I spotted the source of the smell. A yawning fireplace hugged a far wall, its gaping mouth smothered in cobwebs. Above the hearth, a marble mantle erupted in sinister looking cherubs. Their tiny blue eyes glared at me through a cloud of dust.

At the end of the room a hand-carved staircase spiraled into a graceful arch leading into more darkness, each step covered by a faded rose runner worn through at the front. I walked past a parlor filled with dusty books and more covered furniture, to a spacious kitchen. Grimy, nasty dish towels hung across the sink. Dead flies littered the oak floor. To the left, another arched doorway led into a massive dining room with towering sideboards and china thick with dust.

An antique painting of a family hung above another cavernous fireplace. A woman posed with two girls in high-waisted dresses, and a graying man stood behind them, wearing a blue suit, top hat and waistcoat. A gold plaque clung to the bottom of the frame. Cobb family, 1812. I cringed. If Mom’s information was right, the painting must have been done shortly before they died.

Wolf strode into the room, a hammer clutched in his right hand. His big motorcycle boots thudded across the plank flooring. He paused, wiped his brow and pointed to an antique mirror on the wall, its glass painted black. “Looks like someone didn’t like their reflection.”

I ran my fingers over the bumpy surface. “That’s creepy…More southern superstition?”

Wolf shrugged. “Nothing I’ve ever heard of.”

I followed him out of the dining room into the kitchen. He unlocked the back door and pushed the screen open. “I’ll head outside and see if I can find the switch for the water and electric.”

“Okay, thanks,” I said, smearing a clean spot in the window with the heel of my hand. Outside, in the gloomy evening light, Wolf struggled through the thick vines to get to the side of the house.

The rain faded and fog swirled around the bog in the distance, creeping through rows of cypress trees, disguising the landscape in a blinding haze of white. Through the choking fog, a dark figure crawled crablike from the water. I strained to see in the mist. Could a gator rise above the weeds like that? As I watched, it pushed itself upright—no, definitely not a gator.

I looked over to where Wolf had disappeared around the side of the house, my heart racing as a sick feeling settled into my gut. I cast a glance back to where I had seen the shape moving…

It was closer now! It had almost reached the house, shambling in an awkward way, as though it were not truly walking but moving in time with strings rather than muscles. Its head was bowed, with a matted rope hung around its neck, dripping with sludge. Muck and water dripped from the rotted garment hanging on its—no, her—body, as if her very insides were leaking the fluids dripping from her frame. A rag circled her head, saturated with muck, pulled slightly to the side, exposing a bare spot where her hair and ear should have been.

Paralyzing terror sawed through my spine. Run! Move! I stood rooted to the spot. Head still down, the figure raised a boney finger pointing at me, hobbling grotesquely toward the house.

Fear scrambled my thoughts. I had to warn Wolf! Adrenaline surged. I sprang into action, raising my hand to beat on the window, when something slammed into the back of my knees.