Page 10 of Hallowed & Haunted

“No.”

But Niillas keeps staring into the darkness like he’s ready to jump at an invisible threat, and suddenly Sander is reminded of Hektor before he runs off to chase ducks. Sander’s mood lifts unexpectedly.

“Picked up a scent, Vars? You’re looking like my auntie’s favorite hunting dog.”

Niillas gives him a sour look, but he still seems distracted as if he hears something in the wind that Sander doesn’t.

“Get in the house.”

The command sends an excited chill down Sander’s spine. It’s wildly inappropriate, but damn, he likes it when Niillas gets all bossy.

They find the front door unlocked, and Sander’s short spike of euphoria is instantly replaced by a fresh wave of unease. Who leaves an abandoned house unlocked if they want to keep it intact and ready for sale?

The hinges scream as Niillas pushes the door open. The sound echoes through the house, and Sander suddenly wishes he’d agreed to Niillas’ suggestion to stay in the car. Instead he follows inside, using his phone’s flashlight to navigate the entrance hall.

The smell hits him immediately: mold, rot, and something else underneath that makes Sander’s nose wrinkle. The kind of scent that suggests some animal has crawled under the floorboards to die.

“Fucking hell,” Sander whispers, pressing the back of his hand to his nose.

Niillas doesn’t comment but switches on his flashlight, an unassuming little black thing no larger than Niillas’ hand. But the beam is day-bright, almost blinding, and makes the farmhouse look less threatening.

The hallway stretches ahead of them, with doors opening off on either side. Water damage has stained the walls in dark patches, and the floorboards creak ominously under their weight. Old family pictures still hang on the walls, their glass cracked and faces obscured by moisture and grime.

“Kitchen,” Niillas says, pushing open the first door on the right. The beam of his flashlight reveals cabinets hanging open, their contents long since claimed by mice or time. A pot still sits on the stove, its bottom crusted with something Sander doesn’t want to identify.

They search the ground floor methodically. First, a small pantry that smells worse than the kitchen, a bathroom that’s seen better decades, and a small study where books have swollen with moisture until they’re barely recognizable. They enter the living room last, a gloomy place, the furniture covered in dusty sheets.

But the worst are the signs of semi-recent habitation. Some furniture and pictures are old, yes, but others are clearly modern. An Ikea armchair, for example, the same model that stands in Sander’s reading nook in his small student apartment. A magazine from 2021 sits on the coffee table. A doll forgotten in the corner. Sander vaguely remembers buying his niece a similar one a few years ago for Christmas.

What person in their right mind buys a place like this?

“Do you think the family really left in a hurry?” Sander asks.

“Hmm,” Niillas hums quietly, scanning every nook and corner like something might hide there. “Or they were made to leave.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Just observing.”

Niillas is making fun of him. Has to be. And Sander hates it. He’d prefer Niillas aloof and bossy and unshakeable at this point.

Sander turns in a small circle, taking in the whole fuckup that is the farmhouse’s living room. The cold is seeping through the walls now, making his breath visible in small puffs. His leather jacket, while perfect for playing devil at a Halloween party, is useless against the October chill that seems to permeate every corner of the house.

“We should get a fire going,” Niillas says, kneeling in front of the tiled stove. “There’s still some wood here, and the chimney looks clear.”

Of course, Niillas knows how to build a fire. Fucking overachiever.

Sander watches him work, arranging kindling with the same methodical care he brings to everything else, and feels increasingly out of his depth. He wonders why Niillas agreed to accompany him, and Sander just hopes it’s out of some weird kind of team sense instead of a grudge. They didn’t exactly get along well after all, and if Niillas takes this opportunity to punish Sander for being an arrogant ass of a team captain—

“Sander.”

His name is spoken with quiet authority, and Sander blinks.

“Huh?”

“Come sit by the fire. You’re standing directly in the worst draft.”

“Oh, sure.”