“It’s cold in here,” Bexley turned her head to look at August, who was rubbing his hands up and down his arms in a way to create friction in order to warm himself up. Bexley, a black-haired, brown-eyed sophomore in high school, and her red-headed friend, who was complaining about the temperature, were exploring what some would call… a haunted house, if you will. 

“It’s not that cold in here,” she replied, looking around the huge house- if you can even call it that anymore. The staircase was missing a few steps near the top, while the windows were almost completely broken and shattered, only some glass fragments remained in place. You could see the reflection of the moon in some of the shattered glass pieces that had fallen to the ground, the scene both enchanting and eerie all the same. Every step Bexley and August dared to take echoed throughout the house, the only sound besides the occasional creak from the stairwell, or shriek from a bird perched onto the tree outside the window. You could see some of the ragged branches peeking through the shattered monster of a window. 

Bexley was about to take another step when she heard what sounded like a rat scurrying across the dirty floor. She could only imagine the horrors that would have caused such a beautiful house to become so disgusting to the point where the only inhabitants that could live there for longer than a couple of days were the rats and squirrels that used the place to store their food. 

“Easy for you to say, you’re wearing a coat!” August’s complaints pulled Bexley out of her thoughts, which were beginning to spiral. She rolled her eyes as she listened for a couple more seconds to hear anything; a rat, leaves rustling in the wind, anything at all. But the only things that could be heard were the breaths both her and August were taking. It was deadly silent, which just added to the mood of the old house. Finally, after a good few minutes of standing there, straining her ears to hear something other than her own breathing, she sighed and approached the stairwell. After a couple of seconds a second pair of footsteps could be heard, hesitantly taking a few steps and then abruptly stopping, repeating the same process over and over again until they too made it to the stairwell. 

“Come on,” Bexley added once she knew August was following behind her. She could practically feel the nervous aura coming off of the boy. Bexley was starting to feel bad about dragging him with her. Technically, this whole “house-exploring” thing was her idea, but it was the boy’s fault for practically begging to go with her. Bexley wasn’t a very brave person. Sure, she wasn’t as afraid of roller coasters as much as her friends were, nor was she too afraid of spiders or the dark. But that didn’t mean she feared nothing. At this moment, Bexley was terrified. She could mask her fright well enough to the point of appearing fearless, but the fact remained that she was still scared out of her mind. She wouldn’t even be in the house she was in if it wasn’t for the old man in the woods. The girl could still remember that day. How long ago was the day she met the old man in the woods? About 5 years ago? Aside from that, it was probably one of her most vivid memories.

I was walking home from school, just like any other day. I woke up, got ready for school, went to school, did all of the usual “school stuff,” got on the bus, got off of the bus, and started to walk home. It was quite windy that day, even windier than it usually was. I didn’t like to consider myself sensitive to the cold, but even today I found myself huddling my sweatshirt even closer to myself. I didn’t really feel like walking back home today. For some reason, instead of the bus dropping me off at my actual house, it drops me off a couple of blocks away, which means that I need to walk through a small forest to get to my house. I don’t know why I got dropped off such a ways away, but maybe my parents told the driver to not drop me off at my house, though I wouldn’t understand why. 

I didn’t want to walk home, not only because of the fact the walk would take a while, and I was already pretty tired from the day, but also because of the old man who was rumored to live in the woods. Everybody at school talked about a crazy old man who lurked in the very woods I had to walk through in order to get to my house from the bus stop. And now, as I’m stepping off the bus, I am facing said forest. I never really believed the rumours. At least, that’s what I’d tell myself. After all, I was the only one who actually walked through the forest every day. And I never saw any old man. Actually, I was almost always alone, except for the occasional bird-watcher or hiker. As I took the first couple of steps into the unsettling forest, I realized I wasn’t alone. Because right in front of me was a man, well into his seventies, possibly even eighties, staring right at me. So, the rumors were true after all. 

He had the bluest eyes I had ever seen, and hair so grey it was bordering on white. He was wearing dark-blue jeans, and a button-up shirt. 

“Can I help you?” I asked after a long moment of the both of us just staring at one another in silence. The man replied with a small shake of his head. “I’ve never seen you in this forest before,” I said, trying to start a conversation after, once again, a very awkward silence. 

“I could say the same about you.” His voice sounded raspy like he had perhaps talked too much his whole life and it was finally catching up to him. 

“I go through this forest basically every day,” I replied, looking down at my feet, instead of the man’s piercing blue eyes, which I felt could look through my very soul. 

“Perhaps we just haven’t run into each other yet. After all, I’m usually not in this part of the forest. Most days I’m on the other side,” the man said. Again, we stood there, unmoving. 

“Well, I’m just going to-” I started, turning around.

“Have you ever heard the story about the abandoned mansion down there?” The old man interrupted, pointing behind him. 

“No... I haven’t.” I replied hesitantly after the unordinary and strange question.

“I see, I guess you don’t learn much about your own state’s history anymore, do you?” I didn’t really know what to say to that, so I just nodded as a reply. The man sat down on the ground and patted the patch of grass next to him indicating that he wanted me to sit next to him. While I did walk over, if not hesitantly, I didn’t sit down, and stood instead. I wasn’t about to let my guard down. Rule number one about strangers: Never let your guard down. Ever. This man was still a stranger after all. 

“You know of the Johnson family who lived down here in the forties?” I shook my head. “I see. Well, back when I was a kid, they were what everybody was talking about down here. You see, their mother was a model while their father was a famous businessman. Both of them were born and raised in Los Angeles. Nobody knew why such a famous, wealthy family would move from a place like California to a place that nobody has even heard of. A lot of the kids on my street hated ‘em. Said they were spoiled brats who never faced the hardships of life. And I agreed with them. Even though they were in high school and I was only a young little second grader, I still hated ‘em with all my heart.

“I now realize that I was unfair to them. I didn’t even try to hear their stories before I assumed the worst. But I’m getting off-topic now, aren’t I?

“Back to what I was talking about before I went on a tangent about my youth,” the man sighed contentedly, with a look in his eyes that reflected a lot of nostalgia. 

“They were acting strangely for such a famous family. If you didn’t know their last name, you would assume they were poor like the rest of us. 

“If you walk deep enough into the woods, you’ll be able to get to their old house. It was a mansion, but they abandoned it a while ago, back when their parents were found dead. If you like looking for adventure, I would recommend going there.” The man then stood up from his crouched position and walked away. I remember thinking about how absolutely strange the man was. But other than the man himself, the one thing that occupied my thoughts while I entered my own house and greeted my mother subconsciously, was the house the man mentioned.

Forcing herself to stop thinking about the memory, Bexley walked up the first three steps, the creaking coming from each individual step now filling the void of noise. 

“Bex, I know I technically said I wanted to come with you, but I kind of want to leave now.” Usually, if August said something like this, Bexley would roll her eyes and tell him to suck it up. But instead, she found herself silently agreeing with him, wishing nothing more than to leave this monster house. But if she wanted to find out what actually happened to the Johnsons, she would stop at nothing to get an answer. If Bexley was anything, she was ambitious. She never gave up, even if she knew giving up would likely be the best option in this situation. 

“After I find what I’m looking for, we can leave,” she replied after a moment’s hesitation. August looked wary but nodded nonetheless. 

“Do you know what exactly you’re looking for?” August questioned. If Bexley was being honest, she had no idea what she was looking for. But she knew that it had to be an inkling of a hint; some sort of clue, to really help solve the decades-long mystery. After her encounter in the forest, Bexley researched the old mansion and visited it a couple of times. After learning about the famous parents who were found dead as well as their children who went missing directly after, Bexley was intrigued. Her father was a detective, while her mother was a forensic science technician, so she was predestined to be interested in true crime stories. 

“I’m looking for anything that can show me what happened to the Johnson family that night,” Bexley answered, as she reached the top of the stairwell. 

“I don’t understand what’s so interesting about this case to you,” August said. “It’s been years. If there was any evidence it would have been found already.” 

“You don’t know that,” Bexley’s patience was becoming short, she didn’t feel like explaining her reasoning behind coming here, because the truth was, she had no idea herself. 

“What I do know is that it’s the middle of the night, I’m tired, and I’m freaked out. Let’s just go home,” August complained.  

“You were the one who made me bring you here in the first place, you have no right to complain. God, if I knew you were going to be such a liability, I wouldn’t have brought you here in the first-” But before Bexley could finish, there was a loud banging noise coming from the downstairs of the house, accompanied by the sound of police officers demanding the kids to “Open up!”

“Run!” Bexley whisper-shouted, and ran down the stairs, with August following close behind. They ran in the opposite direction of the door in which the police were trying to force open. (I think I forgot to mention that they barricaded the door shut because technically it was against the law for two teenagers to break into an old abandoned house without any sort of license, and they didn’t want to be caught easily. But apparently, that plan somehow failed because somebody must have seen them break into the house if the police were trying to arrest them.) Once the two teenagers found a somewhat broken window, they decided to just jump out of it and escape into the woods at the back of the house. 

The two thought they were in the clear once they made it into the forest. Everything was going as smoothly as possible… until it wasn’t. They hadn’t gotten too far into the woods when Bexley tripped over a box and fell. At this point, August was ahead of her. Curse his athleticism and Bexley’s lack of it. She could hear footsteps coming their way, likely the police officers figuring out their escape route by now. 

“August, help!” The girl called out. By now her leg was throbbing with the pain of falling on the hard ground, and she wouldn’t be surprised if her ribs were hurt in some way because of the fact she fell onto a literal rock. 

Because of her call for help, August turned around. But with the threat of police officers and being arrested, instead of helping his friend out, he decided to flee the scene. Bexley could feel tears swelling in her eyes, not just from falling over and being injured, but also because of the fact her own friend abandoned  her to be arrested. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears, the now fast, erratic drum-like beat playing some sort of harmonic song of doom. She tried to move, tried to get up. But her leg shut that idea down as fast as it had come. She was paralyzed. She was going to get arrested. And when she finally came to terms with that fact, she started to think about her parents. Her parents, who tried so hard to keep her in check. Her parents, who cared so much about her. Her parents, who were now probably going to be disappointed in her. The tears were now flowing freely. That’s when she looked to her right and noticed the box she had tripped over. She must have been so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t think about the fact that there was a random box in the woods and, wait a second, why was there a random box in the woods?

She forced herself to turn slightly to the side to investigate the box. It was mostly buried in the ground, like some sort of time capsule. Bexley, knowing that she didn’t exactly have a lot of time before the police found her, started digging the box out of the ground, and fast. After about a minute the box was uncovered, revealing the old pattern imprinted on each side. It looked really old, to the point of turning to ash if you were to handle it too harshly. So of course, Bexley was cautious when she removed the lid.. Inside, she saw what looked like three old pictures, and a pair of black buckle shoes. Or, what used to be pictures and shoes at least. She carefully picked one of the pictures out of the box and investigated it. It was mostly covered with dirt, but one thing was clear about the picture: it was old. 

From what Bexley could see, the picture had two young children standing next to each other. They were awkwardly smiling, one of them was wearing what looked like a Mickey Mouse T-shirt, while the other was wearing a bright red skirt with a pink blouse with black shoes of some kind. They looked to be about eleven to thirteen years old in this specific picture. She carefully placed the picture back into the box and picked up the last two. One was a simple picture of a woman, who was wearing the fanciest dress Bexley had ever seen. There wasn’t much to this picture, but on the back, there was what looked like writing. It was too smudged from the passage of time  to even read the writing. After carefully placing that picture back in the box, she investigated the final picture. This picture was the least dirty one out of the three. It was a simple picture of the house that read, “Johnsons, 1946.” If she was thinking rationally right now, she would have realized the connection between the infamous last name and the pictures, as well as the house she was trying to escape from only two minutes ago. 

Lastly, she picked up the shoes. They were black buckle shoes, and looked really old. They had insects crawling in them, and were covered with spider webs and dust. They looked like they used to actually be  nice before they became old and dirty. She carefully placed the shoes down, and looked at the pictures one last time. That’s when it hit her: Why was there a box dug into the ground in the first place? Why was it so old? Why were the contents of the box so old? Then, her mind began to spin. 

The box was near an old house, said to have once belonged to the Johnsons. The pictures that were in the mysterious box had the last name Johnson written on the back. The black buckle shoes were old, and thinking back, the girl in the first picture she looked at had shoes that looked suspiciously similar to mentioned shoes. Bexley’s thoughts were running a mile a minute, her heartbeat similar to that of a hummingbird’s. She snatched the box off of the ground and looked inside of it. This was evidence of a decades-old cold case. Not only evidence, but brand new evidence. New evidence that the police could use, new evidence that could be helpful to the cold case of the Johnsons. She may be reaching here but if she showed her parents this then they could most likely investigate it, and the case could be opened up again, and-

“So, after all this time, someone finally found the box,” Bexley whipped her head around so fast she got whiplash. There, standing right behind a tree, was an old man. Not just any old man, the old man. The old man who had told her about the Johnsons in the first place. Before Bexley could say a word, her world went black.

I felt like a horrible friend. I shouldn’t have just left Bexley, one of my only best friends, behind like that. But she needs to understand why I did it, I didn’t want to get arrested! Did she even think about what that would do to my reputation? Plus, I had told her multiple times that I wanted to leave, but did she listen? No! Also, I didn’t want my parents to get mad at me, or have to bail me out of prison. They already had enough stress, what with having to pay for my great-grandmother’s hospital bills, and all that. They didn’t need added stress right now. 

My house wasn’t that far away from the mansion that Bexley brought me to, thankfully, so I got there within twenty minutes. I quietly opened the door, in hopes of not being caught by my mom or dad. But instead, I was greeted with the sobbing figure of my mother and the figure of  my father, rubbing circles in her back in attempts to calm her down. My mother was holding her phone so tightly that her knuckles were white, while pacing around the kitchen table like a mad woman. She was a ghost, with her pale complexion and frightened expression. 

“August, we’ll talk about you sneaking out later. Right now I have some grim news, ” My concern only got worse with my mother’s words.“Your great-grandmother died tonight.” I could feel my eyes widen. Although I was never close to my great-grandmother, I knew how close my mother and her were. My mother would tell me stories about her. About how she lived in California before moving here with her family and that she was really close to her brother, and how she’d been like me when she was my age; shy and reserved in class. My great-grandmother had been sick for as long as I could remember, so I never really got the chance to talk to her much. But because of how much my mother cared about her, I hugged her and comforted her for as long as I had to before we both were too tired to stand. 

About a year later, I stood in front of the gravestone of my great-grandmother with the words, “Amanda Williams” etched onto it. Something was nagging at my mind, something I felt like I should remember. But instead of dwelling on it for too long, I simply placed some flowers at my great-grandmother’s grave and walked away. Even as I was leaving, I still felt as if I was forgetting something. A sadness washed over me at the realization that if Bexley didn’t go missing the very night I left her behind, she’d still be here, and she’d probably know what exactly I couldn’t remember.