• The wind sings an eerie death march as you crunch up the gravel-strewn path. Clouds cover the moon, the stars shine black, and the only light you have comes form your pocket flashlight. You’re inwardly kicking yourself for agreeing to that stupid dare, but ever since that last journalist went missing, you’ve been curious to what really happened.
    As you approach the decrepit old mansion, a crow calls from some dark tree. You flinch as a rat scurries across your path. Thinking that you might be better giving up, you turn back and try to head to your car… but your feet won’t move. You’re too curious, and you can’t convince yourself to give up. You sigh and plod back to the house, gravel rattling beneath your feet. In the distance, a wolf howls.
    The house, from the outside, looks enormous. It gives the impression of better days, back when the paint was new and flake-free; before the wood began to weather and rot; when the windows had not yet been shattered. But now, after decades of storms and vandalism and lack of maintenance, the old, creaky house looks more like something off of a chiller flick.
    Gingerly toeing up the rickety porch steps, you approach the front door, heart pounding in your throat. You’re focused so intently on the aged mahogany that you fail to watch your step, and the termite-eaten porch boards give way beneath your feet. You scream and fall back, managing to pull one leg out with no serious damage, but your left leg isn’t as lucky. Several thick splinters are embedded in your lower leg, and blood leaks from a sizeable gash below your knee. Muttering obscenities, you painfully remove each piece and wipe away most of the blood. You stand, testing your balance before cautiously resuming your previous exploration.
    You lay a hand on the doorknob and the rotten wood collapses, sending up a choking cloud of dust, wood particles, and animal matter. Wobbling back a pace or two, you cover your mouth and nose with your shirt as you wait for the air to clear. When the dust finally settles, you shine your little flashlight into the house and tiptoe through the doorway.
    Your first impression of the house isn’t all that thrilling, but as your eyes adjust to the darkness and you make out the shapes of old, moldy furniture and decaying wall hangings, your spine starts to tingle. You look up: A crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling by a rusted chain. In better days it might’ve shone and glittered with the brilliance of a billion stars, but now the crystals are dull, and cobwebs hang from it like gray bits of lace. You look down: The floor is carpeted with dark red shag; delicate puffs of dust rise from the faded material, only to drift back down as you pass by. You look all around: A grandfather clock rests in a far corner, its hands stuck at half-past-noon and its pendulum forever stilled.
    The carpet gives way to a lusterless wood floor, which leads you past intricately carved chairs, bookshelves, and a disturbingly realistic portrait of an elderly man holding the collar of an enormous dog. Outside, another wolf’s cry is heard, and you bite your bottom lip nervously. Better make a speedy exit. You turn to head for the door, but pause as your flashlight’s tiny beam passes over a step. You move closer and see the huge spiral staircase that winds upstairs. With curiosity reining supreme, you carefully climb the room above.
    You take it slow, taking each step one by one, testing your weight on the old structure. At the top of the stairs, you exhale and thank God that they didn’t collapse, because the last thing you need is a broken leg. You glance back down the staircase, then turn and get a good look at this floor.
    Your mouth hangs open in a silent scream as you shine your tiny light around the vast room. The entire landing is filled with dead, stuffed, and mounted animals. Wolves, bears, birds, cats, dogs, wild pigs, goats… The flashlight wobbles as you try to quit trembling. The animals’ glass eyes sparkle creepily in the light, and the shadows behind the make them look like they might spring at you at any moment.
    You hesitate as the form of a snarling wildcat moves—or is it a trick of the light? The wolf outside howls yet again, but it sounds closer. You swallow the lump in your throat and turn to leave, but freeze as a stuffed wolf growls. Your flashlight illuminates the animal, but it remains still. Cussing out your overactive imagination, you try to leave. Again, a snarl comes from behind you, and, again, you whip around to stare at the motionless wolf.
    But it isn’t there.
    Heart pounding in your chest, you swallow and slowly draw your light across each animal in turn, inspecting each one. Bears, wolves, cats, birds, wild pigs, dogs, goats… A low growl drifts form behind a bear, and you lose it. Turning on your heel, you sprint down the staircase. Hot breath brushes the backs of your legs and you scream as the wolf snaps at you. Your flashlight flickers and goes out just as a step crumbles under you. Somehow you manage not to fall, but you stumble and scrape your left leg, reopening the gash on your shin.
    You hit the floor at the bottom of the stairs and trip over your feet as the wolf leaps at you. Before it knocks you over, you fall. It sails over you head and lands awkwardly on the slick floor, scrabbling on the wood as the breath is knocked out of it.
    Now you’re in trouble. The wolf is between you and the front door, you’re bleeding heavily from your leg, and by the sound of it, this guy has some wolfy buddies waiting for you outside. What do you do? You make a suicidal dash past the stunned wolf, leap through the door, hit the gravel running and try to haul butt out of there.
    But Mister Wolf brought friends.
    You do the stupidest thing ever recorded in the history of self-preservation and look behind you as your sneakers fly over the gravel. The last thing you see before you trip over your own feet is a pair of glowing, angry, wolf’s eyes.

    The wind sang an eerie death march as he crunched up the gravel-strewn path. Clouds hid the moon, the stars shone black, and the only light he had came from his pocket flashlight. He inwardly kicked himself for agreeing to the stupid dare, but ever since that last journalist had gone missing, he’d been curious as to what had really happened.
    In the distance, a wolf howled.