The old van creaked under the weight of silence as the two men sat inside, staring at the dilapidated house ahead. The windows were dark, the paint peeling off the walls like skin from a corpse. It had been abandoned for years and they both knew better.
Finally, one of them broke the silence. "Ryan are you sure we should be here?" His voice wavered, barely audible over the hum of the van's engine.
Ryan, sighed heavily, annoyance creeping into his tone. "Don't tell me you're scared, man. You didn't really listen to those stupid stories, did you?"
His friend shifted uncomfortably in his seat, glancing out the window as if expecting something to leap out from the shadows. "But Ryan, what if it's real? I mean....you know what I mean."
Ryan rolled his eyes, his patience wearing thin. "Are you fucking stupid? You know what? I'll do it myself since you're such a chicken brain." Without waiting for a response, he pushed open the van door and stepped out into the cool night air.
His friend watched as Ryan pulled a huge black bag from the back of the van, his hands trembling slightly. "Next time, if you know you're gonna behave like a dick, don't come along," Ryan snapped, slinging the bag over his shoulder.
As Ryan approached the house, his friend called out weakly, "Ryan!"
Ryan paused, turning back with a look of exasperation. "What?"
"Please, take care," his friend pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper.
Ryan responded with nothing but a raised middle finger before turning on his heel and marching toward the house.
Left alone, he sat in the van, his heart pounding in his chest. He started the engine, trying to shake off fear.
" It's not real , it's not real, breath in breath out."As he drove away, he turned up the music, hoping the noise would drown out his nerves. But then, out of nowhere, he saw something standing in the middle of the road.
He honked the horn, "HONK! HONK!" but the figure didn't move an inch.
As he got closer, he realized it was a man. The darkness obscured the man's features, but his presence was unsettling. Panic surged through him as he slammed on the brakes, the tires screeching on the asphalt.
SCCCCRRRR!
The van came to a shuddering halt, and he looked up again, but the man was gone.
His breath hitched as he tried to steady himself. "What the hell was that?" he muttered, still shaking. Reluctantly, he stepped out of the van to investigate.
The night was eerily quiet and cold, the only sound being his own breathing. As he scanned the road, there's was nothing ....no signs of life at all.
However,something caught his eye.
Lying in the middle of the road was something he least expected to find in the middle of nowhere.
A bloody ice cream scoop, glistening under the dim moonlight.
" Holy shit! "
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Jonathan sat on the edge of his couch, staring blankly at the TV. The show played on, but he wasn't really watching. His mind was elsewhere, lost in the maze of his thoughts. A week off work—his first in years—was supposed to be relaxing, but instead, it was torture. The quiet only amplified the emptiness inside him.
He tried to distract himself with TV, but it was useless. The loneliness pressed down on him, suffocating. He had no real friends, apart from Carlos. His colleagues had tried to reach out, but he always kept them at arm's length. He'd always been reserved, even more so since his brother's death.
His brother... The only person who truly understood him. The memories flooded back unbidden, and suddenly, he was back in that moment, reliving the day they found his brother's body. Pale. Contorted. Dead. The image was seared into his mind, a nightmare he couldn't escape.
Tears welled up in his eyes as he wondered how it all happened. His brother's death was connected to that famous myth, but it was just a myth. It didn't mean anything, right? Yet, no one knew how he died—not even the police or forensic scientists. All Jonathan wanted was to know who did it and why.
A knock at the door jolted him back to the present. He kept quiet, not in the mood to answer, hoping whoever it was would go away. But the knocking persisted, followed by a small familiar voice.
"JJ, it's me, Emma."
He considered staying silent until she gave up and assume he wasn't around, but he realized the car parked outside had already given him away. With a sigh, he got up and walked to the hallway mirror. He barely recognized the reflection staring back at him. He resembled his brother a lot, the blonde hair, perfectly chiseled jawline, and bushy eyebrows were the same, but the eyes—his brother's eyes—were different. His brother's had been bright , blue and full of life his were grey , dull, lifeless.
Opening the door, he found Emma standing there, her arm poised to knock again. She froze, clearly caught off guard by his sudden appearance.
"Hi, JJ," she said with an ear-to-ear smile, her big, gorgeous blue eyes locking onto his. "Can I come in?"
Jonathan blinked rapidly, realizing they had been standing there in silence for a while. "Oh, sorry. Where are my manners? Come in."
Emma stepped inside and gasped, her eyes wide as she took in the spacious interior. "Wow, this is your house?"
"Yeah, it is," Jonathan replied flatly, closing the door behind her.
"And you live here all on your own?" she asked, her voice tinged with awe.
"Yes."
"Wowww," she murmured, admiring the place like it was a museum or art gallery.
Jonathan watched her , completely confused . Emma was a colleague who had joined the company two months ago. She was brilliant and bright, a young woman who knew what she wanted. But he had no idea why she was at his house.
"So, what brings you here?" he asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.
"Oh, umm..." Emma hesitated, looking down at her hands. "After what happened, I was worried and just thought I'd swing by to check up on you, make sure you're okay."
Jonathan had to admit, it was a thoughtful gesture. But one thing still puzzled him—how did she know his address? They'd barely interacted beyond the usual hi's and hello's. She had tried to engage him in conversation before, but he'd always been... distant.
"Thanks," he said after a moment, his voice softer. "Can I get you something to drink or eat? There's turkey and lasagna in the fridge, though I admit, it's a terrible combination."
Emma chuckled. "That sounds... interesting. But how about we just cook something fresh instead is that okay with you?"
"Sure," Jonathan agreed, knowing she wouldn't leave anytime soon. He headed to the kitchen, grateful for the distraction. As he cooked, Emma hovered nearby, watching him with a curious expression.
They eventually sat down to eat, the tension between them easing slightly. Jonathan finally broke the silence, asking, "So, what made you join the company? You seem pretty driven."
Emma smiled, taking a bite of her food. "I've always been passionate about what I do. I love the challenge, the opportunity to learn and grow. But what about you, JJ? What keeps you going?"
Jonathan hesitated, not used to opening up to others. "I guess... I just focus on work. It keeps me occupied."
"Yeah, but there has to be more to life than just work," Emma replied gently. "What about family? Friends?"
Jonathan tensed at the mention of family, his thoughts drifting back to his brother. He forced a smile, trying to change the subject. "I keep to myself mostly. It's just... easier that way."
Emma looked at him with concern but didn't press further. After a few minutes of silence, she spoke again, her voice soft. "You know, when I was 17, I lost my sister. Her and her friends were at some kind of college slumber party, and... they were murdered. We still don't know who did it. The only person who survived is in a mental asylum."
Jonathan froze, his fork hovering over his plate. Emma continued, her eyes downcast. "My point is, we all go through different things. You don't have to shut people out, JJ. You don't have to feel alone. You don't have to—"
"That's enough!" Jonathan's voice was sharp as he raised his hand to stop her.
Emma flinched, her eyes widening in surprise. "I'm sorry if I said something wrong, it's just that..."
"I said that's enough. Please, leave," Jonathan repeated, his voice low and controlled, but his eyes burning with emotion.
"Jonathan, I'm so—"
"Leave!" he shouted, slamming his hand on the table.
Emma nodded quickly, tears brimming in her eyes as she stood up. "If I've offended you, I'm really sorry. You're a good person, and I care about you."
But Jonathan didn't look at her. He stared blankly at the vegetables on his plate, his mind a storm of conflicting emotions. Emma stood there for a moment, hoping for some sign that he didn't really want her to go, but when none came, she turned and quietly left.
As the door clicked shut behind her, Jonathan's fury erupted. He grabbed the glass of water in front of him and hurled it against the wall, the sound of shattering glass echoing through the empty house.
But as he was in his fit of fury he noticed something on the table...
"No...."