The children all sat around in huddled circle, it was growing darker and soon The House would open. For now, they waited outside, listening the old man who looked after The House. He was worn and grey and seemed as much a part of The House as the aging mailbox or glowering door knocker. The children's attention was wrapped on him, as he warned them about the door on the second floor that would only open if you were alone, and the mirror in the guest room where you could see your reflection blink.
The House had been abandoned for as long as anyone cared to remember, and friendly cops turned a blind eye once a year as generations of young boys and girls snuck in on the first October night. Parents only smiled and fondly remembered their first time, running down the street with friends in the cool autumn air on their way to visit The House.
No one ever called the cops, nothing was ever broke, no one got hurt. It was a town tradition, not marked on any calendar, but everyone knew that October first was House night.
And just like every other year, the hand full of children, young enough to be scared but old enough to be brave, showed up on the door step. Small flashlights in hand and determined faces, ready to face The House.
"Not everyone comes out of The House, you know."
A few children whispered between themselves.
"Do you want to know the about statues in the lobby? Do you want to know how it got there... who it is?"
The children nodded, silent but curious.
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