Ghost Stories

65 pages

The glass broke easily, and almost inaudibly.

Ryan knocked out the last few shards which clung to the frame, reached in and unlocked the door.

The sun had begun its slow descent, and the air was bitterly cold. The folks at the soup kitchen had warned the homeless crew about how the temperature might get into the teens. Possibly even the single digits. Time to get rid of your pride and find a bed for the night.

Ryan couldn't agree more.

But he refused to go to a shelter.

Nope. Better to spend the night in jail, He thought.

Except Ryan didn't want to be in custody either.

Plenty of abandoned houses around. And in New England, the heat was almost always left on. Banks couldn't sell a house with burst pipes. Nobody, not even someone who bought a foreclosure, wanted to deal with flooded rooms.

Ryan had broken into plenty of houses before. Not to steal anything. No. Just a place to sleep. Maybe for a night. Sometimes, a week.

It all depended on how nosy the neighbors were.

And Ryan felt like this house, well, he might make it all through winter in this one.

It was at the edge of town on a dead end road.

The nearest house was two lots up. And it looked like the people living there were snowbirds, flown south to Florida weathering out the New Hampshire winter.

Which was fine with Ryan.

Ryan needed a room without windows, if possible. And if not, well, then a room with just one would be fine. He could cover a single window up and allow himself the luxury of a light after the sun went down. A rare treat when you're squatting in an abandoned house. Yes, things looked good.

He popped the door open, slipped inside with a wide step over the broken glass and quickly closed and locked the door. He knew the empty pane would tip off any cop who took a stroll around the house, but Ryan figured he was safe.

Cops usually didn't check on abandoned houses.

They had other occupied places and taxpayers to worry about.

With the door closed behind him, Ryan looked around. Not surprisingly, he was in the kitchen. It was barren of furniture and utensils. A fine layer of dust coated the floor and the counters. The old, analog clock set into a yellow stove ticked away.

Someone's still paying for the electricity, he thought with a smile.

Ryan moved a few steps forward, spotted a wall sconce and found a bulb in it. He quickly unscrewed it, held it to his ear and shook it.

Nothing.

The filament wasn't broken.

Better and better, Ryan thought.

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