Go in the house
Ten years ago. You are six years old. So is Dave.
"Dave, are we best friends?"
"Sure."
"Will we always be best friends?"
"Of course."
"So nothing's gonna make us come apart, right?"
"That's right! No yucky girls, and no moving away, and not even
if we both catch the same frog and we aren't sure who gets to keep it.
We'll be like brothers. Brothers are always brothers no matter
what."
"So we'll protect each other and stuff, right? Like
brothers."
Dave had smiled. "Yeah, like brothers." You had spit on your
hands and then shaken on it, a sacred gesture, and then they had
chosen special friendship stones which they polished with spit and
traded. The rest of the summer afternoon had been spent in tag and
cicada-catching.
He's like a brother, you think, clutching the little stone you always
keep in your pocket, heart racing. You have to protect him.
You enter the haunted house.
You have no idea what to do, but walk up the steps to the house's open
door. You have to. You promised.
