The door creaked open, a shadow loomed within the layered darkness inside, and a chill crept forward to stalk the decaying porch. The boards below squealed in protest against the invading chill. The remnants of a light, the case tattered and broken, and the panes left in jagged splinters, swung away. An old and weathered swinging seat, the only part of the entryway meant to move, defied the chill and stoically refused to budge. It, more than the rest, was the cause of the tingle that ran up his spine.
The man paused before entering. The tingle, his body sensing danger and doing its best to warn him, wasn’t anything new and neither was his ability to ignore the danger and press on most of the time. But, he paused then to study the porch swing because it should have moved. The ghost pressing forward out of the darkness should have affected the seat just as it had the floorboards and the hanging light. His piercing eyes studied it for a moment longer and came to the conclusion that something stronger than the poltergeist was holding it in place and despite his curiosity that wasn’t why he was there.
His head swiveled back to the door as he stepped across the threshold, and then the darkness attacked him. He felt the door shut behind him more than heard it. The threat of cold that had greeted his approach materialized in full force and his breaths came out in icy puffs. He closed his eyes, useless for the moment anyways, and let the rest of his senses pick up what they could.
The ghost was coming. He could feel its wraith and sadness crashing against him in waves. He timed their spacing and tracked the spirits approach. Then, when the time was right, he opened his eyes again and caught it within his stare. It tried to recoil, to slip through the cracks of the world where it would be safe, but it had realized its danger too late.
The man spoke, and the ghost cringed in fear, “You don’t belong here.”