Teen Titans Fan Fiction ❯ Haunts ❯ Prologue

This idea so randomly popped into my head. I had the majority of the story worked out in two seconds.

Now I just need to write it.

Great.

((The prologue is short. I apologize. Other chapters will be longer.))

 

Haunts

Prologue: Little Boys

 

In the small suburbs of Jump City, specifically on a certain street with a certain “haunted” house, there is a ritual most of the little boys go through.

 

Six little boys stood outside the gates of the old, dead house. Gar wrapped his hand around the iron bars, wondering if the stories they'd shared were true.

 

As it was Gar's tenth Halloween on this earth, the other little boys had convinced him to do the usual ritual. Each year, some poor, unsuspecting victim was sent up to the door, where they would knock, wait for it to open, and, if it did, “Trick-or-Treat” as they tried not to wet their pants.

 

So far, in the existence of the house (so far as Gar and his friends had been told, as this ritual was beyond their own years and into their elder brothers' and sisters' and even some of their parents') no one had ever answered the door, but shuffling could be heard within, the occasional spooky noise or two. Their parents would tell them it was normal for old houses to make that noise, in which the elder sibling might point out that they said that in horror movies too, and have you ever seen those end happily?

 

But it was Gar's turn to undergo the ritual, and he was far unprepared for it. Still, he clutched his candy bag, sucked in a breath, and pushed open the gate, wincing at the creaks. The pathway to the door seemed longer than it should have been, with strange overgrown weeds wrapping over the broken concrete. It wasn't dark with the streetlights on every corner, five flashlights pointed at him, and his own straight ahead, but it was certainly dark enough. The moon gave no more light than it should have. (It was the suburbs after all.)

 

Gar's steps were slow and steady. He watched the ground, and for a little while he stared into the dead grass and garden of weeds, watching for uncertain shapes or slithering movements. It was still the age where vampires and witches peered through your window and the scariest thing he'd ever read was Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark. But eventually he reached the porch, climbing onto the old and rotted wood as he held a fist inches above the door.

 

If he did not do this—at least one knock and ten seconds wait—he would be the coward of the year. Still, he felt so little compared to the giant knocker the size of his head he was staring up at, and in a moment of panic, he confused himself into ramming himself into the door.

 

Gar's panic instantly grew, and he squeezed his eyes shut, holding in a breath. He could feel his friends staring at him, their flashlights like unworldly lights peering at him in the cover of dark.

 

Then, nothing happened.

 

Gar opened his eyes and stared at the paint-chipped green door, wondering if he hadn't been loud enough to shake up any ghosts.

 

(Well, if that hadn't been loud enough, he wasn't sure if he could do much else.)

 

Slowly, Gar turned around, trying not to sprint back to safety. When he regrouped with his friends, he shrugged his shoulders, telling them it couldn't be anything more than an empty house. He'd heard no noises inside, and no one had answered, so maybe it was better to leave it alone.

 

(For now. What good was Halloween if they couldn't force terrified boys into their utter doom?)

 

It had been a night of success for Garfield Logan. He'd embraced it, thanking whatever guardian watched over him, and spent the next week in a continuous sugar rush.

 

What he had not suspected that night of terror and triumph was that, seven years later, he would be staring at the same house all over again.