The Ghost of Mouth House

Anika throws up her hands and lets out an excited shriek.

“Danny is coming here?”

I nod, beaming. If there’s one thing my best friend and I always agree on, it’s that Danny Tibble is the coolest. He’s the host of our favorite YouTube channel, Ghostly Homes. We even have a watch party every week so we don’t miss any of his haunted house tours. 

“I mean, he hasn’t said that yet,” I tell Anika. “But he will—after we win the competition.”

Her excitement quiets. “What competition?”

“All his viewers are invited to submit a video of their town’s most haunted spot. The best one will be featured on a future episode,” I explain. “And they get to meet Danny!”

Anika’s mouth drops open. 

“But,” she starts, “he has millions of viewers, Fizz.”

Even though my name is Francesca, all my friends call me Fizzy. And Anika, my best friend since we were babies, just calls me Fizz. 

“I know, but we have something they don’t.” I take a deep breath and let my plan rush out. “We have Mouth House.”

Now Anika’s face isn’t just confused. It’s shocked. 

I don’t blame her. Mouth House is a rotting mansion with a front door that hangs open like a giant dark mouth. Everyone believes there’s a ghost inside. 

“Think about it,” I continue. “If we get proof of the ghost, we’ll win for sure.”

“Bad idea, Fizz,” Anika whispers. “I heard Tilly Jenkins went in last year and when she came out, she had a headache for three days.”

“Can ghosts give people headaches?” I ask, trying not to laugh.

“I don’t know!” she squeals. “Fizz, I can’t—”

I hold up my hand to cut her off. “You don’t have to. I’ll go alone. And I won’t even go inside. I’ll just take a video through the front door.”

When she doesn’t answer me, I add, “Trust me.” 

Anika’s face scrunches up, but I know she does. It’s one of the reasons Anika and I are such good friends. I trust her and I know she trusts me.

She slowly nods.

“Get ready to win that competition!” I whoop, raising a fist into the air.

“Don’t do anything dangerous, Francesca.”

Anika only uses my full name when she’s really serious. 

“I won’t. Promise,” I reply.

That afternoon, my bike splashes through puddles and bumps over the cracks in the street. It’s almost dark, and it isn’t just chilly out anymore. It’s cold. 

Rounding a corner, I see it. Mouth House. 

My breath catches in my throat. 

The mansion rises up into the darkness at the end of the block. The windows are boarded up, and a few are missing. Wisps of fog wrap themselves around the house like a skeleton’s fingers. 

Yikes. 

If Halloween had a profile picture, this would be it.

Stepping onto the stairs, I wince at the groan that comes from the rotting wood. It sounds creepy. Alive.

“Keep moving,” I say to myself as I turn on my flashlight. “You can do anything if it means meeting Danny.”

But as I reach the open front door, I’m not so sure. It’s dark inside. I hold my phone up and turn on the camera. But it’s no use. I can’t get the video we need without going inside.

Don’t do anything dangerous . . .

Sorry, Anika. But I have to go in to get the evidence we need.

It’s 2 o’clock, and Ghostly Homes is about to start streaming. We’re huddled around Anika’s tablet, waiting for Danny to announce the contest winner. 

“Our haunted house is better,” she says, taking the popcorn bowl from my hands. 

It sure is. 

Anika was surprised when I deleted the video, but once I explained why, she understood. And she was proud! I guess doing what’s right isn’t always easy, but it is always worth it.

I smile as another hand reaches across me and into the bowl. A pale hand.

Margot.

“I love popcorn!” she says. Then she meets my eyes and adds, “Thank you, Fizzy.”

And as Danny appears on the screen and announces the winner, I realize I’ve never been so happy to lose.