"There is a witch that lives in that house," I said as we walked by the old house on Exmouth St.
"Do you really think so?" Randy asked.
"Yup. It has to be. Who else would live in a house like that?" The house was old and made of rotting wood, which the paint had peeled off of long ago. The windows were dirty, and one could barely see the old tattered curtains that hung in the windows. The handrail going up the steps to the front door was falling off, and the grass was three feet high. There was an old rickety picket fence that surrounded the property. The place reminded me of a smaller version of the house I saw in Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho.
"What do you think the witch looks like?" Randy asked.
"I think she looks like the Wicked Witch from the Wizard of Oz."
"Lets get out of here," he laughed.
"Ok," I replied. We left and continued down the road discussing what we had just seen.
After school the next day, Randy and I went back to see the house. We walked down Christina St. and then turned the corner onto Exmouth St. As we approached the house, we heard a door close.
"You see Michael, somebody really is living there," Randy said softly.
It was kind of scary because even though we imagined a witch living there, we didn't really believe it. It was just the imagination of two young boys running wild. Now we knew someone actually lived there. We picked up the pace and walked quickly by the house. I took a quick glance out of the side of my eyes and noticed a light on in the back window. I could feel my heart starting to race.