Hi listeners, I'm Ashley Flowers and today I want to tell you a story about the time I went into

the house on Bappag lane, so gather around and listen close.

People always told me that my smile was the first thing that entered a room, but I'm not smiling now.

In fact, I'm terrified now. I can hear woodcreek above me and a distinct rusty hinge on a window

somewhere else in the house. This metal scraping metal sound, making itself known, it is there.

In this house full of ruins, something is moving. But 15 minutes, that's all I need to last.

I start to hop from foot to foot as if that somehow will calm the fireworks display that's

coursing up and down my body from the tips of my fingers to the bottoms of my feet, making me feel

like the actual human embodiment of what people would call a live wire. If such a thing meant

that you were also jacked up so high on adrenaline, it felt like your ears were about to explode.

Oh, and don't forget that itching, creeping feeling that makes every single hair on your body

stand on end. The feeling that tells you something most definitely is here with me.

But there's nothing here. I don't believe in ghosts. Even though I don't believe in ghosts in this

moment, I start to think about the old wives tales my mom used to tell me about ghosts haunting

this place. She said they could attach themselves to the mortal world with a human body that way

they can escape the prison of wherever they've been forced to haunt. I kind of shudder at the thought.

So far, I've just sequestered myself to the foyer of this big grand house on Babbage Lane.

And so far, I've handled the first five minutes in the middle of the first four landing pretty

well considering everything. Granted, I've shut my eyes for most of it, and that's sort of worked.

I try not to think about the broken French doors that lead off to the blackness to my left,

or what made them broken. I try not to think about the overturned,

moldy faded sofa through the archway to my right, or who flipped it over.

...