Lorient, France, 1991

Pierre stared with wide eyes at the sign before him: “Acces Interdit No Trespassing”. It was mounted with loops of wire onto a chain-link fence that had to be about two meters tall, rattling noisily in the wind. Tall, untended grass grew to amazing heights on the other side of it, poking out through the fence. The colors of the place were almost monotone in the light, gray clouds having covered the sky for about an hour and no traces of the sun visible. The wind blew hard from the sea to his left, the beach a good drop downwards from the cliff the house stood upon, and the air was quiet... no gulls were out today.

The boy’s sister came running up behind him. The blonde girl leaned forward, resting her hands on her knees to catch her breath, panting out the words: “Way to go, Pierre... you hit another one into the haunted house.”

“I did not, Geneviève!” he protested, dropping his baseball bat pointing at the small hint of white among the dull goldenrod stalks of grass. “It’s in the yard...”

“Well, no matter, it’s on the other side of the fence, and it was our last one...” Geneviève sighed in frustration, tapping her foot. “Let’s go home. It’s going to storm, and we’re not supposed to be playing by this house anyway.”

The dark-haired Pierre reached forward, gripping the fence and giving it a good shake. “I can climb it...”

His sister’s eyes widened. “Non, Pierre! Don’t!”

“Why not?” he shot back, starting to ascend the fence.

“The ghosts will get you, brother. And if they don’t, I’ll tell Mom, and she’ll send you to bed without any dessert.”

“Ghosts?” Pierre was about midway up the chain-link now. “Don’t be silly, there are no ghosts in there...”

“There are!” Geneviève shouted. “I heard it from Modestine’s big sister next door. She says she used to know this girl, named Eulalie,” the girl was nearly panting in her speech now, becoming desperate as her brother perched on the top of the fence. “...who went into that house one day, and the ghosts of the people that died there got her and she disappeared forever!”

“Modestine’s big sister is lying,” the boy said calmly, starting to descend the other side of the fence and dropping to the ground about halfway down, landing gracefully. “She was the one who told you that your goldfish could breathe air, remember?”

Geneviève lowered her eyes. “I remember. But I do know people died in there. Mom told us, remember, and she never lies.”

Pierre turned away from his sister, picking up the baseball and giving it a couple of tosses before throwing it over the fence, far over his sister’s head. “Oui, but that doesn’t mean there are ghosts that eat kids in there. Look, I am on the other side of the fence, come and get me, ghosts!”

The older girl cringed, but when nothing happened except for another gust of wind, she relaxed her muscles again. “Maybe they’re not hungry,” she explained.

“Nonsense, there are no ghosts in the house,” her brother laughed. “Come on, Geneviève, let’s explore the house.”

“Pierre, non!” she yelled. “You got the ball back, now let’s go home before we get in trouble.”

“I want to see what’s really in there. Come on...” he smirked, “Unless you’re scared.”

It was as if Pierre had hit some internal switch in his sister, for she started climbing the fence like it was a playground ladder. “I’m not scared!”

Pierre waited, while his sister took her time in descending the inner side of the fence, and they both turned to face the structure. They were next to a barely visible stone path, an old wooden fence poking out of the thick grass with overgrown but dead vines covering it. Holding hands to stay on track, their eyes and ears alert for any disturbance in their surroundings. Only once did they discover they were off of the path, when their wanderings led them to the other side of the wooden enclosure, and a small stone Buddha that had seen many years of wear, covered in winding, dead vine. But from this angle they realized why they didn’t see the door, it was boarded over so extensively that it had been made nearly invisible. It took the adventurous Pierre to find a way in, a small animal door that had not been blocked, just big enough for them to crawl in to and find themselves in the dusty, void old house.

The floors were wooden, and from storm after storm and time in general, some of the boards were starting to loosen from the rest of the floor. They stood at the end of a hallway, looking down into the rest of the empty house, mostly open doors on their left and right. The first door to their left was off the hinges at the top, nearly fallen and crooked. Here the ceiling was out in one place, and the finish on the once-shiny floor was ruined, plaster and other building materials scattered on the ground.

Pierre was the first to step into the room, letting go of Geneviève’s hand as he did, bending down to inspect several curious stick-shaped objects, most broken, of various colors.

“Those look like the things Mother burns at night sometimes, to make the house smell good.” Geneviève stated softly, fearing her voice would stir a sleeping something in this dismal place.

“They do,” Pierre agreed, at last raising his eyes from the floor. Immediately his blue eyes widened at what he saw against the back wall-- a large statue, carved out of marble, it’s only flaw being that it was covered in dust. It was in the shape of some unearthly man, in a position as if meditating.

“Qu’est-ce que c’est?” Geneviève nearly whispered in wonder.

“Buddha,” her brother answered promptly.

“How do you know?”

Pierre started to walk out of the room. “The place downtown, remember? Let’s see what else is in here.” He pinched Geneviève’s arm as he passed her and crossed the hall. “No ghosts yet.”

She fumed, following him closely however. “Oh, stop it.”

The next room’s walls were patchy with a paler shade, indicating the absence of furniture that had once been there. Nothing was on the floor in there, save a few pieces of paper that had gathered in the center. This time, not to be beaten, Geneviève was the brave one. Pushing Pierre aside, she strutted forth into the room, turning the papers carefully over with the use of one finger.

“Pierre!” she called. “Come look, they’re photographs.”

The first one had been taken downtown, in front of the veterinary clinic. Seven people, six in white lab coats, and one on the far right in a bright-colored sweater, standing before the front door. The other seemed more informal, all the people from before, except for one in a small, bright room playing some kind of card game in casual clothes. And the third, two of the people that had been in the white coats before in a loving embrace, yet the smaller one of the two seemed surprised at the camera’s presence.

“Are these the two that died here?” Pierre inquired.

“I don’t know. Maybe,” his sister replied. She gave a shudder, sensing something strange the blonde looked around momentarily. “Pierre, we shouldn’t be in here. We’ll be late for dinner...”

“Relax, Geneviève. There are no ghosts, and they’re not going to eat us.”

They traversed down the rest of the hallway, finding nothing of particular interest in the other room to their left besides a large, sea-facing window that had long since shattered and most of the glass fallen from the frame, and a single shining pearl in the center of the room, caught in a growing crack in the flooring.

In what appeared to have been a kitchen area, from the spider web-infested sink area and rusty cabinet handles, there was a large patch on the floor where the finish was ruined more than the rest of the area, and nearby the shards of a broken rice dish, and a wooden spoon, oddly placed, lying just underneath the overhang of the low cabinet doors.

“How do you think they died?” Pierre asked from a spontaneous thought.

“I don’t know exactly,” his older sister responded, in a whisper, “but Modestine’s sister said they were killed by a crazy person.”

The brunette boy shuddered. “I hope that person isn’t around anymore. Crazy people are scary, like the homeless man that tries to get you to give him your allowance in the north part of town.”

Geneviève was half-listening, however, drawn more to a shiny object by the only window they’d seen so far in the house, in the main room. “I found something else.”

“What?” the boy leaned over her shoulder.

They didn’t dare to touch it. A simple stopwatch, its glass face cracked but it remained without rust. The hands of the clock were unfortunately barely visible, and one of them appeared to be broken off completely.

The two weren’t sure how long they had been in that house, wandering, staring in wonder at the various objects lying around, but when Geneviève looked up to peek between the boards out at the sky, it was frighteningly dark.

“Pierre, look outside! We need to go home!”

The boy winced at a glance to his watch. “Mother is going to send us both to bed with no dessert now, and that’s just if we don’t tell her where we’ve been!”

The children took hands again after scrambling through the animal door, almost tearing through the tall grass to get through it back to the fence. They climbed in madness, in fear, and almost hurt themselves dropping to the ground on the other side. Pierre almost forgot to pick up his bat and baseball as they ran towards home.

Suddenly, they skidded to a halt. “Do you hear that?” Pierre asked.

Geneviève nodded, catching her breath. “Oui, I do! That must be mother and father. Oh, they must be furious.”

“They’re down on the beach,” he added, and taking her wrist he led his sister down the slope to the sand and waves at the bottom of the cliff, so quickly in fact they almost fell as they half-tumbled downwards.

There was no sign of a single living soul when they hit the beach at last, though they looked up and down as best as they could. They began shouting for their parents, but the sounds they had been hearing died down as quickly as they’d started. Pierre and Geneviève were starting to worry that something had gone wrong, when Pierre cried out, “Look!”

Tracks. There was a set coming from the northerly direction, heading down towards and past them. “Father must have been by here,” Geneviève said breathlessly, judging from the size.

The children followed the tracks with their eyes to a spot a few meters away, where the sand was disturbed in an unintentional pattern, like signs of an animal fight. Also leading into this area were smaller, lighter tracks, coming down the same slope they’d taken to the beach, but not their own. Out of this, two sets, apparently the same that led into the area, walked together back up the slope.

“They were probably on the other side of the house.” Pierre reasoned, giving a tug to his tired sister’s wrist, earning a displeased grunt from her.

Pierre followed the tracks up to the house again, but stopped astounded at what he saw there.

The sets of tracks led up the slope, but right towards the house. He could still see them in the wet earth in front of the house, and they didn’t stop at the fence. One of the footprints was even divided right in half by the fence itself, and they continued on toward the front door until they disappeared into the grass.

“Geneviève... look...” he whispered.

“Non, Pierre, look at the beach. Quickly!”

Turning, he did so... only to see more tracks. They appeared to be the same as the ones he was already looking at, but they looked more like the dance guides he’d seen placed on floors. Positioned as if whoever had made the tracks had been recently performing a graceful dance in the rising and receding tides, and the waves were starting to wash away each step.

“Geneviève,” Pierre whispered.

“Oui?”

“There are ghosts here. You were right... but I think that maybe, they’re nice.”

“Maybe.” she nodded. “Come on... mother won’t be as nice when we get home. I can promise you that.”