“Logan, Logan wake up!” my brother shouted, “we’re going to be late for baseball practice. Dad is ready to leave.”

“Okay, just a minute,” I replied bitterly, “I’ll be right down.”

“What happened to your leg?” Corey wondered, as he pointed to a large scratch perched at the top of my left calf.

“It’s nothing, I probably just scratched myself,” I said. “I’m fine.”

I casually rose out of my bed and walked towards my window facing our backyard as I struggled to open my eyes. I parted the white blinds surrounding my window and glimpsed at the old house in the distance surrounded by a swamp. I always wondered who lived there, if anyone did, but never cared enough to inquire. As I stared at the house, I heard my brother’s voice growing impatient, “Logan!”

Later that afternoon, on our way home from practice, Corey and I argued back and forth about who the best shortstop in Major League Baseball was.

“Derek Jeter had 1,311 RBIs throughout his twenty year career,” I argued, “how could you say Barry Larkin was better?”

“Barry Larkin was better overall,” he shouted, “are you crazy?”

Corey and I were Irish twins. I was 8 years old and he was 9. We spent most of our time playing baseball for the Savannah Tigers, a little league team in southeast Georgia. Our arguments about baseball would go on for hours until our mother would separate us at the dinner table. That night, as we ate dinner, my mother randomly brought up a man named Mr. Elvy.

“You know the neighbors were just telling me about the ten year anniversary of Mr. Elvy’s death,” she said, “I wonder if Mrs. Elvy is doing okay.”

“Who is Mrs. Elvy?” I asked.

“Yeah, who is Mr. Elvy?” my brother joined.

“Mrs. Elvy is the old lady that lives in that house behind us, Logan,” she confirmed. “Her husband Harold Elvy died and tomorrow makes it 10 years since he died.”

I suddenly felt disturbed. There was some strange mystery about that house next to the swamp. How come I’d never heard of Mr. or Mrs. Elvy? How come I’d never seen anybody come out of that house?

“No matter what you boys do, I don’t want either of you going anywhere near that woman’s house,” my father interrupted, “the neighbors have already claimed that they’ve seen and heard spirits walking around their homes and I have a feeling that Mrs. Elvy knows a lot more than we do.”

“Do you seriously believe those superstitions honey?” my mom joked, “the woman is 80 years old. She wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

My father suddenly removed the napkin from his collar and raised his right hand in the air trying to say something while he finished his last bite of food. Before he spoke, he paused for a few seconds and his cheeks began to turn red. He appeared to be very nervous.

“Look, one night, I sat right there in the living room watching a movie,” my father explained nervously while pointing at the old leather love-seat occupying the living room. “As I fell asleep, I heard some loud noises coming from our backyard. I ran to the kitchen window to see what was going on and as soon I looked through the blinds, Mrs. Elvy was just standing outside in our backyard staring back at me with a mean look on her face.”

“Okay dad, you're scaring me” Corey interrupted.

“Honey, enough,” my mom insisted. “Logan, go upstairs and do some reading with your brother, your father and I need to talk.”

As Corey and I headed upstairs to our rooms, we stopped halfway to eavesdrop on the rest of conversation our parents were having in the kitchen.

“You need to stop,” my mom whispered, “You know that woman hasn’t been the same since her husband died.”

“Why would she just be standing outside of our backyard window then?” my father asked. “I’m telling you, there’s something really strange about that woman.”

“Did you ask her what she wanted? Maybe she was feeling lonely.”

“I couldn’t move or speak. I just stared at her standing there with her arms crossed in that heavy wool sweater and that long black skirt she always wears.What scared me the most is that she never blinked. She just stood there, tapping her right foot up and down like she always does.”

“Like I said, she probably felt lonely and just wanted some company,” my mother explained.

“I’m sure Mrs. Elvy is far from lonely. The other night I looked out into the kitchen window, I noticed about six or seven other women around her age walking into her house. I couldn’t help but wonder what they could have been doing there so late in the night.”

When I finally continued to walk up the stairs to my bedroom, I began to feel goosebumps all over my body. I was terrified by the thought of spirits and wondered why we were still living in our house if the neighbors had already confirmed that they’d seen ghosts. How come my parents hadn’t told my brother and I about the Elvys before? I wanted to sleep with my parents that night, but didn’t want them thinking I was scared, so I forced myself to stay in my own bedroom. As I laid in my bed that night, I heard a knock on the door and began to panic.

“Yes,” I asked anxiously, “who is it?”

“It’s Corey,” my brother shouted, “open up.”

I jumped out of my bed and opened my door.

“I’m going to Mrs. Elvy’s house tomorrow,” Corey stated, “I’m going to see what’s going on over there.”

“Dad just told us not to go anywhere near her,” I said, “didn’t you hear what he said about her?”

“I know,” Corey replied, “if you come with me in the morning, it won’t be that bad.”

“What for? What are we going to do there?”

“We’re just going to say hi to her so that she leaves our house alone,” Corey said, “once she realizes how friendly we are, she’ll just bother the neighbors instead.”

Without any hesitation I agreed to follow my brother to Mrs. Elvy’s house. Although I was terrified, I thought that visiting Mrs. Elvy could settle an imaginary grudge between her and my family.

The next day, my brother and I arrived at Mrs. Elvy’s front porch. We were greeted by a swarm of flies and an overwhelming smell similar to a decomposing rat. There was a rocking chair with a garden gnome sitting in it, as if it were there to watch the house.

“You should knock the door and see if she’s here,” Corey suggested, “see if she’s home.”

“No this was your idea,” I defended, “you knock.”

Corey walked up the two rungs on the wooden stairs and lifted the dusty door knocker. He let it go for the first knock, lifted it again and ran back to me at the bottom of the stairs before the door knocker could hit the door again. As we stood there in silence, waiting to hear footsteps, a black cat came running from the side of the house. My brother and I ran from the house until we got home. When we got to the front of our house, we were hunched over for several seconds with our hands to our knees, gasping for air as we tried to catch our breath. Our mother suddenly opened the front door to our house and looked at us with concern.

“Where you two coming from,” she wondered, “ why were you running?”

“We were just having a race,” Corey replied as he continued to breathe heavily, “we’re fine.”

When my mother walked back into the house, Corey and I quickly resumed to our conversation about Mrs. Levy’s house.

“I’m gonna go back there tonight,” Corey said, “I know she’s there.”

“Well you’re on your own this time, that house freaked me out. Besides, Dad would kill you if he found out you left the house.”

“He’s not going to because you're coming with me. Stop being such a punk, she’s 80 years old. You heard what Dad said. He saw a few other women visiting her the other night, so at least we know she is human.”

At about 10 p.m., our parents fell asleep, and we tip-toed out of our front door. Once again, we arrived at Mrs. Elvy’s home and could hear the sound of a violin being played inside the house. If it weren’t for the flickering light coming from the old lantern on the front porch of Mrs.Levy’s house, it would be pitch black, and we wouldn't be able to see anything. As we walked up the wooden stairs and approached the front door we noticed the door was open, but not a dab of light coming from inside. We carefully made our way inside the house toward the sound of the violin.

“Hello? Anyone here?” I called.

We made our way through the living room filled with contemporary furniture and blurry portraits hanging on the walls. Although no one answered, we suddenly heard whispers as we got closer to the sound of the violin. The music was coming from a small door that looked like it led to a closet. Corey opened the door and a group of women holding open books reciting what appeared to be songs of witchcraft; they quickly turned and looked into our direction blinding us with the lights coming from their lanterns. My brother and attempted to run out of the house, but realized we ran through the wrong door that led to a closet. As we waited stood in the closet shaking in fear, we listened for any noises inside of the house, but there was pure silence. We noticed a speck of light coming from under the door and dropped to the floored to peek through the crack.

Clap, Clap, Clap.

It was the sound of Mrs.Levy’s foot tapping on the wooden floor. Waiting for my brother and I outside of the closet.