“Don’t even bring that up.” Dee shot him a look. “Last time we came here . . . ”
“What?” Martín was smiling now. “You got spooked?”
“The last time I was here I took a picture that gave me the career I have now. The beginning of The Haunt, you can say.”
“Yeah, but only after you sat on the Devil’s Chair and left crying,” Dee said.
“What?” I laughed. “I do not remember that.”
“I can’t imagine how.” Dee shook her head. “And then you left the island.”
“I was thrown out of my house.” I shot her a look. “Very different.”
“Still. That chair brings bad luck.” She shivered. “It gives me the creeps.”
“Maybe all the folktales are true after all,” Martín mused, looking at me.
“Honestly, I don’t remember anything about that night.” I bit my lip. “I remember packing my bag. I remember fighting with my dad. That was basically it.”
“Maybe it was the underage drinking,” Dee said.
“Probably.” I took a deep breath. “I’m going to find the chair. I need to take a picture. You know The Haunt is going to love this.”
“She’s not wrong.” Martín started walking.
“Fine, but if you experience anything weird I am leaving.” She linked her arm with mine and we followed him.
“Hey, is the house you’re supposed to take pictures of 999 Dreary Lane?” Martín glanced over his shoulder.
I stiffened. I knew that address but that couldn’t be right. That was Caliban Manor. I took my phone out of my pocket and read the next email. It read: Sorry, totally forgot to send the address along with that. 999 Dreary Lane. Price tag: $15 million. My eyes widened. I read it aloud for my friends, who gasped.
“They’re selling Caliban Manor?” Dee asked, her voice a bare whisper.
“I guess we’re not the only ones tired of tradition,” I muttered under my breath, looking up to the spot where the house was supposed to be. “Is the tide down? If it is, we should be able to walk over there, right?”
“Walk over there?” Martín scoffed. “It’s a six-mile walk.”
“How do you know it’s six miles?”
“The invitation says it. A van will be waiting for all of the guests to drive them over to the house.”
I kept my eyes on the direction of the house, the island that stood alone just six miles offshore. I could barely make out the black iron gates, but I knew they were there. It was always like this, covered in heavy fog. So much so, that some accounts claimed there was no house there at all. The disappearing house, they called it. There were endless threads about it not only on The Haunt, but all over Reddit. It was bullshit, of course, but also the reason my picture had been worth so much. No one had ever been able to get a clear picture of the house. As if having the same thoughts, Dee spoke up beside me.
“How are you supposed to capture a vanishing house?”
“I don’t know.”
“It won’t be vanishing tomorrow, at least not for the rest of the week,” Martín offered. “The gala is in two days. I’m telling you. You should come.”
“Yeah right.” I scoffed. “Good luck getting me invited to that.”
“You can go as my date.”
“I thought I was your date?” Dee raised an amused eyebrow. “But I’m willing to sit this one out for the sake of the website.”
“We can all go,” he said, looking at the two of us. “Come on. They didn’t specify guests on the invite.”
My stomach flipped at the thought of stepping foot in that house. I knew I wouldn’t be welcome. Guzmans never were. A few of my cousins worked in the main house doing repairs and they’d never been received well. One of them, my closest cousin growing up, Esteban, disappeared around the property one night. That night. Even though he’d been a few years older than me, we were as thick as thieves. He loved adventures, which was what ultimately led to his demise. The police said he drowned while out fishing. Legend has it that if you drown in those waters, the Caliban Manor keeps your soul. It was a dumb myth that I tried not to think about, the way I tried not to think about most awful things. I shoved bad thoughts into a box and stashed it away. It was the only way to stay sane.
“The Devil’s Chair.” Martín’s announcement pulled me out of my thoughts. I looked over at him. “The fog seems to have dissipated from this area. If you want to take a picture, now would be a good time.”
“You know, the elders on this island tried their hardest to take this down and couldn’t,” I said, walking toward it.
“It didn’t always look like this?” He stood, brushing dust off his pressed pants.
“No way. It was a mausoleum for the Caliban family. At least that’s how the story goes,” Dee said. “The workers had enough of the wealthy and decided to riot and take down anything that resembled wealth. Of course, it’s difficult to tear down limestone, so this stayed.”