On a cool fall night two sisters walk alone on a path,
The moon high above them casting eerie shadows.
A breeze rustles the leaves on the tall trees,
The younger sister jumps, the terror on her face plain.
Her sister laughs, chiding her, for watching too many horror movies.

Down the path, the girls see the clubhouse their father built for them.
When they were younger, they would stay in that house for hours,
Pretending, but they have long since outgrown that silliness.
Now, the house is unkempt, vines twining around like snakes,
The paint used to be a vibrant pink, but is now dull and chipped.
There is smoke rising from the crumbling chimney; someone is inside.

The younger girl stops, hesitant, but the older girl approaches the house.
The little sister follows, wary of what’s to come.
The older girl pulls open the door, the acrid smell of smoke follows.
She sees a blanket in the middle of the room, laden with her favorite foods.
The younger sister’s relief is palpable, for no one is trying to kill them.

The door shuts behind her and she turns around to her sister,
The older girl smiles and tells her to sit and eat.
They talk and laugh, the old clubhouse bringing them back,
Back to happy times together.
Finally, the wood runs out and the sky is pink from the sunrise.
The two sisters make their way up the path again, hand in hand.