Fae had just left her shift at City Hospital and took a pit stop at her favorite 24-7 diner that was adorned with tacky aquamarine booths, metallic silver tables and filthy food laden black and white tiles. She loved this god awful diner because it was cheap and fast. She never had to worry about another soul present because she and the lone server with thin pencil eyebrows and a plump nose, always kept herself busy with her head immersed in a thick Calculus for Dummies book. The server never payed a wink of attention to poor Fae Winston, not like she cared. She was never one to bathe in attention or praise. She was more of a wallflower or a fly on the wall, only a nuisance, albeit a quiet one.

Fae worked in the pediatric floor and specialized as an ICU nurse for severely burned children. In a city so small and quaint you’d think melted faces and sad expressions from children that fell victim to extreme heat wouldn’t be so abundant. You’d be wrong. The abundance of recent house fires were shocking to many citizens, but Fae never questioned it, the more fires the more work she had and the more opportunities to save the souls of small bodies.
The hospital was evidently uneventful that night, the whitewashed halls were eerily quiet when Fae tapped her way down the linoleum halls. The overwhelming smell of anesthetics and the slow buzz of an overworked air conditioning system calmed her. The only burn victim to show during Fae’s shift was a 14 year old boy. He was in critical condition when he came in. This boys’ mother had been making a big pot of spaghetti, he had gotten in the way and next thing you know he was clinging to his life on a musty cot in a bland room decorated with IVs and a sad cacti.
Usually Fae was okay with seeing victims in such conditions, but something was unsettling about the young boy. His unblinking hazel eyes were locked on her. Fae had been stared at her whole life, the questioning and disgusted eyes of others still bothered her, but because of her convenient night shift, and secluded house no one had the inconvenience of laying their eyes upon her. Because she worked with friends who never gave her a second look, and patients who were usually unconscious means that she didn’t fall victim to crude stares anymore. But she felt the judgement radiating out of this young teenager.

* * *
Fae was eating her classic greaseball hamburger drenched in creamy mayo, ketchup ,with a thick metallic smell, and thin golden fries which she dipped in a mountain of chocolate milkshake goodness. This was her guilty pleasure, when everything in life went south she could take a quick detour to the diner. The diner had satisfied her for many years, it was a place of solitude, similar to the hospital. The diner was especially quiet tonight, the pencil eyebrowed waitress ditched her calculus book and was now tapping away and snickering at her phone, a look of smug pleasure on her plump face.
The atmosphere surrounding the diner turned frigid as pencil eyebrows aimlessly tossed a weathered looking reciept on the hideous metallic table with brutish
“Here ya go.”
Fae directed her attention to the mangled piece of parchment, which had numerous coffee stains and other miscellaneous liquids haphazardly strew across it. She picked it up with trembling fingers and inspected the order: burger, large fries and a chocolate milkshake coming to a whopping total of seven dollars; nothing was out of the ordinary. As she placed it on the table the bleeding dots that indicate fine scripture that was delicately etched onto the back became visible. She hastily flipped it over to investigate the writing, and what she read chilled her to the bone.

September 3, 1964
2:36 am
@ The corner of
Ashby Ave. and Wallace St.

Seeing as the present date is September 3rd, 2014 she couldn’t fathom the reason as to why the receipt would say 1964. That was fifty years ago. And the corner of Ashby Ave. and Wallace street had been abandoned and blocked of for years. Nobody ventured past the barricades, and nobody wanted to. The older kids of Middlesborough would tell the juvenile children hideous stories of a little boy who, if he misbehaved, was viciously beaten by his parents. The punishments would vary with every story, but the most brutal and horrific of all the stories was the one in which the boy was fourteen years old. His parents had sent him on a routine errand to pick up a loaf of bread and exactly 36 eggs. While he was riding his bike to the supermarket he became sidetracked by the candy store that had just moved to town, and like a moth to a flame he entered the store. With hunger in his eyes and a dollar 50 cents clutched in his greedy little hands he forgot about his chore. When he got home empty handed and with a stomach full of sugar his mother screamed and screamed. And in her rampage threw a pot of boiling water over the top of her son’s head. Then when the boy dies of shock the family fled town, leaving their kid under the floorboards of the kitchen. Ten months later a family of two moved into the house on the corner, and just a couple hours into living in their new abode the mother of the family heard a scratching under a floorboard while she was cooking ravioli. She played it off as the wind and went on her way. Then, in the middle of the night the family was awoken by a blood curdling scream. She was viciously stabbed to death. The killer was never found, and the house was abandoned. 
So when Fae got the mysterious receipt she instantly rejected the thought of actually going to this house. She had never been a fan of scary stories and wasn’t about to attend a haunted house any time soon. She left the diner, got in her broken down 1955 Chevrolet Bel Air, and drove away. The car was a classic which was kept up and passed down from family member to family member, and only when it got too Fae did it final decide to sporadically break down. As she drove away she tried desperately to get the violent images out of her head, but to no avail. Fae was so distracted that when her mind finally cleared she realized that she was in the middle of nowhere. The only indication of where she was is a tattered and beaten sign adorned with a few bullet holes that said Ashby Ave. It dawned on Fae that she was exactly where her receipt said to go. Except there wasn’t any caution tape blocking the road and she could just barely see a house perched at the top of the hill at the corner of Ashby and Wallace. Unconsciously she pressed the gas and the car rumbled as it slowly rolled up the hill. She was at the house, and to her astonishment it looked as though it was being occupied. She saw the silhouettes of a person walk past the window a couple times. It was as though something had taken hold of her body she had no control over her movement, and began walking up to the house. The only light was coming from the sultry moon and dimmed headlights. As her body drew closer to the door her mind, which was the only thing she had control of, was going haywire. What was going to happen when she knocked on the door? Who was the person behind the window, who was now standing motionless.
As her hand touched the cold metal of the door handle an electric current rushed through her body. She knew that whatever was hiding behind this door of secrecy wouldn't be good. She felt cold tremors rack her body. She gripped the handle in her tiny hand and ripped the door open. The interior of the house on the corner was quite retro and exceptionally spotless. As her toe passed the threshold she didn’t notice anything extraordinary or seemingly out of place. Except the person that was seemingly in the window was no longer present. As her body moved further into the house she began to regain consciousness to her limbs, she started to inspect her surroundings. The kitchen was directly in front of her, a living room to her left and a family picture hanging from the wall on her right portrayed a happy family. The mother was smiling lovingly at her husband, the only thing seemingly missing was the happy expression on the young boy’s face. His cold steely hazel eyes were penetrating her soul. As she leaned in to expect the photograph and realized that she had seen this young boy somewhere. As she backed away from the photo a dreadful feeling settled in her stomach, she dreaded what would happen when she explored further into the house, but kept on her way. A magnetic feeling pulled her forward. The white walls, similar to the hospitals, were covered in pictures capturing happier moments in the dreadful lives of the family that lived here. As Fae moved closer to the kitchen she noticed the clock on the wall, it showed that it was 2:30 in the morning, she looked slightly to her right and noticed a neighbouring calendar. When she inspected it she observed that the date was off. Instead of 2014, the year was 1964. It was as if nothing in the house had changed since the alleged accident fifty years ago.
As she stepped on a creaky floorboard in the middle of the kitchen all the lights in the house flickered off. A bloodcurdling scream of terror could was said to be heard for miles. Dogs were barking, babies were crying, and small children were sobbing into their mother's arms. When dawn rolled around the people of Middlesborough had forgotten about the disturbance that night until they looked out their windows to see the burning embers of the house on Ashby Ave. and Wallace St. The investigations results said that a woman had been in the kitchen boiling a pot of water when the stove top burst into flames and swallowed the house whole in a matter a minutes. The last thing that Fae saw in her final moments of life were two glowing hazel eyes, and a faint whisper of ,
“I’m sorry.”