The air grew colder as I climbed over the fence, the rough wood scraping my palms. Rena was already halfway to the mansion, her flashlight bobbing like a firefly in the dark. Tom reluctantly followed, muttering curses under his breath.

The lot surrounding the mansion was a jungle of weeds and dead trees. An old swing set, rusted and skeletal, creaked in the wind. The ground was uneven, littered with broken glass and forgotten relics: a child's shoe, a torn doll's dress, a rusty bicycle wheel.

"This place is insane," Rena whispered, her excitement barely contained. "It's like something out of a horror movie."

"Yeah, the kind where everyone dies," Tom muttered.

I stayed silent, my stomach twisting into knots. The mansion loomed larger with every step, its cracked stone walls covered in black ivy. The front door was slightly ajar, creaking as the wind pushed against it.

Rena grinned, turning to us. "Ready?"

"No," Tom and I said in unison, but Rena was already stepping inside.