The What House

All the children knew about the house in the gully in the woods. It didn't have a name, but they called it the What House, and to them it seemed impossible not to know about. They spoke about it rarely, and always late at night in hushed voices. Despite this — or perhaps because of it — rumours about the What House ran like lice through the children.

It changed colour while I was collecting firewood.

Purple smoke was coming out of the windows! Thick, too, like it was burning.

Something in there was roaring last night. Something big.

The children tried asking their parents about it, sometimes taking them down into the gully. But even standing up close — or at least as close as common sense allowed — adults' eyes would just glaze over and they always gave the same answer:

"What house?"

So the children mostly just learned to stay away from the What House, and kept its existence confined to whispered stories in the dead of night. Until Christopher arrived.

Christopher came from the big town a day's ride away. Mostly the people who lived in the village were born in the village, and travel between the village and the "city" — as the locals optimistically referred to the town — was almost always from the former to the latter. So when Christopher and his parents moved in, they quickly became the village's principal topic. The woodworker, who usually spent his days in the tavern complaining about having no work, was instead in the tavern complaining about the amount of furniture the "new lot" had ordered. A gossip of teetotalers gathered in the chapel to fret about the feral array of vices the "city folk" would surely transmit to their nice little village. Even the children were speculating wildly about Christopher and his family.

"I bet he has a sword," James declared. "All the townies do."

They were sitting along the dilapidated stone wall that ringed the city, enjoying the last rays of the day. Anya, the eldest, sat on the highest part of the crumbling wall, her eyes on the woods.

"A sword?!" Amelia scoffed. "That's a year's wage, at least!"

"It's cheaper in the city! Supply and demand," James insisted cryptically. His father was a trader, and although James didn't know what supply and demand was, he knew that Amelia didn't know either.

"Even if he has a sword, he's only our age," Edwin said. "The town watchmen say you can't start training for the sword until you're twelve, so he wouldn't be able to use it anyway!"

The children descended into a squabble of debate about the likelihood of the new boy owning a sword and his relative proficiency using it, except for Anya who just watched from the wall, and Edwin who was instead reciting the various things the watchmen had told him during his visits into town.

Anya sighed and stood up. Standing up but staying quiet was a trick she had learnt to get everyone's attention, and it worked now.

"I wonder," she said thoughtfully, "if an outsider like Christopher could see the What House?"

They all considered the question quietly, but not having an answer they soon became restless.

"Christooopher," James drawled. "I bet he hates being called Chris."

For Anya, Christopher and his potential sword were soon forgotten. When she returned home, her parents had a surprise — to celebrate her twelfth birthday, she would be starting her apprenticeship at her father's bakery. Instead of school, the first day of each week would be spent learning how to bake bread, serve customers, and manage the finances. Her first day was tomorrow.

Anya was so excited she barely slept, which was an issue at cock's crow the next morning when she was rudely woken up. After managing to sleepily pull on her new smock and apron, Anya walked the short distance to the bakery with her father.

The day was long, and Anya's job was particularly tedious. She was just to follow her father around and watch whatever he did, sweep the floor after he finished doing it, and sit quietly until he was ready to do the next thing. More than once, she found herself thinking that perhaps school wasn't so bad after all. At least her friends were there.

But those thoughts were quickly banished at the end of the day when her father solemnly presented her with a small pouch of coin — her first pay.

Walking back home, Anya felt different. Tired and a little bit dulled by the day, but somehow content. She supposed this was growing up. She wondered if things would be different at school. Now that she was growing up, could she still be friends with the other children?

It turned out Anya didn't have to wait long to find out. Turning into the lane home, she was almost knocked off her feet by a cannonball of children.

"Help, Anya!"

"Where were you?"

"It got Chris!"

Anya scrambled up the stone wall to get out of reach, and standing tall she patted the air gently.

"Sssshhh, slow down a bit," she implored. "What's this about? What got Chris?"

The other children went silent, looking wide-eyed and shuffling nervously.

"The What House," Amelia finally whispered.

What house? Anya thought for a moment, and then blinked. The What House. How could she have forgotten?

Without another word, Anya turned and started walking towards the wood. They marched like a hurricane, with Anya at the centre as the other children whirled around her in breathless chatter.

"— after school, and James made him—"

"I did not! I just dared him, just to go to the end of the gully!"

"But you didn't tell him about—"

"Yeah, you didn't say anything about the … What House —"

"—name was Chris, and you kept calling him Christopher—"

The argument continued until they reached the edge of the gully in the woods. By then, James was crying silently, except for the occasional sniffle. In the distance, the What House flickered between the trees.

"So, you got to gully — and none of you had told him about the What House — and then what?" Anya asked.

The other children all looked at the ground, shame-faced. James hiccoughed and started speaking quietly.

"Chris saw the What House, and it looked normal, not weird or anything, like the white houses in town with the red tiles. And then I-I said the dare was to… knock on the door!" James burst into tears. "I'm sorry! I-I didn't mean to, I didn't mean—"

Amelia hugged him, and they all came to a momentary standstill. Anya focused on not tapping her foot impatiently. They were almost at the What House, and she still didn't know what had happened.

"Ok," Anya said loudly, "so Chris went up to the house and knocked. And then what?"

"Then the What House got him!" Edwin insisted. Anya frowned.

"But what do you mean, got him? Did something… pull him in?"

The children looked at each other, confused.

"There was… a bang," Edwin frowned in thought.. "Behind us. Something big, and we all turned around but nothing was there. And when we turned back, Chris was gone."

"Yeah! And the house was different! It didn't look like a townhouse anymore, it was an old hovel," Amelia chimed in.

Anya stroked her chin thoughtfully and hmmm'd, like her father sometimes did. She had no idea what to do, but her father had said half the time the most important thing was just to look like you knew what to do, so that's what she did now.

"Well, first let's just get close and look at the What House. Then we'll make a plan," Anya announced. All the other children sagged in relief, and they marched stoically to the small ridge that was considered the closest safe spot to the What House.

The What House looked particularly uninviting that evening. When they had first glimpsed it at the end of the gully, it had been a quaint little cottage, smoke puffing cheerily out the chimney. But as they trudged closer the house kept flickering in and out of view, each time becoming taller, or darker, or somehow more twisted. By the time they reached the ridge, it was three stories of gnarled black wood and iron, hunched in the gully like a spider. There was no roaring coming from the house today. Instead, a howling wind seemed to scream out of it.

The children squatted along the ridge, observing the What House. It was getting late and the cold was beginning to set in. Anya tried to look resolute, but her heart was pounding. She felt a bit sick. What had even happened to Chris? What was she supposed to do? She wished the grown-ups were here, even if they couldn't see the What House. Even if it was right in front of them, changing colours, even if they wouldn't even look at it properly…

Anya blinked.

"There was a bang, and you looked away…" Anya said slowly. The others murmured in agreement. The What House hadn't changed the whole time they'd been crouching there. Not that they had been there long, but on the walk through the gully the What House had changed a dozen times as it blinked in and out between the trees.

"Everyone turn around," Anya ordered, spinning on her heel. The others looked confused, but followed her lead. She took a deep breath, and looked over her shoulder.

The What House had changed. Gone was the ominous wrought iron fence, replaced with an incongruous white picket fence. It had shrunk, too, down to a single storey, although it still looked almost derelict.

Anya glanced away and back again. Now there was bunting around the eves. She blinked a few times, but the bunting remained. Another glance away, and now it was a circus tent. Another glance, and now it was a townhouse, with white bricks and red tiles.

"James!" Anya tried to shout, but it came out in a strangled whisper. "James, is that it?"

The other children turned back and gasped. James, eyes wide and still red from crying, nodded silently. Anya knew what to do.

"Ok, listen carefully. James and I will go into the What House—"

The other children started arguing loudly, but Anya ignored them and kept her eyes on the What House.

"Enough! I don't know Chris, I need someone who will recognise him. James, I know—"

"I'll go," James said quietly. He was pale, but he straightened his shoulders. Anya nodded.

"Ok, next. Amelia, go into town and get as many adults as possible down here. Do whatever it takes. Lie, say Chris is hurt—no wait, say there are men down here holding him. Bring as many as you can.

"And Edwin, you have to watch the What House. It only changes when you look away — as long as you keep watching, we'll be able to come back. Understand?"

The childrens' eyes lit up, but Anya kept talking.

"It's the most important job. You're just like a town watchman. You can blink, but never look away. Even if you hear a bang, even if the grown-ups tell you to, never look away!"

Edwin clenched his fists, puffed up his chest, and took up his post immediately. Amelia hesitated a moment, then took Edwin's cue and began sprinting towards the village. James stepped up next to Anya. She took his hand. He looked so relieved that Anya didn't have the heart to tell him it was more for her benefit than his.

Almost in sync, they took a deep breath, and without so much as a glance back, they took the first step towards the What House.

Somehow, it felt like both the longest walk in the world and over in an instant. One moment she was thinking distractedly about how sweaty James's hand was, and the next they were standing on the stone porch. Before she could think too hard about it, Anya rapped twice — knock, knock! — on the dark oak door. Almost before she had finished knocking, the door swung open.

Inside was completely black. Anya's throat tightened, and she was suddenly terrified. She couldn't move. She could barely breathe. She couldn't possibly go in. And then James squeezed her hand. She stepped forward.

The door didn't slam behind them. Instead, it seemed to just… disappear. One moment, there was a small rectangle of light back into the gully, and then it was gone. The air was icy cold whipped around them in a fever. They were alone, but Anya felt like someone was watching from every angle. It was the house, she realised.

"We know your trick now!" Anya shouted into the darkness. "We're watching you, so you can't shift! And we've told the adults. They're coming with… with torches! They will burn you to the ground!"

There was a terrifying roar, and the darkness erupted into thick, acrid smoke.

"B-but," she went on quickly, "we'll stop them. Give us back the boy, Chris, and we'll call off the grown-ups."

Everything stilled, as though the house was considering the offer. Then the smoke seemed to peel back. Standing before them was a young boy.

Even before James shook his head, Anya knew this wasn't Chris. He was smiling. No one would be smiling in this place.

"The real Chris!" Anya insisted. The smile vanished from the boy's face, and he stepped back into the darkness. A moment later, another boy stumbled forward. His clothes were dirty, and he looked terrified.

Anya glanced at James, but he shook his head again.

"The longer you try to trick us, the closer the adults get!" Anya warned. The house seemed to choke in rage. With a rush of air, the smoke burst into flames. Strangely, there was no heat, but Anya clamped her arms tightly to her side anyway. She felt the lump of the coin pouch in her smock. The bakery seemed so long ago. She remembered how proud she had been, how grown up she'd felt.

Anya had a flash of inspiration.

"It's not fair we bothered you," she reasoned. "We shouldn't have come banging on your door. So give Chris back and we'll call off the grown-ups like we said. And… and I'll give you this. To make amends."

Anya pulled the coin pouch from her smock and laid it gently on the floor. She held her breath. For a moment, nothing changed. Then, the flames seemed to vanish. A small rectangle of light appeared behind them. And on the floor before them lay a boy.

James and Anya stumbled out of the house, dragging Chris between them. It was dark and foggy, but adults were shouting nearby and Edwin was yelling I never looked away! Suddenly, strong arms were hugging them all.

"Anya, sweetheart! Gods, you smell like smoke! Are you ok? What is that house?"

All of them were looking at her, the children and the adults, and Anya suddenly realised she was the only one watching the What House. She could feel their attention and emotions like a pulsing heat on her skin. The grim satisfaction of the children, the bewilderment of the adults, and from everyone the hard trickle of fear.

She hesitated. Part of her wanted to tell her father everything, to just tell the grown-ups and let them deal with the What House. But she remembered the dark, and she remembered the smoke, and she remembered the way the house had seethed in rage. And most of all she remembered the promise she had made to the What House, the promise to stop the adults burning it down. And somehow she knew it would be a very, very bad idea to break a promise to the What House.

Anya looked blankly up at her father.

"What house?"