What do an old house, a kid dared to play ding dong ditch, and Ben Franklin have in common?
I rang the bell three times. My finger pressed against the half-broken button. Flesh squished on a warmed and viscid alien slime. My stomach sloshed summersaults in my gut. Earlier I’d never dreamed of ringing the bell of house 952, but I had a twenty riding on it and so I kind of had to. Not to mention that I’d have to earn the twenty bucks, if I ducked out.