A boy who claims to be afraid of nothing visits a house that shows peoples' worst fears.
They say the thing you fear most can be found in the house.
As we plod toward it, the bronze sunset that once made the forest look so inviting rusts away, and the darkness that replaces it makes the trees look sinister. Bare save for the wrist-thick kudzu vines that coil around them, they now loom overhead, enclosing the road in a skeletal embrace. The silence of the night is deafening. Tim looks back. But I don’t.
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