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front door was open. A leering brass face for a knocker. Frank was reluctant to touch it.
         Scattered boot prints in the dirt.  
         There were two downstairs windows at the front of the house. The curtains were drawn.
         “Think anyone’s home?” Joel glanced around nervously. “Looks like the house is empty.”
         “Why would they leave the door open?” asked Frank.
         Magnus wiped his glasses with his sleeve. “Maybe they’re at the back of the house.”
         “Looks haunted,” said Ralph with a little grin.
         “That’s helpful.” Joel said, and then looked over his shoulder, as if someone was standing behind him.
         Frank rapped his knuckles three times on the door. Three dull thuds. Too loud in the silence. He waited, listening for movement inside the house.
         No response.
         Frank knocked again. 
         Ralph stepped back and looked up at the upstairs windows. “Maybe the farmer’s on the toilet squeezing one out.”
         “Let’s just go to the village,” said Joel.
         Frank ignored him. He took a step towards the doorway and hesitated.
         “What’re you doing, Frank?” Joel asked.
         “Taking a look.” He slowly stepped inside. “Hello? Anyone home?”
         Joel was right behind him. “Farmers have shotguns. He might think we’re burglars...”
         “Calm down,” Frank whispered. “And lower your voice.”
         “This isn’t right. We can’t just walk into someone’s house, even if the front door’s left open.”
         “We already have.”
         They stopped in the middle of the hallway. Joel stood close to Frank. Magnus and Ralph paused at the doorway.
         Frank looked around. The hallway had shadowed corners. Muddy wellington boots were left by the front door. Coats and jackets hung from a rack on the wall. Umbrellas and walking sticks collected in a stand. Two doorways led to a living room and a kitchen. A wooden staircase ascended into darkness. Wooden beams supported the ceiling, draped in cobwebs. Frank had a phobia of spiders ever since he’d left a glass of water by his bed overnight when he was a kid, and had woken in the morning, taken a sip of the water and realised too late that a spider had fallen into the glass and drowned. The spider’s legs had brushed his lips as he went to drink.     
         He shivered at the memory. He could hear the scuttling of arachnids in the silent recesses of the house.
         “Hello?” Frank called out. “We’re sorry to enter uninvited but we’ve got a bit of a problem. We found an abandoned car nearby, wondered if the driver’s come here...”
         No answer.
         Joel stood at the foot of the stairway, fidgeting with his hands. “Let’s get out of here. No one’s home.”
         “Joel’s right,” said Ralph. “They must be out somewhere.”
         “No,” said Frank. “Something doesn’t feel right.” He walked into the living room and was swallowed by the darkness. He opened the curtains. Sudden grey light revealed a dirty and stained carpet. Peeling wallpaper. An old television with a layer of dust on it. A cold fireplace below a mantelpiece topped with clay figurines. There were photos of a middle-aged couple. Paintings of the English countryside on the walls, and old furniture that belonged in a museum. No sign of life.
         Ralph flicked the light switch. “The power’s out. You think that’s the farmer’s wife in the photo?”
         “Could be his sister, but I doubt it,” said Frank.
         “Could be both,” Ralph said.
         “We’re from Somerset, mate. We’ve got the monopoly on inbreeding.”
         “How dare you insult our home county,” Ralph joked.
         Frank tried the house phone. No dial tone.
         With Ralph’s help, Frank searched the rest of the house while Magnus