A Rainbow Runs Red

A music video in an old house. Light and fog rigs pushing the van based generator to its limit.

No, you're at the wheel, but you're in the backseat; Mickey's in the front lighting up. You can see the river coming up to meet you.

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Cade your eyes burst open. You're safe in the passenger seat, Ash is driving. Classes are off for a long weekend.

Ash, this stretch of road is long and straight, and you're cruising on caffeine and snacks.

You finally come upon the correct turn off, the trees bending inward on the less used path. The sun at your back becomes more and more frequently covered by clouds. Ahead, you finally reach the old bridge, 4 wooden crosses planted to the right. They sag slightly from the elements, otherwise unchanged by a year.

From here you can see the house on the hill. It is glaringly ordinary from this angle, if run down.

An old tractor slowly crosses the bridge ahead of you, but eventually the path is clear.

The weather seems determined to prey on your fears, the clouds blowing in faster as you take the single switchback up the steep hill. The house is deeper than it appeared from the bridge, a sagging porch and hedged in back garden the only actual signs of entry.

As Ash parks, the car settles into place the various rumblings of the engine petering to silence. The wind takes its place. In the distance are sounds that may be approaching rain and distant thunder.

The porch looks perhaps even worse up close than further away, one whole section requiring ducking. At least it still keeps out the rain. The door itself is locked, though the lock itself is pretty old.

The knob has some give and whine, but it stops just before it feels like it would pop. The wind picks up around you, louder than you've ever heard. Shutters smack against the upper walls of the old house.

You turn the lock back to where Cade had it and with a shoulder in just the right place (more than once). The door pops open.

Inside the wind blows around cobwebs in the corners of an old, sheeted living room. A green rug lays in the entry, a sheet of paper atop it, as if waiting. There's also a hallway and a closet at the far side of the room. The former drops quickly into darkness. The latter is partially open.

The page appears to be torn from a book, a journal maybe. The handwriting is mostly clean, but inconsistent.You can hear the rain approaching now, a sheet moving across the hills. It urges you to enter. It urges you to run.