Yakabatanidzwa ruzha

The old house at the end of Marigold Street had been empty for years. Windows boarded, paint peeling, yard overgrown with weeds that seemed to choke the life out of everything else. People in town said no one lived there anymore. They also said no one should go near it after dark. One night, sixteen-year-old Daniel decided to prove those stories were stupid. Armed with a flashlight and his phone camera, he walked up the cracked sidewalk toward the house. The front door hung slightly open