[ WP ] A group of friends have to go into a old house and recover a item , in order to receive a rich inheritance . However the house is haunted by ghosts , who have fortified the house . The friends have resorted to siege warfare to claim the item .

> Diary entry: Day 3. 
 
 > War. War never changes. Even if it's seige warfare against ghosts holed up in a haunted house. 
 
 `` What are you writing?'' Carey asked, peering over her brother George's shoulder. 
 
 `` We've been here a hour, not three days. And that's such a cliche pretentious line. You've been watching too many war films. I'm gon na go get a hot chocolate, do you want one?'' 
 
 George hunched over, shielding the page of his diary with one hand. `` Stop reading my diary, it's private.'' 
 
 Carey straightened and shrugged. `` Whatever.'' 
 
 As she walked along the road to the cafe, George continued writing. 
 
 > My sister is so annoying and she's ugly and fat and she's got a massive nose she keeps poking in where it does n't belong because she's so boring she's got to find out what other people are writing or she'll die of boredem by herself. 
 
 He smirked at his wit, then realised Carey had offered to get him a hot chocolate and he'd not been paying attention enough to say he'd like one. He looked up. Carey was walking out of the cafe, a solitary to-go cup in her hands. 
 
 `` Damn,'' George said to himself. After a few seconds considering, he wrote the word in his diary. Surely if Carey read it again she'd be compelled to tell Mum and Dad that he swore in his diary, and then he'd know she'd read it. A perfect trap. 
 
 `` I'm going to go and talk to them,'' Carey said. She was standing behind the barricade - actually an old tressle table Mum had used that time she'd done the wallpaper in George's bedroom, when he decided pirates and sailing boats was too childish and wanted guitars and drum sets instead. 
 
 `` You ca n't talke to them, they're scary angry ghosts!'' George protested. 
 
 Carey shrugged. `` Yeah well maybe the reason they're angry is because everyone treats them like monsters and nobody ever talks to them. Maybe they do n't care about Uncle John's box at all and are happy for us to have it.'' 
 
 `` Well I'm staying here, where it's safe,'' George said. He crossed his arms. 
 
 `` That's fine.'' 
 
 Still holding onto the hot chocolate with both hands - after all, it was cold out and Carey had n't brought her gloves - Carey stepped over the pasting table and walked up the drive. George watched her from behind the table, clutching his closed diary to his chest. The wind brought a wiff of the hot chocolate to his nose and he regretted again that he'd been too focused on Carey nosing on his diary to accept her offer of a hot drink. Maybe she'd give him a sip, if he asked nicely. Especially if he acted scared and she felt sorry for him. 
 
 George clambered over the pasting table, having more trouble with it since his legs were shorter, and ran after Carey. The dark house loomed above them. One of the shutters banged repeatedly. George did n't remember Uncle John's house having shutters before, but they did now and one was banging gently in the wind. 
 
 `` Hello,'' Carey said to the front door when they reached it. `` My name is Carey. This is my brother George. We're the neice and nephew of Uncle John, who used to live here until he died two weeks ago. Is he still here?'' 
 
 Nothing changed. The shutter continued to bang. The house still looked dark and forbiding. 
 
 `` We'd like to come in, if that's okay with you. Uncle John left us a box. He said it was a magical box. It's ours now so we'd like to come in and collect it. Can we come in please?'' 
 
 The lace curtain behind the glass in the door twitched. George jumped and clung to Carey's arm. 
 
 `` It's the ghost,'' George whispered. 
 
 The banging shutter fell silent. It was a silence that seemed the stretch, to fill the air around them, as if all other noises had stopped too. Not a bird, not a car, not even the sound of the coffee machine in the cafe. 
 
 `` I think that means we can go in,'' Carey said with confidence. She reached towards the door knob. 
 
 `` No, do n't,'' George said. He pulled on Carey's arm, so she had to leg go of the hot chocolate cup with that hand. 
 
 `` Do n't be a scaredy cat,'' said Carey. `` You're not a stupid little kid anymore. Come on, it'll be fine.'' 
 
 She stepped forward and turned the knob. It caught for a moment, then opened. The door's hinged creaked at the slightest movement as Carey slowly pushed the door open. 
 
 George clung to her more tightly, and hugged in closer, wrapping both of his arms around her arm. 
 
 `` Oh come on, Georgie, half the doors in our house creak too. It just needs oil. When Mum gets in here to give the place a proper clean-up, she'll oil every hinge in the house, and get rid of all the dust and the cobwebs and everything. You know what she says about Uncle John's approach to housework.'' 
 
 `` The house could fall down around him and he'd still say'it's just a little mess, and that never hurt anyone.''' 
 
 `` Exactly.'' 
 
 George looked around as they entered the house. There was dust and there were cobwebs, but there always had been. Maybe there were n't any ghosts at all, and it had all been a joke Uncle John played on them. But the curtain had twitched. There was something in here. 
 
 `` Where's the magic box?'' 
 
 `` I think it's the box under the coffee table in the lounge that Uncle John used to tap when he talked about the old days.'' 
 
 Carey led the way. The lounge was at the back of the house, through the open-plan kitchen/dining/reception room that dominated the ground floor. It faced out onto the neat little garden beyond, but though the windows were large, the room was never very well lit. A tall yew tree in next door's garden blocked a lot of the light, and years' worth of grime build up on the windows, never cleaned since Mum gave up trying, kept the rest of the light out. 
 
 Everything in the lounge was covered in dust, but for a small part of the coffee table, that instead boasted layers of overlapping coffee rings. It was clear from that, and from the dip in one of the sofa cushions, where Uncle John prefered to sit. 
 
 The curtain to the left of the window blew up. Somewhere, a shutter started banging. 
 
 `` There really is a ghost,'' George whispered. 
 
 `` Hello, it's just us, Carey and George. We're here for the box that Uncle John left us. We think it's in this room and we're just going to get it and leave again. Is that okay?'' 
 
 The shutter banged more loudly. 
 
 `` Or we can stay and talk, if you want us to. Are you lonely?'' 
 
 The curtain lifted a little again, and it felt as though the room got a little colder. George eyed the hot chocolate in Carey's hand. There was a smudge of glittery pink around the little sipping hole in the lid, evidence of Carey's lip-balm. Maybe she'd let him take the lid off if he wanted a sip. 
 
 `` Shall I tell you about things that have happened in town recently?'' Carey asked. 
 
 There seemed to be no response from the ghost. 
 
 `` Well. Mrs Collins who runs the bakery has got her grand daughter in to help out. She's 18 and just finished school and wants to learn to be a baker. I think her name is Ellie, but I've not met her before. Then there's the college. They've finished demolishing it now and there's a sign up at the front that shows a picture of pretty little houses and says there will be 32 houses and a block of 12 flats on the site.'' 
 
 The room was getting a little warmer. Outside, the sun seemed to have come out, but with the tree and the grime it did n't penetrate easily into Uncle John's lounge. 
 
 `` Jason's mum is opening a shop,'' George said, eager to contribute now it seemed that the ghost really was just lonely. `` It's going to be where the DVD rental place used to be. She's going to sell things that are good for the planet.'' 
 
 The curtain lifted a little again, and the room felt brighter and warmer, even if it did seem like there was a breeze. Carey squeezed George's hand and smiled at him. 
 
 `` The council says they're going to build a new bridge. There's too much traffic over the north bridge, and queues every day, so they're going to build a third one that crosses the river upstream of the north bridge, so the north bridge will be the middle bridge after that.'' 
 
 The shutter stopped banging again. In the kitchen/dining/reception room the old clock on the wall chimed three o'clock. George instictively looked at his watch. It was 3:17. 
 
 `` Do you think that means we can take the box now?'' George asked. 
 
 Carey nodded. `` I think it does.'' To the ghost, she said, `` Thank you for letting us into the house. We're going to take the box now. We need to get home before it gets too dark.'' 
 
 She pulled free of George and handed him the hot chocolate cup. `` Hold this.'' 
 
 While Carey pulled the box out from under the coffee table, stirring up clouds of dust as she did so, Goerge peeled off the lid. The cup was still almost full. He took a sip and put the lid back on, then stood waiting as if he'd done nothing while Carey lifted the box up. 
 
 `` Okay, you go ahead and hold the doors for me, okay?'' she said. 
 
 George nodded eagerly, and held the lounge door open for Carey to come through, then rushed ahead to the front door. 
 
 As they walked down the drive, back towards the pasting table, the shutter on Uncle John's house banged twice and again fell silent. 
 
 `` Goodbye,'' Carey called out over her shoulder. 
 
 `` Goodbye,'' George shouted at the ghost. 
 
 They had to come back for the pasting table. It took both of them to carry it, and witch Carey carrying the magic box and George clutching at his diary with one hand and holding Carey's hot chocolate in the other, it needed a second trip. But once they were home and had their coats and shoes off, they opened the box. 
 
 > Diary entry: it was n't a real magic box. Uncle John said it was a real magic box. I thought there'd be magic potions and real wands and magic amulets in it, but it was just fake magic. Decks of cards and a painted black and white wand and a book about card tricks and stuff. Mum says Uncle John was a TV magician in the 1960s. I remember him doing tricks when I was a kid, but Mum said he had to stop because of his arthritus. And if the magic box was n't real, was the ghost? Maybe it was just the wind banging the shutter and moving the curtain.
