As time goes on, they begin to feel scarier than any criminal Spencer may encounter inside. Plus, he has a gun to shoot things with. The only protection I have out here are my own two hands, and they’re much better at saving people than hurting them.
There's another scratch of the back of the truck, this one accompanied by a groaning sound. Last time I checked, sticks didn't groan. There is definitely something not good waiting for me in the woods. I could take my chances sitting here in the truck, waiting to be eaten, or make a mad dash for the inside of the house where there's a big, hunky guy with a gun to protect me.
There's really no other choice.
I pick the hot guy.
It takes another minute to talk myself into it and gather all my courage—I'm not a particularly fearless person to begin with. In one uninterrupted movement, I hit the unlock button, swing open the truck door, jump out, close it behind me, and run for the front door of the house. There are three small steps leading up to the sagging front porch, and I jump over all three like I'm Superwoman clearing a tall building. Both feet land on the porch. One of the boards dips, but it doesn’t stop me.
The door bangs shut, the crack echoing in the large, mostly empty living room. I stumble and quickly catch myself from the force of no longer running. Looking up, I’m met with the view of a large, black T-shirt-covered chest.
"Holy shit, Jos. I told you to stay in the truck, not run into the house without warning. I could have shot you.” Spencer lowers his large, shiny gun but doesn’t put it away.
I should be worried. I've never stared down the barrel of a gun before, and I hope never to again, but fear of Spencer's shooting me doesn't rank anywhere on my list right now. "It’s scary out there."
He laughs, but it's really not a funny situation. "It's scary in here, too. I need to check the upstairs and then call this in. I'll be right back. Stay here." He points to a spot on the floor. I have no plans to go back outside.
I consider asking Spencer to let me tag along—an abandoned house where criminals used to hang out doesn't seem much safer than the car now that I'm in the living room alone—but Spencer makes it up the stairwell before I gather more courage. With each step, the boards creak and rumble from his weight. He reaches the top, and I continue to track his movements on the second floor by the squeaks and groans of the wood.
One minute passes, and then another. I don’t move from the little area he pointed at. I have no plans to leave my very comfortable and very safe space.
A light flickers in front of me from an open room off the living room. Probably a kitchen.
I ignore it.
Until it happens again. The light flashes, my eyes catching the change in brightness. I look up even though I don’t want to.
"Spencer," I yell, hoping he’ll hear me upstairs.
"I'll be right down." His words are muffled but easy enough to make out from upstairs and a little to my right.
The light flickers again, this time staying off longer than it had previously. There's a loud bang, like a body falling to the floor above me. I flinch and duck to the ground, ready to drop to my belly if it comes again.
"Spencer," I say, nowhere near as loudly this time.
It takes him only a second to answer. "Knocked over a chair. It's fine."
He needs to hurry up. This scene is starting to feel more and more like something from M. Night Shyamalan. The light dims. I hold my breath and wait for it to turn back on.
It doesn’t.
"Spencer?" I move a few inches off of my protected space, then stand up.The next thing I’m aware of, my legs are moving toward the kitchen without my consent. I creep to the now dark room, going slow enough for Spencer to come back and tell me I’m a moron because it’s just a kitchen, not a portal to hell. I can’t see dead people.
We’ll have a good laugh and then he’ll take me for the steak dinner he promised. I reach the area where the two rooms connect sooner than I want. Spencer still isn’t downstairs, and the light still hasn't turned back on. I stretch my neck out and squint with one eye to see better in the darkness, but it doesn't help.
A sound scurries in a dark corner to my right. "Spencer?" I whisper.
Three more steps get me to the kitchen. The light flickers, brightening the dark room. My eyes scan from wall to wall. The space is empty, nothing left behind besides the cabinets lining the outside edge.
And the dead body.
I scream, the noise ricocheting off the bare walls, turning to an echo. The horrifying sound escaping my lips continues even when I place a hand over my mouth.
The turns off again, but it's much too late, the image burned into my memory for eternity—the dark lump, slumped over, his head braced against the cabinets while his lower half sits on the ground, his feet spread out before him. With the room dark, I lose sight of the small details, but my eyes don’t leave the area where his outline stays, unmoving, as I back out of the kitchen.
My back rams into a solid surface, and two warm arms wrap around me from behind. Terrified, my heart beating out of my chest, I scream and slap at the hands. Twisting and turning, I end up chest to chest with my attacker.
"Shhhhh. I've got you."
