Not the hardwood on the other side of the carpet.
I freeze, every nerve in my body screaming. I pull my hand back like I’ve been burned, heart hammering so hard in my chest it steals the breath from my lungs. Then I hear it.
Breathing, that doesn’t belong to me, because I can’t currently catch mine.
This is slow and steady. Hovering over me. Way too close.
I shove backward, crab-crawling as fast as I can, heartbeat pounding like a drum in my ears.
“Who’s there?” I whisper, voice shaking. “Who’s in here?”
No reply.
Only shallow breathing.
Then—
Pound. Thump. Pound. Thump.
The sound jolts me awake.
My heart races as I sit bolt upright in the loveseat, the fire now just glowing embers, but still enough light to see.
A dream, shit, more like a nightmare.
But the incessant pounding continues against the front door.
I grab the iron poker from beside the hearth, hands clammy, and fingers trembling. I raise it over my shoulder like a baseball bat, creeping toward the door one shaky step at a time.
The locks click, one… two… stealing my protection with a metallic rattle.
And then the door pushes open.
I stagger back, weapon raised, ready to swing at whoever comes through.
A man ducks inside, hands raised instinctively.
“Jesus, Ava!” he shouts, just in time to avoid the poker aimed at his head.
I drop it with a loud clang, the tip denting the floorboard where it lands. My hands fly to my face as shame crashes over me.
“Oh my god, Scott. I’m so sorry—I didn’t?—”
He crosses the room quickly, gently prying my hands away. His touch is warm. Real.
“Ava, are you okay?” Scott Donahue—my dad’s oldest friend—asks, and stares at me, eyes wide with concern. “What’s going on? Where is everyone?”
My lips part, but no words come.
Where is everyone?
I don’t know.
And suddenly, the empty cabin feels like a guillotine waiting to fall.
THREE
AVA
