I reach blindly for my little sister, shielding her body with mine.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I whisper, oddly calm now. “I’m not losing you again.”
Chapter 38
Emily
The entire house is so damndark.It’s 2 or 3a.m., the darkest part of night, and Black Wood is as dark and silent and claustrophobic as a coffin. I have to feel my way along the narrow hallway with my hands. My boot knocks something. I can’t see what. I check the first two bedrooms and call out for Sarah, but she doesn’t call back. She’s in the attic. I know it.
I inch forward, trying not to remember the ghastly history of Black Wood. Like Susan Campbell lying in her bed with a bashed-in skull…or Bill Campbell slumped dead on the bathroom floor.
Ihatethis house. I reach what I think could be the middle of the hallway and raise my arms above my head, searching for the little cord connected to the attic stairs. I must look like an idiot, hands waving around like I’m shooing flies. My right hand knocks something, and I grab it. The cord! I yank on it and give a cry of relief as the staircase creaks down. I wait at the bottom stair, peering up into the darkness. It’s deathly silent up there, and somehow that’s worse. I clear my throat. “Sarah? I’m coming for you.”
Hearing nothing, I suck in a breath, pick up the hem of my skirt, and climb the seven stairs to the attic.
I hover at the entrance, peering into the dark. “Sarah…oh!”
I jump back in fright, hand clutching my chest. Someone is standing at the cradle, looking down. They’re still and silent, and creepy as hell. I take a small step forward, squinting.
“Sarah?”
A gruff voice yells out, “Stay the fuck away from her!” I let out a startled cry as the person charges forward. “Get out! Get the fuck away from her!”
I’m so confused that I stand there frozen. Finally, the person steps closer, until they’re right in my face, panting hard like an animal. The whites of their eyes glow eerily in the dark, like two floating eye sockets.
But I’m sure of it now. The wild-eyed person standing in front of me is my co-worker. Sarah. Only…God, she looks awful. She’s wearing a filthy nightgown, her pupils are fully dilated, and her face is sweaty and cherry red. I left her only a few hours ago. The change in her is shocking.
“Lovie.” I gently reach out for her, but she jerks away, eyes darting back and forth like a feral cat’s. “Lovie,” I say again, trying to get her attention. She takes a small step back and looks at me like she doesn’t even know me. Shit. “You need to get out of this attic,” I tell her. “Right now.”
She bares her teeth. “No! You’re the one who needs to get out of this attic.”
I hang back, unsure how to handle this. I hadn’t anticipated how hard this would be. Gabe found a feral cat in our garage once. Its front leg was clearly broken, and he spent an hour trying to corner it. The kids were excited, asking me if we could keep it, but I’d seen the look in the cat’s eyes. It was too far gone. For the entire hour, it scratched and hissed and bit Gabe when he got too close. Eventually, he gave up, and I drove him to the doctor’s for a tetanus injection.
Anxiously, I chew my lip. Right now, Sarah is that cat, and I’m hoping I don’t get bitten. Her eyes glow dully. Her face is dripping sweat. I have to get her out of here before it’s too late.
“Lovie,” I say gently but firmly. “You’re burning up. You keep gettingsick.” I step a little closer. “Sarah, I think I know what’s wrong with you.”
She’s not even listening to me. She’s in constant motion, rocking on the balls of her feet, eyes flicking behind her to the cradle.
“Lovie”—I try to take her hand, but she wrenches away—“I think you’re being poisoned.”
She bares her teeth again, steps forward menacingly. “I know that! It’s Jeff Johnson,” she says through clenched teeth. “He poisoned my cat. He wants me out of this house. He wants—”
I hold up a hand to stop her. “It’s not Jeff who’s poisoning you.” I yell now, desperate for her to understand. “It’s the attic.”
She doesn’t react. She’s too far gone to listen to me. But I speak anyway, hoping my frantic words break through to her.
“Lovie, it’s theatticthat’s been poisoning you.” I point to the chimney poking through the roof. The walls around it are smeared with hideous yellow-brown stains like nicotine. Only it’s not nicotine.
“You see that?” I say urgently, and her eyes dart to the back wall. “Those are carbon-monoxide stains. The house has been poisoning you ever since you moved in.”
She eyes me with confusion, like she’s debating if I’m lying to her. But I’m not. I should have figured it all out earlier.
“Don’t you see, lovie?” I plead. “Your headaches, the nausea, the light-headedness.” I reel them off on my fingers. “They’re all symptoms of carbon-monoxide poisoning.”
“The notes…” she says, eyes glinting with madness. “I found those notes. Someone’s been threatening me.”
“No,” I tell her gently. “No one’s been threatening you, lovie.” My eyes are wet with sympathy, and I wish I could pull her into a hug. I take a deep breath. “Youwrote those notes.”
