“Fuck.” I yank again. “Come on.”
I glance around, looking for another option. The intercom looks rusted over like the metal gates, but I try it anyway. At this point, I’d have a better chance with a Ouija board, trying to get a reply.
A cold breeze passes by me, and I suck in a deep breath. I’m acting like the women I hate in horror movies. The dumbones who walk right into the dangerous scene. God I am thatestùpida.
The fence stretches in both directions. Too high to jump over.What the hell are you hiding in there, Curtis?I grip the gate again, harder this time, pressing my forehead to the cold metal. Something about beingthis closeand still locked out pisses me off.
“You motherfucker!” I shake the gate again.
“Let me in!” I scream. “Let me the fuck in!”
A faint click sounds, and slowly the gate opens. It yawns wider, creaking, making my spine go tight.
“Hello?” I call out, voice rough. “Is someone there?”
I hear something in the distance, and my heart accelerates. The back of my neck prickles, and I take a few steps backwards toward my car.
This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine. I sing the lyrics in my head while I hum the tune.
Yup.Estúpida.
While Missy was the least religious person I knew, she swore by singing church songs when she was afraid. It had a similar effect, I’m sure, as closing your eyes and thinking what was staring at you would somehow not see you.
Let it shine. Let it shine. Let i—My humming collapses into silence as I get back in my car and drive through the threshold.
My knuckles turn white from clutching the steering wheel as my heart beats a thousand miles a minute. I’ve always loved the idea of monsters, vampires, werewolves, and ghosts. But right now, I’m hoping none of those things exist.
The closer I get to the house, the more I question if anyone has ever lived here. The house looks like it’s never held life, judging by the dying lawn, chipped paint and the windows sealed with grime. Curtis Anderson had money, or someone in his family did, but this house looks likesomething you’d see on ghost hunters. I shut off the engine and step out.
My phone’s at seventeen percent, but I turn on the flashlight anyway and search the front of the house. I double-check the address on the outside of the house and knock a few times before I’m convinced no one is here. My hand finds the nob and turns it to the left. A stench hits my nose when I walk in.
Finding a light switch, I’m met first thing with a very cluttered living room. The coffee table is covered with papers, beer cans, mail, and a letter cutter. I grab the letter cutter and shove it in my pocket before browsing the mail on the table. Bills and a few recent hospital reports. Nothing that can help me.
“Missy, if you ever gave a fuck about me, help me find what I need,” I whisper.
A floorboard creaks upstairs, and a chill runs through me, halting my next step. I wait for another sound, telling myself the house is just shifting, as all old things do. Another creak sounds, and slowly, I retreat to the nearest wall. I slide into the shadows, holding my breath. My heart pounds so hard I swear it echoes in the room. I keep my eyes fixed on the top of the staircase, waiting for a figure to appear.
Gliding my hand into my pocket, I pull out the letter opener. Then I hear something in the close distance and look at the open kitchen. The lights are off, but something is in there.
I walk closer, and the sound continues.
Crinkle
Crinkle
Tear
A rat or a mouse? My skin crawls at the thought. Ironically, I’d prefer a vampire or werewolf to a disease infested rodent. My hand trembles as I stick the letter openerin front of me. A large figure appears in the shadows, sitting at the kitchen table, a pile of empty red candy wrappers littered around him.
He looks up, and our eyes meet. I open my mouth to scream, but something catches in my throat. A hand wraps around me from behind, covering my mouth and yanking me back into the dark.
Chapter 15
Efren
“Shhh… it’s just me,” I whisper into Alma’s ear as she fights against me.
I release her, and she lunges forward, catching her breath. She turns to face me, pointing a letter opener at me.
