21
ALEX
The lodge is more dilapidated up close, with weathered boards, peeling paint, boarded windows, and shutters hanging by one hinge. The place looks like it’s been shut for years.
The front porch groans when I put my weight on it but holds.
Eva stands behind me. “It doesn’t look safe.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “See? Solid enough.”
The door’s locked. The handle is pitted with rust and barely budges when I try to open it. I shove with my shoulder. Something snaps inside the frame and the door swings open.
The smell hits first. It’s stale and heavy with dust and the faint sweetness of old wood rot mixed with a whiff of something animal.
Eva wrinkles her nose. “Lovely.”
“Could be worse. At least there’s no dead body.”
She gives me a look. “Low bar, Alex.”
“Always.” I motion toward the interior. “Ladies first?”
She folds her arms. “Try again.”
I step inside. Light spills through cracks in the warped planks, striping the floor, but the place stays dim.
She lingers near the doorway. “It’s… empty.”
“Not entirely.”
I swing the flashlight beam toward a corner where two rickety chairs lean against the wall with a broken crate between them. The beam glides over peeling wallpaper, a collapsed armchair, and a counter with broken bottles. Cobwebs lace the window frames.
We move slowly, causing the boards underfoot to creak. I scan the floor. Something’s off about the section near the far wall. The boards run crosswise here, not lengthwise like the rest. They look less grimy with straighter edges.
I move closer. “You see that?”
She follows my gaze. “What?”
“That section of floor.” I step onto it. “Doesn’t match.”
Her brow furrows. “It’s cleaner.”
“Cleaner, straighter, and nailed with newer hardware.”
She tilts her head. “You think it’s a repair?”
“Could be.” I crouch and run my fingers along the seams.
“What are you thinking?” she asks.
“The wood feels… hollow.” I look up at her. “Give me a hand?”
She kneels beside me. Her silky hair falls forward, brushing my forearm as we pry the boards up. I ignore the pleasant jolt it sends through me.
Beneath lies a square cavity, roughly a meter across, its edges framed by rough, splintered beams. The smell rising from it is metallic laced with damp earth.
I pass the flashlight to Eva. She angles the beam down, the light catching motes of dust drifting into the opening.
