AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I take a step down and feel in my pocket for the letter opener and keep telling myself ghosts aren’t real even though I know they are.
The ring on my finger burns. I swear it’s searing itself into my skin.
Maybe it’s Cain Scafoni.
Maybe he wants his finger back.
The thought gives me strength and I take another step.
The smell of decay is strong here. It’s just leaves though, and earth and damp. Not that I’ve ever smelled decaying human bodies, although I imagine that must be worse.
But I can’t go too much farther. It’s not practical. At least that’s what I tell myself.
I’ll need a flashlight. It’s pitch black.
When I turn, I run back up the uneven stairs, tripping once and smashing my knee against unforgiving stone, hurrying, ignoring the pain, because all of a sudden, it’s like when I was a kid at home and my sisters and I would dare each other to go down to the old cellar—it was off limits to us—and I was the only one ever brave enough to do it. I remember running back up once I was all the way down and swearing I felt something try to grab at my ankles, try to drag me down into the darkness.
I shudder at the memory.
I’m sure it’s my imagination but that’s how I feel now, and my heart is racing by the time I get back outside in the sun, on the dead grass.
As quickly as I can, I shove the gate closed and weave the chain through it and run back around to the path that will lead me away from here. Away from this haunted place even though I know I’ll have to come back.
My breath is just back to normal when I near the house, but when I find Gregory leaning against the wall watching me, my heart starts to pound again.
“I thought you were gone,” I say as casually as possible, not looking at him as I try to slip past into the house because I’m sure he can see the guilt on my face.
He grabs my wrist, stops me. I look at where he’s looking then watch him pick off some of the cobwebs still clinging to my sleeve.
“Where were you, Willow Girl?” he asks, looking down over me, down at where my jeans must have torn when I stumbled on the stairs. I didn’t realize my knee was bleeding.
I clear my throat, try to hold his gaze. “I fell.” It’s true.
“I see that. Where did you fall?”
“Oh, just out and about. On the grounds.” Of course, I’d be on the grounds. Where else? It’s an island and I need to shut up.
He raises his eyebrows.
“I’d better go change. Put a bandage on my knee.”
He nods. No way he believes that I’ve just been out and about.
I take a step away.
“I’ll help,” he says.
He falls into step with me and I stop to look up at him. “What?”
“I’ll help.”
“Why?”
He looks down at me, smiles a smile that says he’s up to something—as if I didn’t know—and gestures for me to go up the stairs ahead of him.
I go, and once I’m in my room, he closes the door and looks at me.
“Pants off so we can get a look at that knee.”
“I’m perfectly capable of—”
“Relax, Helena, I’m just fucking with you. I actually came to give you something.”
“Give me something?”
He steps toward me. “Well, more like loan it to you.” He reaches into his pocket and, to my surprise, takes out a cell phone. He holds it out to me.
I look cautiously on. I’m sure he’s still fucking with me.
“What’s that for?” I ask.
“Thought you’d want to call home. You haven’t talked to your family since you’ve been here.”
I’m almost salivating at the prospect, but with him, I know to be cautious.
“But if you don’t want to…” He starts to put it away.
“Wait.”
He looks up at me, gives me a grin. Raises an eyebrow.
“What’s the catch?”
“You’re not a very trusting person, are you, Helena?”
I shift my weight to one foot and set my hands on my hips. “I know you, Gregory.”
“You think you know me, Helena.”
“What’s the catch?” I repeat.
He holds the phone out to me. “No catch. You’ve got ten minutes. Oh, wait, one thing. I don’t want you calling a boyfriend.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend and you know it.” I take it from him, taking care not to touch skin to skin. “Why are you doing this?”
“Why not?” he asks, but when I think he’s going to leave to give me privacy, he instead parks himself on my bed, stretches out his legs, puts his hands behind his head and starts to whistle some tune.
I open my mouth but as if he expects what I’m going to say, he speaks first.
“Beggars can’t be choosers, Helena.” He checks his watch. “Nine minutes.”
