My insides coil as I watch him unfold the paper napkin and take a bite. “Maybe it’s not such a good idea?—”
“Thank you!” Lily exclaims. “Finally, some common sense.”
Across from us, Aron speaks around a mouthful. “Ignore Miss Uptight here. It’s an excellent idea—probably the best idea anyone has had all year.”
Benny holds out his hand for a fist bump, and they touch knuckles.
“I’m sure you’ve noticed that it’s not exactly a big town. Nothing exciting ever happens here.”
“I don’t know—” I start, but something catches my eye by the entrance—an elderly man with scraggly, silver hair, weathered skin, and a long beard.
He’s staring straight at me as the bell above the door jangles, and a couple enters, briefly hiding him from view.
“Who’s that?” I ask.
Gwen follows my line of sight. “That’s Wilfred Miller. Your neighbor.”
“Why is he staring at me?”
It unnerves me that he won’t look away, those beady, grey eyes boring into me from across the café.
Aron crumples up the paper napkin, and then tosses it onto the table. “Don’t worry about him. He’s weird but harmless.”
“Weird, how?”
“Like I said, this is a small town. Everyone knows everyone. Wilfred, on the other hand, lives alone and never talks to anyone.”
“Lives alone? I ask. “I thought he had a son.”
Lily frowns, but before she can add to the conversation, Aron replies, “No, it’s just him. No close family.”
“I’ve never seen him in here before,” Brittany murmurs with unease in her tone.
“He hardly ever leaves his farm.” Aron shrugs. “You’re lucky if you see him in town once a month.”
“I wish he wouldn’t stare.” I break eye contact and look out the window at the heavy rain bouncing off the cracked pavement.
“You’re new in town,” Gwen says, as if that explains everything. “You stand out.”
Aron finishes off his blueberry pie while the others fall into conversation. My attention soon drifts back to the door, but the man is gone.
The steps unfold in front of me to reveal the gaping hole in the ceiling. I stare up at the attic when a cold draft, which should be welcoming in this heat, raises the hairs on my arms.
According to Gwen, we need an item that used to belong to one of the missing victims for the séance.
While I know it’s a bad idea to dabble with the occult, I want to learn more about this place and the family members who supposedly went missing.
With that thought in mind, I suppress a shiver and retrieve the flashlight from my back pocket. When it fails to work, Ismack it on my palm. It flickers but stays on. I place it between my teeth and then take hold of the creaky steps as I start to climb. My head pops through the hole, and I scan the dark space before me.
Cobwebs hang like ghostly lace in the corners of the room, and a thick layer of dust blankets every surface, untouched and forgotten.
I grab the flashlight and sweep it around the attic to reveal piled crates, one with a creepy, broken porcelain doll perched against it.
Beside the crates, a circular window barely lets any light in through the grimy, weathered glass.
I place the flashlight down and heave myself up before gazing through the hole. From up here, it looks like a long fall.
My attention is diverted when something crashes to the floor, and I scramble for the flashlight. Why are attics always cold and creepy?
