“That was Ellerbee’s place,” she says. “Let’s go there first.”
“What?” I shake my head. “No. I’m not breaking into some house. Let’s look around here in the yard.”
She waves a hand dismissively. “The house is a smaller search area. What if that’s where Uncle Psycho brought the bodies? Keptthem in Ellerbee’s basement or something before Ellerbee ran them through his wood chipper. C’mon. I bet we find something.”
I follow her toward the bungalow, which is dilapidated and sagging, its facade warped from years of rain and neglect. Turns out we don’t even need to break in. There’s no front door. Just a dark, gaping space where a door used to be, rusty hinges still dangling off the wooden frame.
I pull out my phone and click the flashlight function. It cuts a weak, narrow beam through the stale air as we creep inside, the floorboards groaning beneath our feet. Every shadow seems to flicker, shifting in the corner of my vision.
Jasmine laughs, unbothered. “All right. Rock-paper-scissors. Loser takes the basement.”
I stare at her. “You’re kidding.”
She holds out her fist. With a sigh, I reluctantly play, throwing paper. She shows scissors. I lose.
“I hate you,” I mutter. I’m filled with dread as I glance toward the basement door. “Don’t you dare leave without me.”
My cousin gives a mock salute, already disappearing down the hallway. I steel myself and push open the door. A gust of cool, musty air immediately hits me. After a beat of hesitation, I descend the staircase, each creak of the old steps sending chills down my spine.
The basement is darker than I could have imagined. My phone’s flashlight barely scratches the surface, illuminating only dust particles and shadows that seem to move as I venture deeper into the cold, damp room. I sweep the light over the space and find broken furniture, ancient shelves thick with grime, andstacks of empty mason jars. The silence is unnerving, every sound amplified by my pounding heart.
I keep moving, scanning corners, shelves, the floor. I don’t even know what I’m looking for, and to be honest, I no longer care to search. My skin prickles with the sense that I need to leave. Now.
“Anything?” Jasmine calls from the top of the stairs.
“No. Nothing but dust and cobwebs.”
We meet up on the main floor, and as we head back toward the door, a noise echoes from somewhere inside the house. A soft creak followed by a snap, like a twig breaking.
We freeze.
I meet her wide-eyed gaze. “Someone’s here,” I hiss, barely able to get the words out.
Jasmine’s bravado finally crumbles. She clenches her jaw and nods. “You know what? Forget this. Let’s just go.”
Thank God.
I shove my phone in the pocket of my hoodie and hurry out of the house after Jasmine. I can almost taste the relief, but it’s short-lived. I’m sliding into the driver’s seat when I realize my phone isn’t in my pocket anymore. I slide my hand deeper into it, frantically searching, but I come up empty.
“Shit!” I turn to Jasmine. “I dropped my phone in the house. I have to go find it.”
Face pale, she doesn’t budge from the passenger seat. “I amnotgoing back in there.”
So much for intrepid detective Jasmine Shipley.
“Fine. Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
I take a deep breath, then force my unsteady legs to carry me to the house alone. Inside, the shadows seem even darker, pressing around me as I retrace my steps. I don’t have a flashlight this time, but I know where we were standing the last time I had my phone. Sure enough, I crouch down and find it lying on the dusty floor.
Before I can pick it up, there’s a new noise. A shuffle, followed by footsteps.
Footsteps.
Those are fuckingfootsteps.
Slow, deliberate, and coming from somewhere in the house.
Every hair on my body stands on end as I listen, my heart in my throat. Someone else is definitely here.
