Page 74 of Some Kind of Haunted

Nora said we have to live anyway, and small-town discord over diner menus seems like living to me. Especially now that I’ve picked a side—pro scotcheroo on the menu forever, obviously.

But Nora is already halfway to the antique store. I have to hurry to catch up. I follow her—and my grim-faced brother—through the door into the antique store. Then up a set of rickety stairs to the second floor of the antique shop.

“Is Harrison not here?” I ask.

Nora shakes her head. “Jack convinced him to go home after he closed up. His balance gets worse when he’s not resting, and we’re both worried he hasn’t been doing any resting since . . .”

Since you got here hangs in the air, even though she doesn’t finish the sentence.

I trudge upstairs, feeling a little guilty, even though being here isn’t my fault. Not really.

I look around as we walk. I knew the second floor housed more antiques, but I haven’t been up here to poke around—and wouldn’t have come, if I’m honest, as the creep factor is too high. Anyway, my mornings with Harrison are always spent on the main floor.

“This part used to be an apartment, but Harrison and Grandma always lived at the house up on the bluff,” Nora explains as we go. “So there are rooms here, but they turned them into little showrooms. They’re stuffed full. But fine to sleep in, at least the ones with beds. After our grandmother died, we stayed here with Harrison some nights. He’s really too old to be sleeping in these questionable beds with all this stuff around, but it gives him comfort. Anyway. It’s not too terrible.”

“Great sales pitch,” Logan mutters.

We both ignore him. Nora starts down the little hall that goes through a sprawling showroom of even more antiques than downstairs. But up here, the arrangement of the pieces seems to have more of what I’d call a woman’s touch. A curated feel. It’s a lot more museum and a little less junkyard, and it’s all divided up into little rooms.

“There is only one bathroom to share,” Nora says, pushing open the first door we find. Logan and I peer inside. “It’s got a shower and hot water, so it’s not the worst thing in the world.”

“Again, you’re really selling it,” he says darkly.

She leads us down a few doors and stops. “Logan, I think you’ll like this room,” she says, pushing the door open. She smiles up at him so sweetly that I believe she’s chosen a space that will be perfectly suited to Logan and all his unique Logan-ness. I don’t even know what that is, but I truly believe she’s found it.

Until I look around the room.

I would say it’s completely decorated for Christmas and that should be comforting, or at least not unsettling, except . . . there are elves. Everywhere.

A line of them are sitting on a dresser, all in orange, with fur beards and painted faces. Plastic red and yellow elves with red eyes hang from a fake tree. A few are notably mangled, like they were chewed on by a decidedly un-festive wild animal, and yet they are still on display.

They all have wide grins. Horrifying flat, red eyes.

The bed itself is made up in hideously cheerful Santa-themed sheets—the kind of Santa that looks more like a maniacal drunk uncle. The red pillow shams are trimmed in white fur. The light on the nightstand is weirder still—it takes me a moment to realize it’s made to look like a deformed version of an elf face.

I can’t decide if I want to scream or cry.

Nora’s expression is placid. Like she really does think Logan’s happy place is filled with elves that look like they feast on human flesh in a room that looks like a 70s Christmas threw up. Violently and repeatedly.

Logan’s eyes are wide and get wider as he takes in the pageant of festive horror. Nora, by contrast, looks very innocent. Angelic, even.

And I am going to start laughing hysterically in a minute.

“I know it’s not much,” Nora says in the same sweet tone. “Certainly not what someone of your standing is used to. But I hope it’ll suit for tonight. You seem like a guy who just really, really likes elves.”

My brother’s jaw is locked. His gaze sharpens from horrified surprise to something else, something geared at Nora.

“This is perfect,” he replies through gritted teeth.

His pride is getting the best of him, I think. Much like his addiction to things like revolting roadside pizza.

But he drops his things on the bed. Then, more amazing still, throws himself on the mattress and lounges there like he’s in a five-star hotel.

Nora links her arm with mine and beams at him. “Wonderful. The elves will take good care of you, I’m sure. Jack closes the diner officially in a few minutes. I suggest we stay out of the way until he’s done closing up, then we can meet downstairs and discuss next steps.” She almost sounds like a lawyer herself.

Logan is glaring at her, but his words are mild. “Yes, ma’am.”

Nora jerks her gaze away from him, like somewhere in all that they had their own private argument I’m not privy to. It occurs to me to wonder if something happened at the store before I got there—but I doubt it. Not as busy as it was.