Page 80 of Trick or Stalk

Presley closed the door, but she never pushed on it to make sure it shut.

Anyone could walk in here and find her sleeping upstairs.

The fact that I’m currently proving that point isn’t lost on me.

But I’m not going to hurt her.

I push it open far enough to step inside the dark kitchen.

I close the door carefully behind me, pressing until I hear the quiet click of the latch.

My eyes adjust to the darkness.

The house feels different from inside. Bigger. Quieter. More intimate.

It smells like her. That same soft sweetness I noticed at the bookstore lingers beneath coffee, cinnamon, and woodsmoke from the fireplace.

I stand completely still and listen to the faint sounds of the old house settling and the ticking of a clock somewhere nearby.

I move farther into the kitchen.

Moonlight filters through the windows, giving me enough light to see without using my flashlight.

A mug sits beside the sink.

There’s a bag of Halloween candy on the counter.

A little construction-paper ghost is stuck to the refrigerator.

I move closer.

It’s obviously handmade. The edges aren’t even.

I wonder if Presley made it. Or if someone made it for her. The realization irritates me.

My gaze moves around the room.

I've watched her through the windows, but that's nothing compared to standing here.

These are the things she sees every day. Touches. Uses.

The little pieces that make up her life.

I want to know every one of them.

A framed picture sits above the sink. I move closer to it.

Presley stands beside an older woman, both of them laughing at something outside the frame.

I pick it up.

Presley's younger in the picture. An older woman has an arm wrapped around her.

I don't know who she is, but I wonder if it’s her mother. Or maybe a grandmother.

I recognize the way Presley is looking at her. Her smile is wide and bright, full of happiness.

I put the picture exactly where I found it.