Page 25 of We’re All Going to Die Tonight!

“Fine,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ears and crossing her arms over her chest. “Where should we look first?”

—

We decide to start with the downstairs, checking the kitchen that’s on the other side of the entryway. It’s not as large as I would have guessed, but Pop would absolutely lose his mind over the tiles. He loves this shit, which I guess makes sense, since he’s a real estate agent.

We check the pantry, the only place big enough for anyone to hide in…and even then, only Marlene would fit. Afterward, we cross back through the living room to the other side of the house, where there’s a small sitting area with floor-to-ceiling windows with long velvet curtains surrounding a plush bench. I pull one of the curtains back to look outside. The rain’s still a steady barrage. In the distance, I can just make out a cliff’s edge and the ocean beyond it.

We leave the room and walk down the hall in silence, coming to a stop at the end, in front of a small door. Avery glances at the knob, worrying her lip, before looking back at me.

I can’t help it. Now it’s my turn to smirk. “Scared to open it?”

“You mean am I scared to open the ominous small door at the end of the hall? No, I’m not scared. But I do have a bit of self-preservation.”

I snort. “You can just ask me to open it for you, you know.”

She glares. “And you could just open it without being a dick.”

I suppress a laugh, stepping forward and seizing the handle, then flinging it open. Avery gasps and jumps back as something tumbles out of it and hits the ground.

Now I really do laugh at her as I bend over to pick up the blanket that tumbled out. She’s blushing furiously, the pink tinge to her cheeks making her freckles stand out in the dim hallway light.

“Asshole,” she mumbles.

“Me or the blanket?” I ask, folding it and replacing it on the closet shelf. “Didn’t realize you had a fear of linen closets.”

She holds her glare steady. “A ‘linen closet’? How old are you? Ninety?”

I shrug. “Blame my dad, I guess.”

I shut the closet door with a heavy thud, but it doesn’t close all the way. Too many blankets and towels stuffed inside, I guess. I try to force them back in, but they keep tumbling out. I’m pushing them back when—

Thump.

Both Avery and I look up at the ceiling, where it sounds like something heavy just hit the ground.

“That must be them,” Avery says, but she doesn’t sound convinced. If anything, that fear’s crept back into her voice. “Right?”

“Yeah, definitely,” I say, but as the wind howls outside, something in my stomach drops.

We stay quiet. We listen for another sound, but it doesn’t come. And in the silence, I realize something else. The record player’s stopped, too. The side must be over.

“We should go upstairs,” Avery says, her voice a whisper. And I don’t need to ask why she’s whispering. Why her feet haven’t moved yet.

Panic is the enemy of victory, but that doesn’t stop me from imagining the worst as we turn down the hallway, heading for the stairs and whatever waits for us above.

Chapter 14

Avery

October 17

12:47 a.m.

In my life, I like seeing the pieces for something line up, both literally and metaphorically. What I hate—what I despise—is when something doesn’t make sense. Over the last Christmas before Dad and Mom finally decided to get divorced—before they hired Caulder’s dad to sell the house I grew up in and everything changed irrevocably—we tried to do a jigsaw puzzle of a bookstore in New York. It had snow and lights and a little dog wearing a sweater. It had over a thousand pieces, and we nearly finished it.

Except that Gizmo, our cat, stole one of the pieces. I found it weeks later, under a rug with teeth marks in it. But in that moment, our inability to finish the puzzle felt like a condemnation. On Mom and Dad’s failed marriage. On my inability to bring them together. On everything.

I’m ready for this puzzle to be solved, neatly. I’m ready to go upstairs and be told, yes, Emerson convinced everyone to pull a weird prank on us, probably to try to get some clout going on social media.