Page 7 of Hollow Forest

Or I could just shoot them.

Breaking and entering would save me in a court of law. But then I would have a public record tying me to this place.

I sighed. No, that wouldn’t do. On the other hand, if I shot the intruder, I would have to bury the body. And I didn’t have a shovel yet.

But this was my house to haunt, dammit. The last thing I wanted was someone screwing up my plans.

Pushing to my feet, I decided to creep after the intruder. Maybe if they realized I was armed, they would think twice about coming back.

Demented laughter rattled through my skull.

The door slipped open without a sound. I peered through the crack, gun aimed and ready. Some might think I was being astronomically stupid. Hell, that thought crossed my own mind. But at this point, I’d taken enough lives that I felt confident having the upper hand in this situation. I pulled the door wide and swept the hall with my weapon like some badass in an action movie.

It was empty.

Not wanting to be jumped as I ventured downstairs, I opened every door and checked for an intruder. By the time I checked the vacant bathroom, I began to question if my overactive mind had been caught in a dream that bled into consciousness.

There was no one upstairs.

Or downstairs.

The back door was locked, and the front door still didn’t work courtesy of the handyman who’d broken his key in it yesterday—something I was still pissed about.

That took a half dozen points off his sexy meter.

At least the deadbolt was broken in the locked position.

Sighing, I opened the fridge before I remembered there wasn’t anything to quell my trembling except a pot of cooked beans.

Or at least, that was what was supposed to be in there.

I quickly shut the door. My hand clapped over my mouth as I spun around, expecting the intruder to jump out from the shadows.

There was only the sound of my pulse roaring in my ears.

Breathing hard, I stared out each window.

When no ghoulish face presented itself, I backed myself against the counter, shifted my revolver to my left hand, and cracked the fridge door.

Yep…the food was still there.

Rows of meats, including bacon and steaks, nested next to a worn box of brown eggs. Canned rolls of bread that I simply had to crack open to bake lay next to mounds of fresh produce. Cheese and butter were tucked in the door.

And those were only the basics.

I was shaking hard when I stretched out my hand to grab the container of deli potato salad.

When it didn’t bite me, I cracked the seal and opened the lid.

It smelled heavenly.

My stomach gurgled, and my brain said screw it.

I grabbed a fork, tucked myself on a kitchen chair pushed against the wall so I could watch the windows, and began to eat. There most definitely had been an intruder.

But at least he had good taste in food.

Chapter 3 – The Monster