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“I see you.” The foreign voice reaches deep inside me, rattling my fears, and I turn just enough to see a white horned white skull taking up the width of the TV screen across from me. “I’ll find you,” he whispers, before the camera cuts to blackness.

I snap out of the memory, back to the small room whose walls seem to be closing in on me. The air turns heavy, too thick in my lungs, and I lurch toward the door that’s now closed. I must’ve shut it while lost in the reverie of my father doing so.

A tremble vibrates deep inside of me as I push against it, trying to open the damn thing. “Hey. What the hell?”

Locked.

I grip the handle of the lock to slide it out, but it doesn’t move. Stuck.

Panic explodes inside of me, rising up into my throat on a scream. “Let me out! I want out!”

I drop the lantern.

The room flickers to darkness.

Pitch blackness.

“Minou, minou …”

Terror rips from my throat on another scream, and I blindly grapple for the lock. My father’s loud, throaty screams echo inside my head, goading my panic.

“Help!” I slam my palm against the steel panel of the door.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Three. Two. One.

The lock slides.

The door flies open. The empty attic stands on the other side, all four walls illuminated by light. Behind me, the lantern beams, as if it has done so this whole time. As if I imagined the darkness inside that room.

Inhaling a shaky breath, I swipe it up off the floor and stride back toward the ladder, ignoring the incessant tremble beneath my skin.

“Brain movie, eh, Russ?” I mutter climbing back down, not daring one look back at that room.

Every nerve in my body flickers and flares like livewires, while I make my way back to the hallway. I’d give anything for a couple shots of liquor to settle it, but that would probably mean more hallucinations, so instead, I pull the small bag of pills from my pocket. Only about a couple dozen left, give, or take. Turns out, Tammy back at home started using pills to help her sleep after her daughter went off to college. She, apparently, suffered horrible nightmares of someone hurting her, and frequently woke up in the middle of the night calling her daughter to check on her. When Russ died, she gave me a few of her stash. Then, when I left, she gave me what she had left for the road, which wasn’t much.

I’m going to need a few of these suckers tonight, after what happened. No doubt, my brain is just itching for the opportunity to freak me out with whatever that was just now.

I pop a few into my mouth and slide the remaining pills back inside my pocket, before heading back down to the living room of the house. Warm, muggy air leaves a thin damp layer across my skin, as I settle down onto the sleeping bag. I slip my shirt off, leaving me in nothing but the thin tank beneath, and remove my pants from over the strawberry print panties. Once I’ve stripped down, the heat isn’t as unbearable, and I stretch out over the cool fabric of the sleeping bag. Arm tucked beneath my head, I stare up at the ceiling, illuminated by the lantern still lit beside me, but a feeling of unrest still hums beneath my skin.

You knew this place might trigger your memories. That’s why you came here.

The room in the attic, clearly a panic room of some sort, seems to hold the worst of them, so far. Still, nothing to account for the key. Was probably a stupid idea going in search of its door at night, but what else is there to do in this place? Not like I can flip on the TV and watch a movie. I don’t even have a damn phone, in case something bad goes down tonight.

Or a knife, for that matter.

I packed Russ’s old crossbow, in case I might hunt, but contrary to The Walking Dead, it’s not easy to load an arrow in the thick of an attack.

Which brings me back to the thieving wolf who stole my means of self-defense.

And that smug grin I wanted to slap right off his pretty face.

The second I think of that sickeningly handsome face, all his annoying features come to mind: the dark, heavy-lidded eyes set beneath long black lashes, strong square jaw, and those ridiculously full lips that undoubtedly serve as a balm to the rough scratch of stubble, when he leaves a trail of kisses across the skin. The dirty things those lips probably whisper in the dark.

Squeezing my eyes shut on those thoughts only brings them to life inside my head. This guy has emotionally detached written all over his face, which might as well be a golden invitation for me, with little hearts doodled along his temples.

Everyone has a weakness, and mine has always been orange flavored gummy bears. And men who excel in ghosting.