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ASHFORD: Don’t worry about that right now. Let’s move on.
Sara walks slowly back to her chair, sinks into it. Her eyes are red-rimmed. She licks her lips, and her fingers start their tapping. Ashford watches, mouth pressed in a straight line, until her fingers curl under.
SARA: You want to hear about Becca. That’s why we’re here, right?
ASHFORD: I’m here to listen to whatever you want to tell me, Sara.
Sara laughs.
SARA: And a few things I don’t. Okay. The house. It was...
ASHFORD: Take your time.
Sara closes her eyes and draws a deep breath through her nose, lets it out.
SARA: The house is where we found Becca. And where I started to think coming for her was a mistake.
16
THE FLOOR CREAKSbeneath me. Not a hollow sound; more organic, like the wheeze of an animal. I brush a hand against the wall. Firm plaster, but where I expect it to be cold, it has a faint warmth, and a slickness to it like condensation. My steps disturb a thick layer of dust. It’s an inch deep where it heaps against the walls, and bits of dried leaves and other detritus have blown in and tumbled their way around the room.
Windows to either side of the foyer let in golden light, but the chandelier that hangs above us, glittering with crystals, is dark. Double doors stand ahead. The stairs, the same continuous color as the floor, lead up to a balcony, beyond which are more doors and hallways leading deeper into the house.
The double doors are huge and ornate, carved with scenes that have worn with age until they’re almost indistinguishable. I run my fingertips over the blunted shapes, trying to identify them. A city, maybe? And there the curl of waves. A lower panel is more intricate, with contorted bodies, limbs twisting with limbs, faces stretched in agony and ecstasy. They give way to vines and thorns, and at the edges waves crash in, every gasping form suspended moments from drowning.
“That’s... intense,” I offer. No one answers. I turn, heart leaping. I’m alone.
“Guys?” I call. No answer but my own echo, faint and crumbling. “Trina? Mel? Anthony?” Nothing and nothing and nothing. Were they with me when I stepped inside? I don’t remember their footsteps.
I feel it. Panic. It’s a wet, slippery creature forcing its way up my throat. I clamp my teeth down and dig my fingernails into my palms. I will not panic. I will not scream. I will not run.
I am still on the road—the floor the same uniform gray. I haven’t broken any rules. And neither have the others.Not recently, at least.I shove that thought away. If we haven’t broken the rules, I think, then maybe this is just what’s supposed to happen.
Is there asupposed tohere?
Yes. If there are rules, there’s a way things ought to be.
I force myself to take steady breaths and look around. No sign of the others. And no sign of the front door—it’s swallowed up in ink black. And I have no one’s hand to hold.
“So how do I find the others?” I ask aloud, voice soft, brushing against the quiet like a hand trailing over cobwebs.
And then somethingdoestouch my hand. Grabs it. I yelp and yank away, but it comes again, groping at me. There’s nothing there, no one. I scramble away. The darkness in the doorway seems to shudder, stretch. My fear is not a locked door. It stands open, and panic floods out. The memory of the hand that grabbed mine at the Liar’s Gate comes flashing back.
I scramble away from the touch, the unseenthing. I stumble toward the stairs and up them, slap a hand against the step, keepmoving. I hit the top of the stairs and freeze. Hallways stretch to either direction, darkness pierced at intervals by shafts of light from narrow windows.
A stair creaks behind me.
I dive for the nearest door and stagger through.
VIDEO EVIDENCE
Retrieved from the cell phone of Melanie Whittaker
Recorded April 19, 2017, 12:52 a.m.
The view is chaotic as the phone sweeps around the room, catching only shadows before stabilizing to the front-facing camera, showing Melanie Whittaker, eyes wide with panic.
MEL: What the fuck. What thefuckis—everyone just vanished. We were all standing here and then it was just me. Okay, Mel, stay calm. Stay calm. I’m going to—I don’t know what I’m going to do.
