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Another flash of lightning, followed by a loud crack of thunder.
I flinch, expecting to see the eye still staring at me from between the wood, but nothing is there.
A noise slips free from my throat, something between a wheeze and a laugh.
I’m going insane. I have to be.
Shakily, I climb to my feet, my knees nearly clacking together from my fried nerves. It’s enough to momentarily distract me from the lingering pain in my body.
I’m an idiot. Someone hiding in the walls is just preposterous. But then my smi
le slips with one sobering thought.
That girl from Satan’s Affair used to watch people from within the walls of the haunted houses before she killed them. But it can’t be her. Last I heard, she was still locked up.
There’s no one in the walls, Addie. You’re being crazy.
Right. I’m being crazy.
Determined to prove it to myself, I decide the only way to know for certain is to look. Tiptoeing to that spot in the corner, loud creaks emphasize each step. I haven’t learned any of the quiet spots yet—haven’t had a chance to.
It’d be less terrifying if I could flip on the light, but it’s too risky. I’m not willing to attract their attention and would rather take my chances with the lurker. That’s another sobering thought—realizing that I feel safer with the monster in the wall than I do with the ones that run this household.
But if I’m ever going to sleep again, drugs or not, then I need to be sure there’s no one hiding in there watching me sleep.
Another flash and I rush forward to investigate the depths behind the wooden boards.
Nothing is there, at least not that I can see. I’m not brave enough to put my eye right against the planks, but it’s enough to satisfy me right before I’m plunged back into darkness.
Slapping a hand on my chest, I breathe out another laugh, choppy and uneven.
As I’m making my way back to the bed, I step on an uneven spot, the wood shifting beneath me. I freeze and look down. Wiggling my foot, the wood shifts again, groaning in protest.
My curiosity piques, along with a spark of excitement. I crouch down as quickly as my body will allow me to, which is admittedly very fucking slow. While I’m healing from the car accident, I’m still just as achy from the lack of movement.
Planting my hands on the plank, I slide it as far down as it will go until there’s a gap.
I pick at the edge of the wood, hissing when my nail bends backward painfully, nearly tearing from my finger. Blood sprouts, but I ignore it, determined to see if anything is hiding in the floorboard.
Finally, I find purchase and manage to lift it high enough to lodge my finger beneath it. Carefully, I pop the wood out and stare down into a black abyss.
Blowing out a breath, I plunge my hand into the hole and feel around, cringing when my fingers brush across bug carcasses, and lord knows what else, but my disgust morphs into excitement when I bump into something solid.
I snatch it up and almost squeal when I see that it’s a journal.
No fucking way.
I just stare.
Finding Gigi’s journal inside a wall in Parsons Manor was unbelievable. Something that only happens in movies.
But finding another journal inside the floor?
Impossible. Fucking impossible.
But the evidence is in my hands. A cheap leather notebook, nowhere near as fancy as Gigi's. The material is cracking and completely missing in some areas, yet it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
Eyes wide, I open the journal and almost yip when I find several written entries inside.
