Page 10 of Grimstone

I watched for years. Through the hardest, most fucked-up times, I never heard so much as a whisper. Never felt so much as a cool hand on the back of my neck. Wherever they went, there’s no coming back.

Still, the creaks and groans of the settling house sound disturbingly alive. It could be bats, squirrels, raccoons…we aren’t the only residents of this place. But some of the movements sound heavy.

I sit up on the inflatable mattress, lighting the electric lamp once more.

The main suite is on the third floor. The double doors were locked when we arrived, so it’s been spared the depredations of teenagers. I jimmied the lock with a screwdriver, entering a space that felt like it had been sealed for decades.

All the windows up here are intact, but the drapes are so full of dust that I left them open. The trees stand close to the house, their branches waving right outside the glass. The motion makes me whip my head around, thinking someone’s peeking in the windows.

Downstairs, boards shift like somebody is crossing the main level. The wind mutters in the chimney.

I tell myself it’s nothing—old houses are noisy, especially ones that are barely standing up—and I lie back on my inflatable. Until a sharp creak sends me bolt upright once more.

I wait, listening.

Two long creaks and a groan sound from the hallway below—like someone pausing and stepping around the soft spot in the floor.

The silence that follows is worse than noise. My mind fills the gaps with all kinds of horrors.

“I’ll just…take a quick peek,” I whisper out loud. Talking to myself is a bad habit I got into when I didn’t have anyone older and wiser to turn to for advice.

I slip my bare feet out from under the blankets and find my sneakers on the floor. Anything’s better than lying here driving myself crazy. I’ll make a circuit of the house to prove it’s nothing, and then I’ll be able to sleep.

I’m not quite brave enough to search the attic by night, and anyway, the noise was coming from below.

I descend the first set of steps to Jude’s bedroom on the second floor. I listen, then turn the knob quietly, peeking inside to confirm the shape of his back beneath the blankets. Then I close the door and slowly release the latch, making less sound than the mice scurrying around in the walls.

I’m glad Jude didn’t have trouble falling asleep—I’m just surprised he’s not snoring.

Next door, the library shelves are full of gaps, the missing books splayed across the floor like fallen birds. My own reflection startles me in a silvery mirror. I cross the room to look at myself, bare legged in an oversized DMX shirt. The T-shirt belonged to Gideon. I stole it with no remorse—it’s the least he owes me.

Another creak sends me spinning on my heel, shadows whirling as the lantern swings around. From down in the dining room comes the distinct sound of piano keys…

My scalp tightens and my skin goes cold.

One note plays, then another, then another:bing, bong, bing…

I’m frozen in place, heart a lump of ice in my chest. Then all at once, I’m sprinting down the staircase, lantern swinging madly. I leap over the broken steps at the bottom, only to slip on a wet patch on the tiles and go sprawling. My lantern smashes against the wall.

I haul myself up and limp into the dining room.

It’s empty. The keys of the open piano glint like bone in the moonlight. The room is closed up tight, boards across all the broken windows.

I search the space anyway, heart wide awake now and hammering. I heard someone moving down here. And IknowI heard that piano play.

I fumble my way into the kitchen, groping for the matches and candles I left on the countertop. Candlelight is less powerful than the lantern, illuminating only a couple of feet in front of my face. I check the back door, then the front, and even the door to the glass conservatory. All three are locked and bolted.

The house feels empty now, dark and quiet. The windows are boarded, all the doors securely locked.

Following a hunch, I grab my car keys and climb into the Bronco, driving back along the one and only road away from this house. When I near the point with the iron fence posts, I turn off my headlights and creep a little closer. Then I park and get out.

I walk into the woods in the direction of the dark blue gables, voids against a starry sky.

I ought to be more terrified than ever, alone out here in the dark, but I’m driven by a strange certainty. My feet crunch over twigs and dead leaves.

It’s past two o’clock in the morning.

Yet, just as I suspected, a single light burns in Dane’s house.

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