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“Vera,” I cry.
Something shuffles, and then her voice is louder, clearer. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not,” I sob.
“Where are you? I’ll come get you,” she rushes out.
I shake my head, wiping my nose with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. “Can you meet me at the abandoned house?”
“Yes, of course.”
I sniffle, turning my car on, giving Felix’s house one last glare. I swear I can feel him on the other side of the door, and it only makes my chest ache more.
“Thank you. And, Vera?”
“What is it?” she asks, and I can hear keys jingle in the background.
“Can you come alone? Without Malik? And call the girls. I just need you guys.”
She sighs, and I know she realizes this isn’t good.
“Yeah. We’ll be there soon.”
I plop down on the couch in the abandoned house, still shivering from the cool drizzle outside. My tears have dried, though my chest aches with so much hurt deep in my soul.
Felix acted like I meant nothing. Absolutely nothing. And he said as much.
As if every secret moment where I felt something was one-sided.
My heart aches as it weeps, and I can do nothing but bend at the waist and let out a small gasp in the empty house, as I wait for the world to come crashing down.
Suddenly, the creaking of the floorboards sound above me. I snap up, tilting my eyes toward the ceiling as I listen to footsteps slowly making their way across the loft. It’s as if the steps are slowly moving from heel to toe, rocking against the floor to make the groaning sound for what feels like forever.
I shift, my hands going to the aged, worn-out cushions and pushing against them as I stand up. The footsteps make their way toward the stairs. The hairs on my arms stand on end, and I swallow over the lump that is suddenly lodged in my throat.
I should run. I should flee. I don’t know who it is up there. It could be anyone.
Who is it that’s up there?
I take a deep breath, nerves swallowing me whole. “Hello?” I squeak out.
The squeaking stops, and then it comes closer, louder, as if the footsteps are heavier as they make their way toward the door.
“Who is it?” I shout, my voice much clearer now.
The creaking quiets again, and I tiptoe over, curling my hands around the doorway, my head peeking around the side. Standing on the top of the stairs is a woman in white, matching the exact description that Vera used last year when she saw the woman in the mausoleum.
A tall woman with dark, matted hair and black eyes. Her mouth, half wrinkled, deteriorated skin, and half bone. Her bony, skinless hand pokes out from the bottom of her sleeve. The other hand has a gray, sickly-colored skin covering it, black veins prominent beneath. Her black eyes stare off into the distance, though looking at nothing at all.
My fingers tighten around the doorframe, and I take a step back, the heel of my foot pressing against a particularly soft board. It groans loudly, and I wince, my eyes darting up the stairs.
The woman is looking directly at me, her eyes suctioned to mine. I gasp, leaning forward and grabbing onto the door and slamming it closed as quickly as possible. I rush toward the front door, feeling the malice in her blood and how much she hates me. It’s like she’s angry at me about something.
I found her box.
I let out a little squeak as I run.
Bang.
