Chapter 24
Idon't know what to expect now that the door is open. I'm sure it's a cobweb-filled trap, thick with dust and spiders—like a creaky skeleton just waiting to collapse on top of us.
I keep the camera steady as I follow Sabrina through the doorway, and immediately the stench hits—wet rot mixed with something unmistakably metallic. Dried blood reveals itself at the base of the staircase, smeared in drag marks and puddles that are so dark it could be tar.
And weirdly enough, there's the sharp, sterile sting of bleach beneath it all. It doesn't help. If anything, it makes it worse. Like someone tried to clean up after a mess so big it'll never come out.
Caution tape flutters slightly, even though there's no breeze. It was maybe once used to secure an area to keep the media back, but has since deteriorated.
"Holy shit," Sabrina mutters, yanking her scarf up over her nose.
It smells like a grave cracked open, like death left too long in the sun, the odor soaked into wood, into the drywall. I don't know how we're going to translate this into video, but it's rancid.
I glance at my phone while still keeping my camera focused on Sabrina inspecting the house, no service out here, just like I expected. But that also means I won't be able to call Mara on the way back. Or worse… call for help if something goes wrong.
"I'm going to be sick," Sabrina says, and it's real, not just playing it up for the camera. She bolts toward the tiny bathroom maybe five feet away, her steps shaky.
Then I see it—thin, nearly invisible fishing wire strung below the doorframe, just above the baseboard.
Her foot snaps it the same moment she bends to vomit, missing the toilet completely.
She set off a trap.