Chapter Forty-Three. Sarah Lynn
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
SARAH LYNN
Everyone is scrambling, knocking into one another as we claw our way out of the well. We run along the bank, up the rocks, toward the sound that keeps coming.
The cave looms ahead. Jagged stalactites hang like teeth. Its entrance is a locked jaw, forever opened. The scream is its own.
Our feet slip on wet stone as we slosh forward into pitch-blackness. Hannah’s sobs echo from deep within, bouncing off the walls, pulling us farther in.
Finally, our phone lights catch them. Hannah is curled against the rock, knees to her chest, shaking. Billy stands a few feet away, arm stretched, pointing deeper into the dark.
We swing our lights that way, and at first, there is just water. Then a face breaks the surface. Green moss climbs her cheekbones. The rest of her skull is yellow with age. Her jaw is missing.
All this time. She’s been right here.
Isabelle Whitmore.