CORALINE
After breakfast, I went back into the bedroom and ended up taking a nap.
Mission: find my car and cellphone is the center of my mind right now. I’m stubborn. I have always been since I was a child. I don’t care if I need to find it alone, because as the minutes go by, getting frustrated by the simple fact that I can’t call my parents or sister is driving me up the wall.
I walk into the living room with the winter clothes I found in the dresser.
Surprisingly, I found some that fit me. I dressed myself in a light blue, soft sweater that reads “Sleepy Coldwater, Alaska” in cursive font, with mountains as the art.
It presses softly against my skin, beneath a thick, layered silver coat.
I finish up by tying the string to the waistband of my blue jeans.
As soon as I look at the door, the lights flicker. Flashing fast in a strobe-like pattern.
My skin immediately crawls. The air around me turns colder than usual, and the hairs on my skin rise like static. My thoughts immediately race to the black-haired woman on the porch and in the bathroom.
Am I seeing things? Is this a part of my brain injury? Or am I seeing…phantoms? Ghosts? Spirits? My heart skips a beat as I watch the light bulb continue to struggle to stay lit. The smell of butter and pecan from the burning candle fills my nose, distracting me momentarily as I watch the ceiling.
“Gavin? Merelyn?” I shout, my chest rising and falling fast with shaky breaths. I wait for their voices, listening over the sound of my heart and blood thrashing in my ears. Seconds turn into an agonizing minute.
Where are they?
I keep walking around, looking for Gavin or the older woman, but there’s no one.
The slam of a door makes me jump in place.
I whirl around toward the direction I heard it come from.
My attention lands on a long, tall door on the opposite side of the living room.
The fireplace is lit, crackling viciously just as the electricity goes out, leaving me in a darkened area.
I take a step closer to the front door when I spot a note on a neon-colored yellow paper.
Here are some meds for your body pain. I’m out with the horses.
-Gavin
The door keeps slamming against the wall, pulling my attention away from the note.
I saunter over to the door, bypassing the living room.
As soon as I grab the knob, a gust of freezing air whooshes against my cheeks, making my hair flail all around me hard.
I look toward the cold draft and see a wooden staircase leading down to a basement.
Oh, what the hell.
There’s still no sign of Gavin or Merelyn inside the cabin. After five minutes standing in the living room awkwardly, I grew tired of waiting for them to show up. So now, I’m holding onto a glass candle I found in the kitchen. There was a lighter right next to it in the pantry.
I’m using it to help guide me through the darkness of the basement.
I know I shouldn’t be prying hard into his home like this, but if there’s an open window he missed, I need to close it.
As soon as I reach the bottom of the creaky stairs, the yellow glow of the candle leads me into a vast, open room with boxes and neatly arranged furniture.
The walls are empty, and the basement looks equivalent to a garage or storage room.
Organized but dusty. There are decorative boxes.
Each is labeled for its specific holiday season.
When’s the last time Gavin was down here?
The temperature dips further, and the strong winds can be felt now that I’m down here.
I locate the open window. It’s in the corner by the drawers.
It’s cracked open an inch wide. Shivering from my head to my toes, I grip the window and pull it down.
I lock it by turning a white knob before I pivot on my heels, heading back upstairs, before my hip crashes into the desk.
It stutters, my hip bone throbbing with a ruthless heartbeat.
“Ouch.” I breathe, my face twisting into pain as I lean my palms on the corner of the desk.
I glare at it when I spot a piece of paper poking through the cracks of the top drawer. As I rub my hip, I eye it closely.
I slide it open and find a newspaper. I grab the tinted yellow paper in one hand, and it reveals a pile of journals. I bite my lip nervously and turn to the door over my shoulder, making sure I’m still alone.
Just the occasional strong gusts of wind that continue to pummel through the cracks of windows are the only sounds I can hear.
I turn back to the journals and run the pad of my fingers over the leather cover. I know my limits and boundaries, and I respect privacy. It seems like an incredibly intimate object. I wouldn’t dare read it. As a writer and artist, I know how intrusive that can come off.
I place the newspaper back on top of the journals, and the headline catches my attention. The first half is ripped off, leaving only the last paragraph entry.
SERIAL KILLER STILL NOT FOUND
Please send in any tips to the local police to help catch the man who is allegedly linked and responsible for the unsolved murders of the twenty men and women in the town.
The paper shakes as my hands continue to tremble from shivering so hard. Before I can turn the page to analyze the photo of the man, I’m screaming.
“Coraline. Gavin doesn’t let anyone in the basement. Not even me.”
I spin around, hiding the newspaper behind my back.
Merelyn stands at the bottom of the stairs, cane in hand, looking at me with curious knitted brows. Her hand coils tighter on the cane as she surveys me up and down.
“I-uh. I’m sorry about this.” I tuck the newspaper back into the drawer and do the walk of shame toward her. “There was an open window. The winds were pushing through the crack, making the door slam against the wall, so I came down here and closed it,” I tell her honestly.
I meet her narrowing blue eyes. She’s clearly suspicious of me but gives me grace and doesn’t start an interrogation.
“Come upstairs, dear. Georgia is going to remove the stitches from your head before the sun goes down.”