CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
M
orning dawned with the smell of something sweet wafting upstairs.
It had to be french toast or pancakes. Hunger gnawed through my gut, releasing an urgent growl.
“Okay, time to get up.” A yawn and a stretch later, I pulled my phone to me. Other than the messages they’d sent before coming over last night, nothing new awaited.
Either they’d taken my dad’s words to heart, or…
Or…
Right. Or.
My hunger receded, replaced by nausea.
“Are you cheating on Ben?”
Manuel might not have committed everything Kolton suspected, but I couldn’t say our time together was entirely innocent—not if I wanted to look myself in the eye.
Tears welled. How could I have enjoyed myself?
A man murdered Ben just for his connection to me, and here I was, moving on.
How could I ever smile or laugh with his ghost—figuratively—hanging over my head? What kind of monster would that make me? I was here, and he was not. He deserved better.
I pulled Frankie to my chest and hugged him. Sometimes, I pretended the stuffed bear smelled like Ben, even though he’d only possessed it for a grand total of an hour, having purchased it on his way to visit me at Vedault.
The door creaked, and I glanced up.
Nick stood there, hesitating. “Dad sent me to get you for breakfast. Sis, are you okay?”
“No,” I croaked. With all the lies and secrets building up, honesty sought an outlet in ways it wouldn’t have otherwise. “I’m not.”
“Oh.” He shifted from foot to foot and avoided eye contact.
I sighed, wiping my eyes and packing it all in. “But I will be.”
He took my words at face value, relieved to have this infallible idea of having his bigger sister back. “Okay, I’ll tell Dad you’ll be down soon.” He hesitated, as if he wanted to say something else, but eventually he continued on, disappearing.
“Come on, Willa. Get it together.” I showered and dressed inside of ten minutes, one of the positives about having short hair, and headed down to join my family—most of my family.
“Where’s Mom?” I asked.
“Still at work,” Dad answered, his voice brusque as he slid over a plate of pancakes topped in cherries and powdered sugar. “You know, I’ve been thinking—”
“That’s a scary thought,” Nick quipped.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I figured you’d be interested in getting your own bedroom too. My bad. I’ll drop the matter.” He waved the spatula. “Forget I even said anything.”
Nick and I couldn’t pick our jaws up off the floor fast enough. We rushed to appease him.
He laughed at our scrambling to be heard. “Calm down. Calm down. I’m kidding, but I think it’s time.”
It was past time, but I wasn’t going to split hairs with my very own private bedroom on the line.
“But where?” I asked. “And why? You’ve waited this long.”
Dad shook his head. “You two always got along so well, we took it for granted, but like I said yesterday, you’re growing up.
Both of you. No more venturing to the middle of the woods and making phone calls, and no more friends sneaking up on you while you’re talking to someone because you don’t have a door. you deal with enough.”
Nick and I exchanged an eager look.
“And,” Dad continued, “Willa, I’m hoping that if you have your own sanctuary, you’ll have a place to destress and relax, therefore making your school life more tolerable.”
He left “So you don’t skip anymore” unsaid but heavily implied.
Along with what he didn’t say was also his evasion. He hadn’t answered where or how.
A mental map of every square inch of the house flipped by. The floor plan was tight. There weren’t any office spaces or guest rooms. It lacked a basement, and Dad’s filming for his website and working on off-road vehicles took up the entirety of the garage.
So that left…
“Yes, the attic.” He held his hands up. “I figured Nick could stay, and you could move out, or up, rather. It’s not in a livable state right now, but we could fix her up, install a bathroom in one of the dormers—”
I laughed, because now it sounded like he was discussing his custom builds. “Dad? Dad!”
“What?”
“You don’t have to sell me on the idea. It sounds amazing.”
He pulled up short. “Oh. That was… easy. To be honest, I worried you’d hate it.”
I shook my head. “Dad, I’d use all the boxes to build a fort right on the slats and sleep in a sleeping bag.”
Nick paused. “I think I’m offended.”
“Don’t be.”
He bobbed his head in acceptance after a second, realizing he’d do the same thing if the situation was reversed. “Fair enough.”
Dad shook his head at the silent half of our conversation. “Alright, you two. Let’s finish breakfast, and we’ll go take a peek and let you get the lay of the land.”
We spent the better part of the day up there, our collective excitement growing. There was a ton of work to be done, according to Dad.
I’d been dead serious about the trunk fort and sleeping bag, but he insisted, so now we were facing a few weeks of clearing out junk in our free time.
Honestly, even the promise of labor felt uplifting, like a normal problem that could be solved with concrete, achievable goals. There was nothing paranormal about renovating an attic.
Dinner came and went, and Mom didn’t arrive home until late. Her footsteps crept up the stairs, pausing outside our door before carrying on to the master room down the hall.
I lay in bed, unsure when I drifted off to sleep.
My bare feet dug into ragged gravel, cooling me to the ankles, as if I’d stepped onto an Alaskan driveway. I shifted from foot to foot, trying to ease the burning sting. Overhead, the sky hung in inky blackness, pierced by stars surrounding an eerily pervasive moon.
A path shot out, winding before me, until it disappeared around the first bend of rubble walls.
Chills chased up my spine.
I’d been here before.
Behind me would be oppressive, impenetrable darkness, but I didn’t look. The heavy stares of the twisted, humanoid figures remained absent for now. The previous time, they grew stronger and bolder the more I paid attention to them.
It was a working theory anyway. Expecting another Hail Mary from my dead boyfriend would be too presumptuous.
I wound through the path, my feet shuffling to avoid the coolness of the sharp rocks as much as possible. They burned, feeling raw, yet the pain urged me along.
About this point last time, the shadows began playing tricks on my perception. My avoidance tactic seemed successful so far this go around, so I kept my gaze glued down, picking each step as well as I could at this shuffled rush.
Time passed oddly, like both an eon and a blink.
Whispers sounded.
Ignore them.
I turned my head, my breath catching when I thought a heap of construction refuse morphed into one of the bloodied creatures of claws, shadows, and bones.
Nope, nope, nope. Ignore them, Willa.
A breath growled in the distance, less audible and more of a dangerous vibration rumbling through my chest. It gave off otherworldly, “Stay the hell away,” vibes.
I rushed, scurrying along.
The whispers grew in volume.
One stood out. “Willa.”
I stumbled. A reply froze on the tip of my tongue. Would responding cause more problems? Every instinct I possessed screamed warnings that it would.
“W-W-Willaaaa,” the voice echoed and distorted.
The urge to run grew stronger. My feet picked up into a trot, then a jog.
Words circled me, broken and looping—the radio station from the beyond.
I did my best to tune it out, but it proved difficult.
First, just singular pieces broke through—help, kill, tell, pain.
Comprehending those forged a stronger connection, and pretty soon, entire sentences and thoughts flooded my mind.
It overwhelmed me. Pain grew, mine and theirs.
A tickle curled beneath my nose. I brushed my fingers there, and the tips came away glittering red.
Then, howls rose in the distance.
Dread washed over me.
The shadow creatures.
On reflex, I turned, facing where the howls had originated.
They’d sounded from a great distance, but when I looked, one stood there, just on the other side of the rubble pile.
The creature towered abnormally large with disproportioned arms and fingers curving into long claws—too many claws.
The ragged, volcanic rocklike texture shifted and swirled near the outer edges of its mass, like blackened sand caught in a dirt devil.
Its eyes, miniature twin black holes, locked on me.
That same suctioning feeling, as if it drained any life force around it, hit with sickening force.
My shoulder throbbed in reminder of my last encounter with these shadow creatures. One got close enough to swipe it with one of those taloned hands.
“Willa, come!”
Recognizing the voice that previously beckoned me, I fled, despite its unknown origin. At this point, I’d take mysterious but hailing from earth over the alternative alien presence.
As abruptly as last time, the maze spat me out.
I sailed through some sort of invisible barrier not a moment too soon.
The rippling vibration of the slavering beast’s impact quaked through my soul.
I risked a glance behind me. Whatever I crossed, it—no, they—couldn’t.
When the others had joined the first in the hunt, I had no idea, but they’d been right on my tail, a heartbeat behind.
“Are you okay?”
I breathed then stopped when I realized I wasn’t out of breath. It felt disconcerting. “What stopped them?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe because this is my place.” His words were gritted out.
His place?
The shadow creatures grew fainter the longer they beat and paced at the perimeter of the barrier. Majestic shimmers of blue rippled every time they impacted the protection.
That was a good sign, right?
“Who are you?” I asked, climbing to my feet and glancing around, not seeing anyone at first. “Hello?”
“Go,” the person urged. “Hurry. It—”