Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 64176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Just a storm I tell myself.
I hurry to the lamp across the room and switch it on. At least the room isn’t so dark now.
I walk back to the bed and am about to climb in when something outside catches my eye. Light. Like a flashlight. Like the time I saw Damian through the window that night he disappeared into the woods.
But when I get to the window, I see that beam of light not disappearing into the thicket of trees but returning to the house.
Damian?
What time is it? How long have I been asleep and is he back?
He’s wearing a coat with the hood up, but I’m pretty sure it’s him. It’s the way he moves. When did he get back? And why is he out there in this storm?
I walk to the door and open it, half-expecting it to be locked if he’s back, but it’s not. I want to know what he’s doing. What’s out there. I want to know where his room is, where he hides away.
So I step into the hallway. I don’t close the door behind me but hurry down the corridor that leads toward the main part of the house.
But when I’m at the landing, I hear something that stops me.
That same music that I heard in my dream.
I turn to look behind me at the darker corridor. This house is like a maze. It’s coming from somewhere in there, where I’d gone back to the other night too. When I’d thought I’d heard something.
A glance downstairs shows me everything is dark.
I turn to face that hallway my heart racing.
It’s faint, the music, but I’m not imagining it. And before I make a conscious decision to do anything, my legs are already carrying me toward it.
I only realize then that I’m barefoot. My feet are freezing on the stone floor, but I hurry along, quiet as a mouse. I take care this time to look down. To make sure I don’t crash into whatever it was I’d crashed into the other time.
The music grows infinitesimally louder, and I follow it, slowing down a little as I near its source.
I reach a door that seems out of place. It’s not like the other doors. This one’s newer. And I see a faint strip of light beneath it.
My heart is in my throat as I reach for the door handle, and I turn it slowly, so slowly that if anyone were on the other side of it, they wouldn’t see or hear.
No locked doors in this house tonight.
It may be better if some of them were, I think, because a sense of foreboding fills me. Fear of what I’ll find on the other side.
I push the door open and peer inside, then step in. I was right. The door blocked part of the hallway for some reason. And the light that I saw is coming from deeper inside and the music I heard is louder here.
Should I call out?
I don’t.
And I don’t close the door behind me as I walk on toward the sound coming from one of the half-dozen closed doors here. I know which it is, though. The one facing me at the very end. The one with the light beneath.
When I get to it, I listen. Nothing but that music, and it sounds almost like a scratched record would sound.
I should turn back around.
I should go straight back to my room and pretend I never even heard it.
But all I need to do is glance back to know I won’t. I’m too curious. More curious than afraid. And that thought encourages me.
Maybe I’m not as much a coward as I thought. And I’m going to need my strength, I’m going to need to be fearless if I’m going to have a shot at fighting Damian.
Because if I don’t fight him, then I’ve accepted my fate.
I look down at my finger. At the ring that feels like a weight. And I steel my spine and turn the door handle, heart racing as the door gives. I push it open, not hiding now.
But the room is empty.
It’s large, more than twice the size of mine. And this one hasn’t been cleaned in ages because dust covers every surface, and at the farthest end stands an old Victrola, and the record is spinning, scratching out the classical tune I heard in my dream.
I wrap my arms around myself at the sudden chill. Is it colder in this part of the house?
At least it’s not a ghost who put the record on. In the inches of dust, I can see exactly the path someone took to get to it.
Damian?
Why would he put the music on here, then go outside? That makes no sense. Is this his room? No, again, makes no sense. Given the dust, this room hasn’t been used in ages although the furnishings are modern-ish.