Page 37

She takes in the massive room, the dusty bookshelves, the large windows. “You know,” Shannon quips, trying to lighten the mood, “this place is huge and creepy as hell. Couldn’t you have picked a smaller haunted house?”

I manage a half-hearted smile and focus on shifting the books in the correct order. When the bookcase juts open, Shannon jumps back, raising her hands in a mock karate stance. “What in the actual Scooby-Doo shit is this, Margot?”

I ignore her dramatic reaction and step inside the hidden room, heading straight for the wall where I saw something earlier—a faded, frayed plot map. “Look,” I whisper, touching the fragile paper. “Here’s Hawthorn Manor on the southwest side of the grove.”

Shannon leans in, scanning the map. “And here,” she says, pointing to a spot on the northeast side, “is another house.”

We stare at that outline together, the same realization hitting us at once. Another house. On the same property. HawthornHouse.

We knock knuckles, adrenaline igniting our determination, and dash outside. The sky has deepened into purples and pinks, the sun nearly gone. We trudge through rows of dead citrus trees, the air turning chillier by the minute. The grove seems to go on forever, the twisted branches snagging at our clothes, as if trying to hold us back.

The flashlight on Shannon’s phone bobs over uneven ground, and our feet crunch over dry leaves that crackle in the silence. The chill bites at my skin, making the trek feel even longer. Then, just as darkness fully settles, I spot it.

An old house rises in the distance, nearly swallowed by a row of overgrown cypress trees. It’s much smaller than Hawthorn Manor, the roof sagging with several windows broken. The front porch tilts precariously, as though the entire building is slowly sinking into the earth. It looks forgotten, an echo of the past waiting for someone to notice it again.

Shannon and I exchange a single look—fear and determination swirling between us. We’ve found the old Hawthorn House. Whatever secrets this house is hiding, we’re about to uncover them.

25

Ireach for the heavy handle first, but quickly realize the door itself isn’t fully shut. Surprised the wind hasn’t forced it open yet, I gently push the door inward. The hinges groan so loudly it makes my spine prickle, the echo rippling through every dark corner inside. A suffocating, stale smell pours out—a nauseating cocktail of wood rot, mildew, and something sharp and metallic that sets my nerves on high alert.

Shannon crinkles her nose, covering it with her hand. I grope along the wall and find a switch. With a reluctant click, dusty overhead bulbs flicker awake, throwing a jaundiced light across the room. I narrow my eyes, struggling to see in the weak glow. The bulbs buzz, fighting to stay lit, but they reveal just enough for us to take in the drapes of spiderwebs and the shadows lurking in every corner. Curtains, thick with dust, weigh down the windows, soaking up what little light there is.

“This place is giving me the creeps,” Shannon whispers, her voice barely above a breath. “It feels like the Tower of Terror at Disney—minus, ya know, the whole fun ride part.”

I give a small nod, my throat too dry to speak. A thick, oppressive energy throbs all around us, like the walls themselves are sneaking closer to us whenever we look away. We walk deeper in, each footstep echoing unnaturally loud. Every room we pass seems haunted by the same story—drapes of darkness, forgotten furniture, and crooked family photos. There’s a silence so deep it rings in my ears.

I pause at a line of photos along the hallway. Faces stare back from behind the glass: George, his little sister Amelia, and their parents, Normand and Dorothy. Their smiles are so forced it almost hurts to look at them. The nerve endings on my head start to prickle.

“Margot…look.” Shannon’s voice quivers behind me.

She stands at the base of the stairs, gaze pinned to a dark stain pooled across the worn floorboards. Even in this dim light, it’s unmistakable, the color and shape telling a bleak story.

“Is that…” Her voice cracks before she can finish the last word.

I nod. “Blood. This is definitely where Amelia and Dorothy both died.”

My stomach twists. Every step I take sends a new wave of fear shuddering through my body. My eyes dart around, half-expecting some ghastly figure to lunge from the shadows.

We stop at the basement door. I feel cold air seeping through the gap beneath it, like a warning. My hand hovers over the doorknob, and a strange pulse in my temples makes the door look like it’s breathing. Shannon rests a hand on my shoulder, silently reminding me we’re in this together. I grit my teeth and push the door open. It groans on its hinges, revealing a steep descent into darkness.

A surge of frigid air smacks me square in the face, laced with an overpowering coppery stench that makes my eyes water. The smell clings to my tongue, thick and nauseating. I gag, swallowing the bitter tang of fear. Shannon tries for a shaky joke. “Silver lining: if this is how I die, at least I won’t have to pay off my student loans.”

I force a weak snort. “Your parents paid for your college, you idiot,” I mutter, but my voice trembles, betraying my terror.

“Shhh!” she hisses, flashing me a taut grin as she starts down the steps.

Each step groans an ominous welcome, and a wet sloshing noise grows louder with every footfall, like we’re closing in on something vile and alive. The darkness presses in, crawling over my skin, setting every nerve aflame. With three steps left to go, I freeze.

There, against the far wall, something shifts. A shadow. And it’s not ours.

“Shannon,” I whisper, the word barely making it past the dryness in my throat, “do you see that?”

She squints into the gloom, eyes wide, and nods. My chest constricts so tightly I can hardly breathe. Someone else is down here. The thought ricochets through my head, turning every heartbeat into a thunderclap.

Forcing myself to move, I edge onto the next stair. The shape along the wall jerks, then stops cold, like it senses me. My lungs burn, but I’m terrified to breathe, as though even the slightest sound might trigger something unspeakable.

Click. The basement plunges into absolute blackness, so intense that for a moment I’m not sure I still exist. My ears ring with silence. My hands grope blindly in front of me.