Page 7 of A Summoned Husband

“Hmm,” Sarika moaned her acknowledgement.

“This is the last day Vi will choose what we do when we’re drinking. I can’t be doing this shit anymore. I have kids.” The unmistakable sound of a slap filled the air and chaos and shrieking followed as I pushed my way behind the winter coats in the hallway closet and opened the fuse box.

I should have grabbed my phone. Instant regret filled me as I stumbled forward, hand braced on the wall. I kicked whatever I tripped on out of the way as I fumbled to flip the fuse switches.

Nothing.

Blowing air through my lips, they vibrated as I tried to think.

There was a box of new fuses somewhere… but where the hell did I put them?

I bought them after being chastised for not being prepared by one of my dates who told me this was too much house for a woman like me. I snorted at the memory. A woman like me… what the hell was that supposed to even mean? Still, I bought the fuses to spite him.

“The fucker,” I muttered at the memory.

Someone screamed.

I jumped. Everything in me tensed.

“What?! What the hell are you guys doing?” I yelled over my shoulder. “Jesus,” I murmured under my breath. “I can’t even leave them alone for half a second.”

The smart place to put the fuses was somewhere in this closet, right? I reached up onto the shelf above and ran my hands along it in search of a box. On my toes, I felt around further on the shelf.

“Where the hell is it?” I muttered.

A shiver filled me. My skin pebbled as every single hair on my body stood on end. Teeth chattering, my shoulders lifted beside my ears as I slowly turned.

The hall leading back to the kitchen and living room was dark. Darker than it should be, even with no light. It was like the deepest pitch swallowed up every inch of space. Like looking into a chasm of nothingness.

Get your shit together, Eden. This is all in your head. Your drunk little head.

Fear found a home in the pit of my stomach as I stepped out of the closet. Candles were the way to go right now. Light the house up to make everything look less ominous and find the fuses later.

Sighing, I reached out. The tips of my fingers brushed up against the walls as I slowly inched my way back to the group.

“Imani?”

Nothing.

“Olivia?”

Silence.

“Sarika? Alicia?”

My heart was an angry drum that filled up all the empty space in me, vibrating out of my ears. I could hear nothing but the anxious rhythm, see nothing but the pitch that seemed to encase everything, and feel nothing but the wall against my fingertips and the chill in my bones.

“Guys, quit playing. This isn’t funny!”

A chunk of my drunk was stolen away by the whisper of fear the longer I remained in the dark. In the quiet that seemed all the more ominous than the dark was.

“I swear to whatever god you guys pray to, if I come around the corner and someone jumps out at me, you will get a punch to the throat. Don’t play with me right now.”

Nothing.

The edge of the wall hit my fingers, and I took a shaky breath.

“I’m not joking. I will hit you! Harder than a spatula.” My voice lacked the authority I was going for. As much as I hated it, I was scared.