Page 61 of Distress Signal

Besides, I was utterly gone for that girl, and the proximity only made things worse.

seventeen

. . .

REAGAN

I pullup to the old house, the dirt driveway shaded by towering maples interspersed with oak and birch trees. The sky above is a crisp, perfect blue, the sun hanging high. There is no breeze to be found, and when I get out of my car, I’m instantly coated in a thin sheen of sweat.

Wiping my clammy palms on my linen shorts, I turn toward the house, heading for the porch and the front door beyond. The exterior of the home is painted green, a shade that had likely once been bright now faded with time and exposure to the elements.

There seems to be no one around for miles.

There isn’t even another vehicle parked in the drive, and a quick survey of the surrounding area doesn’t reveal a garage or carport of any sort. Only a badly dilapidated barn with a giant hole in the roof.

So why am I here?Wheream I?

Sensing those questions will be answered in time, I approach the door, gently rapping my knuckles against it. The boards of the porch beneath my feet are weathered grey—not artfully or intentionally, but the kind of patina that can only be accomplished with time. They rock and pop as I shift my weight, and I’m not entirely certain they won’t collapse beneath me.

As though pushed by a phantom wind, the door creaks open, revealing a sliver of the dim interior.

I don’t knowwhy, only that I need to get inside the house, so I settle my hand on its surface and push the door open wider. The hinges screech horribly, making me wince and cower, preparing for the owner of the home to appear and demand to know what the fuck I’m doing.

Several tense moments pass where nothing happens, so I release my held breath and cross the threshold.

In keeping with the exterior, the inside is equally as outdated. The entry way floor is lined with cracked and filthy linoleum, looking like it hasn’t been cleaned once in the years since this place was built. To my right is the living room, with a sagging sofa I somehow know has a pull-out bed hiding within. Ahead is the kitchen, the doors of the cabinets hanging slightly crooked, the backsplash tile caked with grime.

“Hello?” I call.

There is no response.

Tentatively, I tiptoe deeper into the home. Past the kitchen is a small dining room with a sliding door that leads to a narrow patio and the fields beyond. In the center of the room is an oblong table set for six, though the china is thick with dust, like at any moment, the family who once lived here will come rushing into the room to enjoy a meal together.

Something tells me it has been a long time since any sort of joy could be found within these walls.

The floors creak beneath my feet like the porch did. I make my way around slowly, shoulders hunched up to my ears, as if bracing for some sort of confrontation.

Nothing happens.

I continue to explore the main floor, peeking into closets and checking under beds, wandering through every room and searching each thoroughly.

I get the feeling I’m looking for something specific, but I have absolutely no idea what it could be.

There is one final door I haven’t yet opened, and with a fortifying deep breath, I square my shoulders, settle my hand on the knob, and twist.

It pops open to reveal…darkness.

I allow myself a few moments for my eyes to adjust, and when they do, I see a set of carpeted stairs leading to a basement.

Go to the creepy basement, I think.The start of every great horror film where the pretty blonde girl dies.

Though I still don’t know what it is I’m so desperate to find, I know without a doubt it’s at the bottom of these stairs. So I muster all the bravery I possess and descend.

When I reach the bottom landing, I feel along the wall to my right, finding a light switch and flipping it on.

The floor is covered in the same shag carpet as the stairs and the living spaces above. It’s a horrifying mix of dark brown, amber, and cream that kind of reminds me of chocolate, vanilla, and caramel ice cream. I’ve spent so long staring at it that the patterns are starting to swirl together, making me feel as though I’ve entered a time warp or that I’m on some psychedelic trip.

The same deep wood paneling from upstairs also continues down here.