Page 13 of Hallowed & Haunted
“No.” Niillas’ response is immediate and firm. “We’re staying down here tonight. If someone’s up there, they haven’t bothered us. Let’s keep it that way.”
It’s sensible advice, but something about the way Niillas says it, like he knows more than he’s letting on, makes Sander even more nervous.
They try to settle back into their previous uneasy quiet, but the atmosphere is unbearably charged now. Every creak of the old house settling makes Sander tense; every whisper of wind through the broken shingles sounds like movement. The fire that had seemed so welcoming now casts dancing shadows that look like reaching hands, and the walls seem to press closer with each passing minute.
Sander finds himself studying Niillas’ profile, looking for some sign of what he’s thinking. But Niillas’ expression is unreadable, his dark eyes fixed on the door.
“You’re not surprised by this,” Sander realizes suddenly. Maybe he believes in Henrik’s horror tale bullshit, maybe he’s just a paranoid bastard, but Niillas doesn’t seem surprised at all. “You expected something like this.”
Niillas doesn’t answer immediately, and when he does, his words are carefully chosen.
“Old houses make noise. Especially damaged ones.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Sander hisses, more angry because he’s also scared, and he can’t even tell if Niillas is worried too.
Alert? Certainly.
But he could be either shocked or completely uncaring.
“I know what you meant.”
“Then why don’t you answer my question?”
Frustrated beyond measure, Sander springs to his feet. He needs to move. The cramped feeling of the room presses against him, all shadows and flickering light and half-truths.
“I can’t just sit here,” he mutters, pacing toward the window. “This is such bullshit.”
He reaches the window and peers out into the darkness, trying to see past the reflection of the firelight on the glass. The forest stretches away into blackness, the aurora casting everything in an eerie, shifting glow.
For a few blessed seconds, he can breathe.
This is all just in his head.
It’s windy; the house is old and damaged, or maybe a pine marten has found shelter on the roof.
There are no footsteps.
Never have been.
But Sander is making a fool of himself, and Niillas is probably having the time of his life watching him flinch.
Then something catches his eye.
Movement between the trees, just at the edge of where the comparatively lighter area of the open meadow fades into the more compact darkness of the forest. Something large is shifting between the birches, too big to be a person, too purposeful to be branches swaying in the wind.
Sander’s breath fogs the glass as he leans closer, squinting. The shape moves again, and for a moment, he catches a glimpse of something large and compact, a head crowned with what might be antlers, but with too many points, too many angles, spreading too wide to belong to a moose or any animal he knows.
“Niillas,” he whispers, his voice catching in his throat. “There’s something out there.”
Behind him, he hears Niillas rise quickly, the sleeping bag rustling.
“Get away from the window,” Niillas growls, low and urgent. “Now.”
But Sander can’t move. The shadow has stopped, and he swears he sees eyes reflecting in the darkness. Watching. Waiting.
His heart hammers against his ribs like a caged bird, and Sander is frozen in place.
Strong hands close around his shoulders and yank him backward, away from the window. Sander stumbles, his legs unsteady, as Niillas pulls him across the room.