Page 55 of Into the Dark, We Go

"That’s weird."

It was. I seriously doubted Duane had woken up and decided to start a home project. More likely, he’d knocked over a jar of paint while stumbling around with a hangover. But the sharp, acrid reek still made my skin crawl. It didn’t belong here.

"Duane?" I called, desperately groping along the wall for the light switch. "It’s Nellie. We came by today. Can we talk?"

Finally, my fingers found the switch. A dim, grimy bulb flickered to life, casting a weak yellow glow that clung to the room like smoke.

"It’s even worse than I remember," June said, surveying the mess.

"Duane?" I called again, hoping he wasn’t the type to shoot intruders before asking questions.

We made our way into the living room, and as soon as we entered, I knew why paint fumes hung in the air. Duane had painted over all the symbols on the walls. The color didn’t match. Sloppy patches of navy blue clashed with the original dingy off-white, stained by years of stale cigarette smoke.

"Why did he do it?" June asked.

There was something off about the room. "I don’t know," I said. "Let’s keep looking."

I hurried June out of there and made my way to the pantry. The door creaked open. Nothing but some cans of soup and an old, opened bag of rice, all covered in dust.

June flicked a grain. "What are we even trying to find?"

"Anything. Whatever doesn’t feel right or seems connected to Lucas and Amanda."

"Nothing feels right here," June grimaced, then ventured into Duane’s bedroom. I heard the soft click of the light switch, followed by the opening and closing of closet doors.

The second bedroom was crammed nearly to the ceiling with old furniture, boxes, and random knick-knacks, all cloaked in thick cobwebs and dust. I flipped the greasy light switch, but nothing happened. The bulb must have burned out.

Trying not to touch anything, I picked my way through the piles of junk, lighting my path with the faint glow of my phone’s flashlight. Shadows stretched and recoiled with every movement, warping into shapes that looked ready to pounce. But when I turned the beam on them, they vanished, revealing only forgotten clutter.

The room wasn’t small, but the chaos and clutter made it suffocating. Scattered possessions crowded every surface. A few steps into this hoarder’s nest, and the exit stood impossibly far away. Surrounded by abandoned furniture, stacked chairs, empty bookshelves, and piles of clothes, I was trapped in a labyrinth of junk. If something jumped out from behind one of the cupboards or out of the closet, I wouldn’t even manage to run through the mess. What a cliché horror scene that would be. June would get a kick out of it. Something gossamer brushed against my face, I jerked back, panicking and trying to swipe it away.

"Everything okay in there?" I called through to the girl, not so much to check on her but to remind myself I wasn’t alone.

"Yeah, I’m good."

Her voice calmed my nerves a bit.

I tugged the sleeves of my hoodie down and began sifting through a few items, moving some books aside to see what lay beneath. Old detective novels, romance paperbacks, and stacksof newspapers. Nothing seemed to have been touched in a long time. There wasn’t anything that would interest me in any way. No mysterious symbol carved or painted into the furniture, no books on the occult, nothing.

I opened a few drawers from the old, creaky chest by the wall, wincing at the foul stench of rotten rugs and decaying papers. Inside were school notebooks and stacks of correspondence, mostly junk mail.

Duane must not have been in this room for a long time.

"Nellie," June called, "can you help me?"

I hurried over, my eyes catching on old pictures that had fallen from the wall. If I hadn’t been to the house before, I would have thought it was a crime scene.

June was crouched beside the bed, reaching under the mattress.

"There’s something. Can you lift this?"

I grabbed the corner of the sagging mattress and heaved it up. June reached underneath and pulled out?—

Several old porn magazines.

"Ew!" she flung them onto the bed, shaking her hand like it was contaminated.

"Can’t believe someone still uses analog porn," I muttered, ignoring the quick thump of my heart.