Page 53 of The House That Held Her

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A bove me, I hear the heavy groan of the front door closing, followed by the creak of floorboards. Margot and another voice, sounds female—are moving inside. I don’t dare move.

Their muffled voices filter down as they fumble for a light switch, and my stomach drops. They’re here, probably searching for answers, the same way I am. But why?

A weak, jaundiced glow flickers to life overhead, barely reaching into the corners of this grim basement. Margot’s voice stands out, tense as she responds to some kind of joke I can’t quite make out. I can picture Margot’s face—her eyes darting around, her expression wary. My chest aches just knowing how close she is. But I can’t reveal myself. Not now. Not like this.

Their footsteps draw closer, every groan of the old floorboards a threat. I swallow hard, searching the basement with my eyes. I have to stay hidden. If they find me near Patrick’s body in that tub, drenched in blood, they’ll assume I did it—that I’m some sort of monster. I need to protect Margot from this but what can I do?

Then I hear the basement door creak open, and a cold ripple of dread slides through me. I press myself flat against the wall, eyes squeezed shut, struggling to stay invisible. Margot’s voice trembles– she’s scared. The smell of blood is overpowering down here. The air is damp, and it clings to me. I feel the wet , hard ground against my palm and I curse Chief Miller for ever bringing us to this town.

I realize suddenly that I might not be hidden enough. Panicking, I pace one step, then another, searching desperately for a better spot. My hip bangs into the edge of the tub. Patrick’s body shifts, and I cringe at the disgusting slosh of blood swirling through the water.

Margot goes quiet. I can almost feel her hold her breath for a better listen. She heard that sloshing. I know it. My teeth clench, and I silently beg them to turn around and go back upstairs—anything to avoid seeing what’s in this awful basement.

“Shannon, do you see that?” Margot’s whisper cuts the silence like a gunshot.

I follow her line of sight and realize my own shadow stretches across the wall like some monstrous shape. My heart hammers so loudly, I’m sure they can hear it. I’m trapped, and they’re only a few feet away.

Before I can think, I notice the breaker box within arm’s reach. Desperate, I flip the main switch, plunging the house into darkness. Instantly, I can’t see a thing. But I can hear them—Margot’s breath, Shannon’s quiet gasp—and I can hear myself, panting, ragged, terrified.

I force myself to move along the wall, careful not to scrape my shoes against the floor. It feels like every slight shift echoes a thousand times. My stomach churns as Margot calls Shannon’s name in the dark, her voice tight with fear. Footsteps approach—slow, deliberate.

We’re stuck in a cruel dance in the dark. Them on one side of the tub, me on the other. We’re rotating now, but I can’t tell which direction they’re taking. I’ll either move clockwise with them or run directly into them which petrifies me.

I can see a speck of moonlight to my right and I recognize I’m now close to the stairs. We’ve managed to swap places, and I realize this is my only chance. Keeping low, I tear up the stairs. My pulse is pounding in my ears, and I silently pray that Margot and Shannon won’t follow. The basement door slams behind me, and I press my ear against the wood, straining to listen.

I hear someone stumble, a dull clang against metal, and my blood runs cold. The tub. Did Margot touch it? I can imagine her hand brushing the slick, horrific surface of Patrick’s remains. I want to scream at them to leave, to run away, but I’m frozen in place, terror and guilt binding me.

Shannon’s shaky voice drifts through the door, and a second later, the lights flicker back on. Even though I can’t see it, I know exactly what’s happening. Margot’s soft cry, Shannon begging her to look away—they’ve both seen the bloody tub, the missing head, the gore that covers everything. And now Margot is seeing the ring— my ring– on Patrick’s hand.

I can hear her muffled sobs, Shannon’s attempts at comfort, and it tears me apart. I want to run to Margot, to hold her and explain how wrong everything is. Tell her I didn’t do this. But she wouldn’t believe me. Not now. Not after this.

With my heart in my throat, I flee. I run through the house, hearing my footsteps echo across the creaking boards, the walls seeming to close in on me. Margot’s voice calls out, desperate and afraid, and it nearly breaks me. But I keep going, out the door, out into the night, into the suffocating darkness.

My lungs burn and my legs ache, but I don’t slow down until I’m far from that cursed house, hidden in some patch of shadows. I collapse, chest heaving, tears burning my eyes. Everything is wrong—so terribly wrong. I need to fix it somehow. I need Margot to understand. But I don’t even know where to go from here.