Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Right. Because why would anyone lock up an ancient, falling apart, grayed-out house with peeling shingles, dangling shutters, broken windows, and a warped roof?
The weeds on the property are thick enough to entangle any intruders, and if that weren’t enough to deter any would-be vandals, the sight of the house, or maybe its haunted lore, obviously was. Despite being unlocked, there isn’t any sign of intruders. No debris littered around, no broken bottles from previous parties, no graffiti. There is a quick scuffle from somewhere inside, and I hold my breath so that I don’t gasp. A squirrel? Raccoon? Satan himself? I can only guess.
Please don’t be the devil. I can’t handle that on top of everything else. This place is hell, but please, please, not today, Satan. Not. Today.
There’s a light switch by the front door, and to my absolute shock, when I flip it, the ancient fixture in the living room, a metal chandelier with rotten shades, flickers to life. Score one for whoever brought power to this place ages ago. They obviously knew what they were doing.
I have my crossbody bag with the kitten ears, little whiskers, and pink nose sitting at my hip, but now that the first dangers have been mastered, I find myself more in need to pee than to pull out my phone and let my parents know I haven’t been eaten by a ghost. The porch, yes, but haunted beings, no. I left the city an hour and a half ago. It should only have taken me half an hour to get here, but I did get kind of lost. Twice. Okay, fine, four times. Whatever. I’m here now.
All that action and the two cups of coffee I had on the road since I left at seven this morning haven’t been good for the bladder. I remember, from many, many, manyyyyy moons ago, that the bathroom was off the kitchen. It was added to the house when indoor plumbing became a thing, almost as an afterthought.
The living room is filled with old, threadbare furniture, gnawed wooden legs, big thick wood end tables and coffee tables, and a few things thrown under sheets—like someone cared enough to do that but stopped halfway through. I pick my way across the old wooden floorboards, literally crossing my fingers that I don’t go through them. There are all kinds of debris, dust, and unidentifiable things across the floor, not caused by humans. What do they call animal poop? Scat? I guess there’s scat all around. It’s either that or some very strangely shaped dirt with berry seeds in it. Ugh, I’m too much of a city girl for this.
The urge to pee negates my fear of finding the bathroom, and I quicken my pace, walking through the dining room with the empty China cabinet to get to the kitchen. I try the light. It’s a hard no-go this time around. The back window, the only source of light, is boarded up from the outside, so I grab my phone out of my purse and switch on the flashlight to guide my way through. It’s not totally dark, but it’s dark enough, and I don’t want to fall through more holes, step in scat, or have the roof cave in on me.
I have my parents’ voice in my head while I make my way to the closed, faded pink door at the end of the kitchen.
We need to provide for you, Victoria. We’re your parents.
You always said you wanted a nice, secluded place to write.
Writing won’t pay the bills. You’ve never been published. You might have a degree now, but what good is it?
You worked so hard. We just wish you would have chosen something that was guaranteed to help you get a career at the end of it. Or even a job.
We want to give you Aunt Elinore’s place. It’s free. No mortgage. We’ll cover all the bills for the first six months to help you get on your feet. Think of it as your graduation gift. Homeownership is becoming unattainable, but you’ll have one now, at the age of twenty-one. It’s actually quite an accomplishment.
“Ugh, for fudging farge sake,” I huffed under my breath. The flashlight beam wavers ahead of me, and the dust I’m kicking up is not just dancing in the light but fluttering up like a toxic brew.
I reach for the bathroom door with trembling hands. There aren’t any windows in it that I remember. If the door has been shut all this time, then the animals probably haven’t gone into it. Nothing will have drowned in the toilet. No squirrels filling up the tub with nuts. No devil partying with his pitchfork in there.
I wrench open the door so fast that the hinges scream bloody blue murder at me. The terrible sound does actually resemble a heinous crime being committed, and I jump back before sweeping my phone back and forth in front of me. I groan when I see the mess. The animals found a way in, alright. They went all spy style and came right through the ceiling. There’s a huge hole up there, gaping jagged teeth of old plaster and shards of wood with fluffy pink insulation skewered on the ends.