“Sammy?” I cry out, now desperate. “Where are you!”
Suddenly, a hand shoots out from between the coats and yanks me inside by the collar. I let out a shriek, forehead hitting the back wall of the closet, the door slamming behind me. Balance skewed in the pitch darkness, I whip around, thrashing at the air, clothes, hangers . . . ready to fight for my life, until a flashlight clicks on, illuminating his face.
Sam.
“Sammy!” I snap, shoving his shoulder. “What the hell are you doing?”
Sammy digs his trembling nails into my forearm, eyes wide and glassy, pure terror painted across his face.
“That’s not me!” he whisper-shouts, lips quivering. “That’s not me!”
“What? What are you talking about? Are you—”
Then I hear it. His voice. Sammy’s voice. Calling me from outside the closet door. And everything inside me curls inward, hardens, and I stop breathing.
“Mari! Mari! Come downstairs!”
Nineteen
“MARI! MARI!”
In the narrow hallway closet, my mind struggles to untangle the thoughts trying to make sense of it all. My little brother is standing in front of me, his mouth closed. But his voice, the voice I’d know anywhere, is calling me from outside the closet door.
“Mari, are you coming?”
“No fucking way,” I gasp.
Sammy trembles, the flashlight dancing in his hands. Acid fills my mouth. There’s someone out there, pretending to be Sammy. There’s someone in the house!
“Mari! Mari, come here! Quick!”
Something touches my arm and I flinch. A coat sleeve. The cramped closet seems to be shrinking around us. Tightening. Strangling. And if someone’s out there looking for us, they could easily find us in here. I focus on Sammy.
“Turn that off,” I whisper quickly.
Sammy does what he’s told, gripping my arm in the darkness, the only light shining through the door sill. Buddy sniffs our feet, confused by our little game as I press an ear to the door. No movement. The voice . . . Sammy’s voice . . . sounds muffled and far away, yet close. Too close.
“What is that?” Sammy whispers.
“I . . . I don’t know,” I mutter, and begin blindly feeling around for something to protect us with—a bat, golf club, shovel, anything. But no luck. My hand hits a narrow box on the top shelf. The sneakers Alec bought; he never returned them. I slip them onto my bare feet.
Sammy’s grip tightens before he whimpers, “Mari . . .”
Below us, the floor rumbles as if we’re sitting on the belly of the house and it’s hungry. Then, silence. Until there’s a loud thud of a foot hitting hollow wood, then another.
Someone is coming up the basement steps!
Sammy’s eyes bulge and I place a hand over his mouth to keep him from screaming.
With a loud clack, the basement lock clicks and the door creaks open. I push Sammy behind me, backing behind the coats, blood surging.
“Mari! Mari!”
Sammy’s voice is louder now. Closer. Almost as if it’s right next to us. Real Sam’s tears spill over my hand.
“Mari! Mari, come here! Quick!”
His voice sounds muffled and has a slight echo. Real Sam trembles against me. Suddenly, Buddy growls, and I quickly grip his mouth to keep him quiet. But it’s too late. The house stills. The house heard us.
Heavy steps, the steps of a slow-moving dinosaur, shuffling, heading our way.
A wave of panic hits me and I lurch forward, grabbing hold of the doorknob, placing a leg on either side of the frame, and lean back. A rotting stench, like dead rats baked in a heat wave mixed with . . . piss, engulfs the closet. I lean away farther, suppressing a gag.
That’s when a shadow appears in the door sill and the footsteps stop. My breath hitches. Sammy wraps his arms around me, squeezing his face into my back, and I’m nearly convulsing in fear.
Please . . . please God please . . .
The shadow huffs like a horse and moves on, passing the door, and heads down the hallway. Now loud above us, we flinch with every step as it makes its way to the second floor.
Which means downstairs is clear.
I whip around to Sammy. “Okay, on the count of three, I’m going to open the door.”
“No,” Sammy whimpers, eyes flaring. “No, Mari. Let’s just stay.”
“It knows we’re in here,” I explain carefully. “We’re sitting ducks if we don’t move.”
He sobs quietly. “I can’t. I’m scared.”
“You have to.”
“He’ll follow us!”
“No it won’t. Ghosts only haunt inside of houses. It can’t hurt us once we’re outside.”
“Ghosts?”
I squeeze my eyes. Shit, the thought never even occurred to him. Even as I say the words, I’m praying I’m right and it’s not some rando maniac squatter making himself at home.
“When I open the door, I want you to run as fast as you can outside. You run and you keep running no matter what.”
“Please, Mari. No.”
I lean into the door, hand on the knob, and bend slightly into a starting position.
“Ready? One. Two . . .”
On three, we burst into the hallway, the lights blinding after sitting in the dark for so long. I charge ahead, Buddy skittering next to me. I yank the front door open wide, glancing up the empty steps behind us as Sammy slams his shoulders into the screen door, and jumps down the porch steps with a scream. Feet hitting the pavement, I’m in sprint mode when it hits me.
Piper.
“Wait, Sam!”
Sammy turns, rain pummeling us.
“What!” he shouts.
“I have to get Piper. I can’t leave her here!”
“Screw her!”
I shake my head. “Go! Run and call the police.”
“Mari, no! Wait!”
With no time to argue, I race back to the house, leaping up the porch, and fumble inside.
“Piper!” I call up the dark staircase, heart hammering. “Piper, where are you?”
A door creaks open upstairs. Light steps amble down the hall. Piper stops on the first landing. It’s hard to see in the shadows but she’s glaring down at me, like she’s never seen me a day in her life.
“Come on! We have to get out of here,” I press, waving her on. No telling where they . . . or it is. “Run! Come on!”
Piper’s expression doesn’t change. She doesn’t move, just stares. Face cold and hard like a marble.
“What are you doing? We have to go!”
Piper rolls her shoulders back then her head suddenly snaps to the right, as if someone had called her. But I didn’t hear anything. She takes one last look at me before slowly stepping out of sight.
“Where are you going? Piper, get back here,” I yell, chasing after her, taking the steps two at a time.
Halfway there, a raspy voice wails, and it’s so disorienting, I nearly freeze mid-stride.
“THIS IS MY HOUSE!”
Then, as if someone leans over the top banister, something swings out from the darkness and I catch a glimpse of a soaring broom.
What the . . .
The broom whacks me in the face, and I fly backward down the stairs with a scream. My head bangs against the hardwood floor, tailbone hitting the bottom step.