Endurance

someone had come in through the window and moved her luggage. A more likely explanation was she'd put the suitcase on the floor herself and was too tired to remember it. The curtains probably jerked because the window was open and a breeze was blowing in.

'You're exhausted,' she said aloud. 'You’re imagining things.'

But Maria was sure she put the suitcase on the bed. She’d put it on its side and unzipped it to get her make- up bag. She was sure of it.

Maybe it fell off?

But how could it fall and land perfectly on its wheels? And why didn't I hear it fall?

She stared at the suitcase again. It was heavy; packed alongside her clothes was an entire case of bottled water, a result of her recent germ phobia. The suitcase would have made noise hitting the floor. But all Maria heard from the bathroom was those men arguing, and...

“The creaking,” she said aloud. “I heard the floors creaking.”

What if the creaking didn’t come from the room next door?

What if the creaking came from her room—from someone walking around?

Maria felt goosebumps break out on her arms.

What if that someone is still here?

She paused, unsure of what to do next. Her feet felt heavy. Her mouth became so dry her tongue stuck to her teeth. Maria knew the odds were high that her paranoia was the result of exhaustion. She also knew there was practically a zero likelihood someone had come into her room just to move her suitcase.

And yet...

Maria clenched and unclenched her hands, eyes locking on the curtains. She made a decision.

I need to check.

She took a deep breath, let it out slow. Then she crept toward the window. The curtains were still, and Maria wondered if she'd imagined the fluttering. No light came through them even though they were thin. Not surprising —the inn was way out in the boonies, not another building for miles, and the tall pine trees obscured the moon and stars.

Either that, or someone is crouching on the window sill, blocking the light.

Maria swallowed, knowing she was psyching herself out, feeling the same kind of adrenaline tingles she got before a race.

Upstairs, the arguing abruptly ceased, mid-word. The room became deathly quiet, the only sound Maria's timid footfalls, creaking on the hardwood floor. The smell of rot in the room got stronger the closer she got to the window.

Could someone really be behind the curtains, ready to pounce?

Maria felt like she was nine-years-old again, playing hide and seek with her younger brother, Cameron. He loved to jump out and scream Boo! at her, making her scream. For an absurd moment, she could picture Cam behind that curtain, hands raised, ready to leap out and grab her. One of her few pleasant childhood memories of Cam.

Then she pictured something else grabbing her. A filthy, hairy, insane maniac with a rusty knife.

Maria shook her head, trying to dispel the thought.

The thought wouldn't leave.

“Get a grip,” she whispered. “There's nothing there.”

She was two feet away when the curtains moved again.

And again.

Like someone was poking them from the other side.

Maria flinched, jerking backward.

It’s just the wind.

It’s got to be.

Right?

“It’s the wind,” she said through her clenched jaw.

The wind. Nothing more. Certainly not some creep climbing into my room.

But, what if...?

She thought about the pepper spray in her suitcase. Then she thought about just getting the hell out of there. Maria wished Felix was here with her. He'd find this whole situation ridiculously funny.

You compete in triathlons and you're too chicken to check a window?

No. I'm not chicken. I'm not afraid of anything.

But she got the pepper spray anyway, holding it out ahead of her like a talisman to ward off evil. She paused in front of the window, the curtains still.

“Do it.”

Maria didn’t move.

“Just do it.”

Maria set her jaw and in one quick motion swept back the curtains—

—revealing bricks where the glass should have been.

She stared for a moment, confused, then felt a cool breeze on her arm.

There. In the corner. A hole in the mortar, letting the air in.

Maria let out an abrupt laugh. It sounded hollow in the tiny room. She gave the bricks a tentative push, just to make sure they were real and didn’t swing on hinges or anything. They were cold to the touch, as hard as stone could be.

Only a ghost could have gotten through that. And Maria didn’t believe in ghosts. Life had enough scary things in it without having to make stuff up.

She let the curtain fall, and thought of Cameron again. About the things he’d gone through. That was real horror. Not the wind blowing some curtains in a run-down, hillbilly bed and breakfast.

Maria hadn’t seen Cam in a few weeks, because of her training regimen. She promised herself she would visit the hospital, right after the event. Maybe Felix would come with, even though Cam seemed to creep him out.

He’ll do it anyway. Because he loves me.

Again, she wished Felix were here. He promised to be at the race on Saturday. Promised to rub her sore muscles afterward.

She glanced down at her left hand, at the pear-shaped diamond on her ring finger. Yellow, her favorite color. Sometimes hours would go by and she’d forget it was there, even though she’d only been wearing it for less than a week. Looking at it never failed to bring a smile.

Maria walked past the bed, glanced at the knob on the front door to make sure it was still locked, and mused about how she’d gotten herself all worked up over nothing.

She was heading back to the bathroom when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye.

The dust ruffle on the bed was fluttering.

Like something had disturbed it.

Something that had just crawled underneath.

Maria paused, standing stock-still. The fear kicked in again like an energy drink, and she could feel her heart in her neck as she tried to swallow.

There is NOT some man under my bed.

And yet...

Far-fetched as it may be, there was probably enough room for someone to fit under there. The bed was high up off the floor on its frame, with plenty of space for a man to slip underneath.

A filthy man with a rusty knife?

Maria gave her head a shake.

It’s the wind again.

No, it can’t be. This side of the bed isn’t facing the window.

A rat?

Could be a rat.

“I came in fourth in Iron Woman last year. I’m not afraid of a little rat.”