I don’t want to scare Finn.
He leans in. “You don’t happen to remember where you put the chest, do you?”
I stand on tiptoe, reaching for the shelves right next to the door. “Top shelf,” I whisper. “Right here.”
My hand smacks the empty shelf.
“Or not,” he says.
I tilt my head. “It was, though. It was the only empty space left in the pantry.”
All the shelves are packed with boxes and cans. I pat the shelves, trace the cans, but there is nothing out of the ordinary. The only notably empty space is the one I’m reaching for.
There is no chest with phones anywhere.
Dread settles into my stomach. For the first time, I think Finn may be right.
I reach deeper and curse. Something bites at my hand, and when I pull it back, I see thin shards of glass embedded in my palms and fingers. I brush at them, but they dig into my skin. “They’re gone.”
“They can’t be.”
“There’s a lot happening that can’t be. They’re gone. They’re not here, and someone replaced them with glass instead.” My voice is loud and sharp, but I don’t know how to rein it in. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”
Everything is slipping through my fingers, and the void that remains is slowly filled with panic. The tentacles of anxiety—the strongest of the eldritch gods—crawl up around my feet and legs.
“Do you have your phone on you still?” Finn asks, but I know he knows better. “Can you call one of us to see if we hear anything?”
“I put it in there for safekeeping too. I knew I was going to be distracted checking in with Elle, otherwise. And she told me to focus on the game.”
I shake my head. The shock was easier because it didn’t hurt so much. Now the ice-cold sense of dread and paranoia is taking over. Liva is gone. Gravely injured…or worse. The power is out. Our phones are gone. Someone had to have taken them. Someone’s messing with the cabin, with us. And the four of us are stuck on a mountain, with nothing to protect us.
If this were a game, I couldn’t have designed it better myself. But if this were a game, it would be twisted and disgusting.
“We’re getting out,” I say, louder than I intended. “I’m assuming the phones are gone because someone took them, and we already decided we’re not going to wait to see who or why.”
Finn and I, we’re pushing and pulling each other out, and there is strength in being together. Holding on to each other is the only thing that keeps us upright.
“Do you think the ghost stories are real after all?” Finn whispers, as we navigate through the living room on feel and memory. Everything around us creaks and moans—and I keep wondering if there are other people here. The room is so infinitely big, I could be forgiven for thinking the walls could disappear and morph into night themselves.
It’s colder than it was earlier tonight too. Although the temperature drops considerably during these summer nights, it’s usually only chilly at worst. But right now, the cabin feels freezing.
Yes. No. I don’t know.
I move around the table and toward the exit. “The story is generations old. The only thing that matters is getting out and calling for help.”
“I know.”
Finn says nothing more until we stand in front of the door to the porch, but when he reaches for the polished wood, I cover his hand with mine, and he breathes out sharply and leans into me. “I’m scared.”
I know. “I am too.”
We push the door open, and the outside is as dark as the inside, at first. At least until my eyes adjust, and the faint stars and a sliver of moon give us light enough to see shapes and specks of color.
The wind chimes dance in the breeze, their music eerie and unwelcome.
There’s only one figure waiting for us.
“Maddy?”
She’s leaning against one of the heavy beams, her knees pulled up to her chest and her shoulders trembling.
“Maddy, where’s Carter?”
She doesn’t reply.
The music from the chimes drifts away on the wind and disappears.
And then…
Silence.
You prepared for traps. You prepared for rogue mages. You prepared for murderers, wishing to stop you. You knew the investigation would be dangerous. You were ready for that. But the castle itself has mobilized against you. What seemed to be safe, feels treacherous. What seemed to be treacherous, feels deadly.
Except, it’s not a castle, it’s a cabin. The large hearth in the main hall is nothing but a faulty fireplace that doesn’t even provide a source of light. The heavy stones are logs, really. Not built to withstand the ages. It’s quiet in here. It smells of peppers and pine and Mountain Dew.
It’s not a castle, it’s a cabin. Your daggers are made of foam. Your rifles made of wood. And you feel far less equipped to handle this.
Fourteen
Finn
“Maddy? Are you okay? Where’s Carter?” I crouch in front of Maddy. She rocks back and forth so gently, it’s almost as if she sways in the wind. There are stains all over her hands, and she keeps absently rubbing at them.
When she doesn’t reply, or seem to register my presence, I repeat my questions with a hint of impatience. My hands are tingling. My stomach churns. “Are you okay? Where is Carter?”
I reach out my hand to her, and she flinches away from it. It’s almost as if she’s lost too, but unlike Liva, she’s lost in her own fears. Her breathing is shallow like she’s on the verge of another panic attack.
I twist my head back and forth to loosen up my neck.
“Maddy, talk to us,” Ever chimes in, moving down next to me. “Breathe. Tell us where Carter is.”
“He went back inside.” Her voice croaks. She’s still rubbing at her hands, and I realize the stains are blood. My breath catches.
“What? Why?” I blurt. Ever and I share a look.
Maddy shakes her head and then
