“Are you there?” they ask.
“Maybe.” I bring my shoulders up to my ears. Clench my fists and try to slowly relax again. My throat hurts, as if I screamed for hours, but it may be a side effect from forgetting how to breathe. The world around us feels distant, as though there’s a veil between us that I still need to push through. Or perhaps I can stay on this side.
I was doing so well. I hadn’t had a panic attack in months, and this is my second time today. Maybe painkillers aren’t a great coping mechanism, but I need the world to quieten again. The dark helps, but the fear and the anger and the worry and the pain are all too much. They push at me from the inside out.
I don’t know how to deal with it, and I’m bursting at the seams.
Ever reaches out a hand to me and pulls me to my feet, Finn at their side. “We need to go find Carter,” Finn says.
We do. He went back inside before I could stop him, though I can’t remember the exact details. I was freaking out and pacing, and there was so much blood on my hands.
I just need the world to quiet. I rub my hands on my tunic and the dried blood feels uncomfortable and flaky.
Carter should’ve been back already.
“C’mon.” Ever and Finn form a united front, impossibly determined to go back in.
I don’t want to. I don’t know what kind of shadows the cabin holds. I can’t imagine I used to feel at home here.
But still. Of course I’ll go in. Liva’s already disappeared. I’m not about to lose Carter too. I’ll go in, even if I really, really, really don’t want to.
It’s just one step, and then another.
Through the door. (I prop it open by putting one of the Styrofoam swords between the door and the frame. Just in case. I’ve hated that door since Liva and I got trapped in here that time, and I don’t want that to happen again. I don’t want to be here to begin with.)
Through the room, toward the staircase.
Breathe. The world around me is empty here.
We all stay within touching distance from one another, though none of us touch. Finn looks up at the stairs and yells Carter’s name.
Then, nothing. No movement. No sound. No extra pair of footsteps. Just silence.
Silence.
More silence.
I ball my fists and pound my leg and the stabs of pain force me act. “Carter? Carter! Are you okay?”
No response.
Ever turns to us. “Stay put and stay close together.”
Briefly, they reach out so their fingers touch Finn’s. Then they square their shoulders, clench their jaw, and head into the dark hallway. I wish we would’ve stopped in the kitchen to grab a knife from one of the drawers. Something is wrong. Again. Everything is wrong. Constantly.
Something is waiting for us out in the darkness.
One step and then the next.
It’s so cold in here. Maybe Carter found another way out, though I’m positive there’s only the one door to the porch.
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea to go farther in,” I whisper.
“We can’t leave Carter on his own,” Finn says, though there’s doubt in his voice too. And something else. Something I can’t place.
Ever starts climbing. “We’re not leaving him behind. We’re not splitting the party again.”
So we feel our way around because there’s nothing else to do. All the doors upstairs are closed, and without a window to the outside, we have no light source.
It hits me again; all the doors upstairs are closed. Sickening unease unfurls in my stomach.
“Did you close Liva’s door when you were in here?” I ask.
Ever clears their throat. “No. But maybe Carter did?”
I shake my head, though I doubt they can see it. “Let’s stick close. Carter went to my room, so let’s look there first.”
“Do we all go in?” Finn asks. “Or do we need to keep watch while you look around the room?” He yelps quietly when Ever apparently punches him.
“If something happened to Carter, we’re not sending you in alone,” Ever says, and there’s no arguing.
I want to protest. I want to tell them both to stay safe, because I don’t know what to expect when I open the door. Because it’s my fault Carter went back in in the first place. But they both face me with staunch determination, and I know they won’t back down. It’s a little easier to stand straight with the two of them at my back.
“Thank you.”
Without further ado, I push the door to my room open. It creaks a little. It creates a dark, cloak-like shadow that passes over us and into the hallway.
Four candles burn in the room. They’re small enough to belong to a birthday cake. They circle the bed, a good ten feet away from the door. But their combined light is so bright and unexpected, it disorients me.
They weren’t here before. They don’t belong.
“Carter?” My voice cracks. I lick my lips and sway back and forth on the balls of my feet.
Ever reaches out to squeeze my shoulder, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
“I’m sorry,” they immediately apologize. “You looked so spooked. These weren’t there before, right?”
I blink against the flickering flames. My eyes water. “No.” I take a step closer to the candles and one of the floorboards creaks, gives a bit. From nearer the bed, it’s obvious the candles are each stuck to a nail, to keep them steady. There are two others already snuffed out. They can’t have been burning long; they’re too small to last.
“Carter? Say something.” My voice echoes.
My cloak doesn’t hang on the wardrobe door anymore. It’s spread out over the bed. I pick it up to see if it’s covering anything. It’s not. So I slide it on for warmth and protection.
That’s when
