More moonlight filters through, giving all of us a clear path out.
“What if we push a chair against it? Something?”
I grit my teeth. “Move.”
“Okay.” Maddy nods. She takes the crutch from Finn’s hands and readies herself. At the same time, I breathe out, breathe in, and brace.
Maddy dives through the door, the crutch as a shield before her. Finn and I both hold our breath while she does, and she stumbles onto the porch, collapsing on hands and knees. Suddenly, I wonder if she won’t get up. Or maybe she’ll take the secrets she’s so obviously carrying and bolt.
Some of that tension must show, because Finn takes his eyes from the door to frown at me. “A little bit longer, Ev. You’ve got this.”
I nod, even while I can feel the door slip. “Maddy! Get up! I can’t hold the door on my own much longer.”
The words take an awful lot of effort, but Maddy scrambles to her feet and holds out the crutch. She takes up position next to the door, out of my line of sight, but I can see the tip of the crutch settle in right above mine—and then she pushes too. The crutch slips, and she nearly tumbles forward, but a moment later it’s back in place. Trembly, wobbly, but there.
Relief shudders through me, from being proven wrong and from having some of the pressure taken off my hands.
Together, we can manage to keep the door steady longer, open it wider. Maddy is breathing heavily and Finn’s eyes are wide. He’s leaning hard against the wall.
“Are you ready?” I ask, between catching my breath and bracing myself again.
He stares at the door. Nods.
“Finn?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. I’m ready.”
“Okay. Go.”
He dashes. His pace is uncertain, and he has his arms up to protect his head, but he makes it through unscathed.
Once he’s out, I lose my grip on the crutch, and I’m the one to stumble. I would’ve been pushed back, the door slammed shut, if it hadn’t been for Maddy holding it open from the outside.
She yelps. “Ever, what happened?”
“Nothing. My arms hate me.”
“We need to get you out of there,” Finn says.
“Hold the door as long as you can,” Maddy adds, “and we’ll push it from here. Just…hurry.”
I nod, before I realize Maddy can’t possibly see that from her vantage point, and in these shadows, probably neither can Finn. “Once more unto the breach.” With that, I get ready to push myself out too.
But then, a voice echoes from another corner of the cabin. “Ever?” It’s hard to tell whether it’s coming from upstairs or somewhere around here. “Are you there?”
I freeze. No.
This can’t be. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.
It’s impossible. The voice is my sister’s. It’s Elle. But she can’t be here. She shouldn’t be here. I won’t know what to do if she is.
“Ever, I’m scared.”
Inch by excruciating inch, the crutch slips from my grasp at the sound of that voice. I’m frozen, and I don’t know what to do but call back, “Elle? Where are you?”
No response.
“Ever? Did you say something?” Finn asks from outside. “Hold on, we’re nearly there!”
“I don’t want to be alone, Ever,” Elle calls out.
I feel like I’m going to throw up as the realization hits me: I have to go back in.
“Ever?” Elle never screams, but the panic in her voice tears through me.
I gulp in fresh air and courage, and shout, “Hold the door open a bit longer. I need to check on—” Eldritch gods, I don’t even know.
I let go of the crutch. It clatters on the wooden floor loudly, and I jump back from the noise. Outside, Maddy shouts. Finn swears.
Maddy still has her crutch wedged between herself and the door, but the constant pressure is too much for her.
The crutch slips. She screams and tries to push it forward, as a makeshift doorstop without the Styrofoam sword there, and I see it happen in slow motion.
She reaches forward, the tip moving toward me.
She overstretches, and the crutch neatly topples from her hands onto the porch.
She pushes herself between the door and the frame, to stop it herself. To save me.
Then she seems to rethink and jumps away at the last second, because that’s the only right thing to do in this situation.
The door slams shut.
Finn apparently lunges for the fallen crutch because mere seconds later, he tries to smash it against the window next to the door, but it hardly seems to do anything. The sound of it is muffled now that there’s a barrier between us.
I turn and walk back into the cabin, focused on the only thing that still matters.
“Elle!” She can’t be here. She can’t be. She’s supposed to be at home, in bed already. Or reading one of her books until early morning, so she can spend the rest of the weekend walking around like a zombie.
“Ever? Are you there?”
I tilt my head and try to triangulate the sound. It seems to be coming from the far corner of the living room, amidst the darkest shadows of the cabin.
“Elle?”
Again, no response.
“Elle, hold on, I’m coming.”
“Ever, I’m not feeling well. I’m scared.”
“It’s okay, I’m here,” I answer. But the words tug at me, remind me of something. They wash over me like ice water.
I pause. The cabin is quiet except for the pounding of the crutch against the outside of the door, and Finn and Maddy’s muffled shouting.
“I don’t want to be alone, Ever.”
I realize I’ve heard these words before.
“Ever?” The panic I heard the first time around is the exact same. Pitch perfect. My brain supplies a bit of the rest of the message: They said there’s a storm coming in, and I just…I’m scared, Ever. At least come home before dark, okay?
Elle’s voice has to be a recording. Specifically, a recording of the phone call we had only yesterday. And maybe it would be a relief that my baby sister isn’t here, but it also means someone
