But now that I know where the handle is, I have to see what’s behind the door. The curiosity will gnaw at me. And as soon as Wade knows we can solve this mystery, he’s going to be chomping at the bit to get back here.
There’s just one problem. Dad flits around this house like a ghost. Most of the time I don’t know where he is. For all I know, he spends the majority of the time in his room.
How on earth am I going to get back in there to get the door handle?
Chapter 18
Shadows & Tattered Wallpaper
Practically tiptoeing, I make my way to my bedroom with my insides twisting into knots.
Abigail is nowhere to be seen, but hopefully that also means I’ll have a few uninterrupted hours to do some investigating on my own. Not to mention sort through some of the crazy things happening to me lately.
I mean, seriously… What’s my dad hiding? And can ghosts really be real? Or am I just seriously sleep deprived?
Glancing over my shoulder, I release a slow breath.
If she was a ghost, why did Abigail seem as alive as anyone else I’ve met?
I reach my hallway, scanning the space for her, but thankfully, I’m still alone. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, I enter my bedroom and close the door behind me. Without hesitation, I lock it and take a seat on the end of my bed. Instead of heading straight to the hidden doorway, I flop down on my back and stare at the ceiling. I seriously don’t remember the last time so much was pressing down on me all at once. And the majority of it doesn’t make a bit of sense.
For a moment, I close my eyes, trying to let all the weird stuff wash over me so I can get to the heart of the truth. When I was younger, I hated this space—hated all it represented. But now…
“Quell your fear, Autumn. The truth shall set you free…”
The whisper is breathless and right beside my ear. I bolt upright on the end of the bed, my heart practically ripping itself out of my chest. I scan the room for the source of the voice, but there’s nothing. No one but me is in the room, but I know what I heard.
“Abigail?” I call out, backing away from my bed.
My eyes flit to the wall with the hidden door and determination takes over me. I need to find out what’s going on and take control. My tongue flashes across my lower lip and I march over to the wall. Pushing my dresser out of the way, I don’t even try to do things delicately. The urge to figure something out in my crazy, mixed-up world has taken seed in my gut and I start ripping the wallpaper back. The decorative sheets shred, falling to the floor the way leaves tumble from the trees.
When I’ve managed to peel it all back from the doorway, I take a step back and tilt my head to the side. Surprisingly, the door is tiny in comparison to the other doors in the house, and not at all what I originally expected. Nearly half the height and width, it was practically built for a dwarf—or a kid, I suppose.
My eyebrows tug in and I walk up, sticking my fingertip inside the lip of the hole. Obviously, there’s no handle, but it’s pretty clear how it should set inside it. Snorting, I take a seat on the floor, staring at my handiwork and the handiwork of whoever built the door. It’s ancient-looking with its thick planks of wood. Most of them are warped and in desperate need of a good sanding. Yet the hinges and delicate bronze handle plate are beautiful.
“Why are you here?” I whisper to myself, placing my hands on the floor behind me and leaning back. “Why were you hidden?”
Loud knocking makes me jump and sit upright. It takes me a moment to realize it’s actually coming from my bedroom door.
“Honey? I don’t mean to disturb you…but are you still awake?” Dad says on the other side.
I suck in a breath and hold absolutely still.
Would he be pissed to see the mess?
“Yeah, I’m awake. But trying to fall back to sleep, though,” I call out, deciding I better give him a reason not to find the key and come on in.
“Okay, sweetie. Sorry I bugged you,” he says.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say, pushing up to a kneel as I stare at the back of the door. I silently pray he doesn’t try to open it anyway.
Guilt clings to my gut, because I’m sure he had something on his mind, but I need some time to myself with this. Especially since I’m clearly being haunted and I didn’t even know it was a possibility, not really, until just now.
After a few quiet moments, I grab an armful of wallpaper and rush over to my small desk. I cram as much as I can of the decorative paper into the tiny wire basket underneath it. It’s clearly one of those minuscule trash cans that are only good for crumpled-up paper and tissues. Maybe a broken pencil. It overfills far too quickly as I rush back with another armful.
“Ugh. I’m gonna have to sneak out for a garbage bag,” I whisper to myself when it becomes painfully apparent it’s not going to all fit.
Dropping to my knees beside the door, I bend down, trying to get my fingertips between the door and the floor to see if I can pry it open without the handle. Unfortunately, whoever took the handle off also made sure to lock the door.
“Figures,” I mutter. The only way in is to get the handle from Dad’s desk.
There’s no chance in hell I’m going to risk that. At least, not yet. I’m also not going to
