which meant that it had trapped her inside. She hitched her breath—the beginning wail of a crying jag, then squeezed her mouth and nose together to keep still. Maybe it couldn’t see in this dark, either. Maybe if she just stayed quiet…
She lifted her feet. Placed them delicately back down as she walked. The thing followed. Shhp!-shhp!
So dark in here. Oh, God, and the air, so wet. Where was Jayne?
Shhp!-Shhp!
What was that? She let go of her mouth, and her body reacted before her mind could censor it. “Jayne!” she screamed so loud and raggedly that her chest hurt from the expulsion of breath.
Silence answered. And then—Shhp-shhp! Shhp-shhp! Shhp-shhp!—it moved faster, and with more urgency. It was coming for her!
She kept going. Bare feet, gently picking their way through scattered objects. Something soft. Another thing, hard, that almost cut. Tears fell like bathwater. She wanted to slide down the side of the wall and give up. Curl into a ball, just like back in the Midwest, and hope her mother didn’t see her.
Shhp!-shhp! Shhp!-shhp! It was so close. She could feel its eyes, searching.
She stretched her hands out and felt the walls on either side. Picked up her pace. Behind, like a long-distance dance partner, the monster moved faster, too: Shhp!-Shhp!
Suddenly, the left plaster wall was gone. Her hand dangled. She let out a high-pitched breath that made a sound, “Huuhoooh!”
On the left, a small bedroom. It was bright, like a picture from a movie in a dark theatre, even though the hall remained as ink. “Oh,” she said. “Oh, no.”
All those magazines Jayne had collected. They weren’t scattered anymore. They were stacked and taped together into a four-foot-by-two-foot square against the wall. Someone had tried to rend a hole through them for a handle, but the paper was too thick. A tiny door.
She let out a cry. “Jaaa—” she said, then bit down on her lower lip, because the thing was even closer. She could smell it: old, desiccated skin.
Shhp-shhp! Shhp-shhp!
Faster! Another step. Another. As fast as she could, she greased the floor with her blood. Her hand slipped again. Another room. The master bedroom. Bright in there, too. Unmade bed. Wet rubber mattress. All the family photos that had been magnetized to the refrigerator now lay scattered on the floor. In every one of them, Jayne’s face had been crossed out with thick, pink pen.
Another step. Another. She raced. Her chest cramped like a heart attack, but still she kept going.
SHHP!-SHHP! The thing was so close that she could feel the floor vibrating as it raced. In a panic, she gave up her silence: “Jayne!”
Up ahead, something creaked.
“Hold on, Jayne. Please, hold on!”
Panting. Sweat dripping. Her heart slowing now, even though she was more terrified than ever, because her body was spent. Just a little farther, she promised herself. Just a few more steps. Because she’d taken—how many? Eleven. The light pull had to be close. She guessed eight more steps.
Seven. Six Five.
Shhp!-shhp! If it extended its arms, it could reach out and grab her. She picked up her pace and tried to put distance between them. Tear down this place, God. She pleaded, a silent nonsensical prayer. Swallow it. Devour it, so that it never was, and never will be.
Three more steps. She’d pulled ahead of it! But then, shit! Her right foot hooked inside something cold and hard. She spun, but the cold wouldn’t let go. She lost her balance. Fell on something hollow and metal. Its rattle echoed throughout the hall. So loud!
Shhp!-shhp!
Metal, everywhere she reached. Her first thought was that she’d landed in a graveyard for the tenants who’d died in The Breve. Over the years their bones, and the metal rods and screws that had held them together had piled here. The thing that was making that sound (Shhp!-shpp! Shhp!-shhp!) was a human wraith, guarding its treasure lair.
She grinned with resolve, tight and rictus, then tried to stand, but got caught on more metal (bones!).
Shhp!-shhp! It was close again. Arm’s length.
“Help me!” she cried. No one answered. Not even a nosy tenant. Where were they? Where was everyone? “Jayne!” she shouted. No answer. Silence. All alone, just like she’d always been alone.
Shhp!-shhp! She could feel the sonofabitch gaining. Overhead, still that creaking. A terrible sound.
She turned. Her eyes by now had adjusted to the light. She saw. A man, or it had been once. A three-piece suit. It crawled on its hands and knees. Edgar Schermerhorn, only its eyes were black, and its