itself to graze. Scanning over the surrounding darkness of the trees and sky beyond, I frown again at the stark white of its fur. Seems strange that such a vulnerable creature would stick out so profoundly in a place like this, where so many predators lurk in the shadows. White rabbits seem more fitting for snow.
Nature is odd sometimes, though. Almost cruel, in a way.
Abandoning my curiosity, I exit the room and make my way down the hallway toward the other wing. As before, a cold sensation sweeps across the back of my neck, bringing me to a halt. Like icy fingers dancing over my skin. Palming my nape, I twist around to find nothing but an empty hallway and shadows on the wall, and clamp my eyes shut.
Brain movies, kid. That’s all they are. The sound of Russ’s voice inside my mind is a comfort. Words he often spoke whenever I woke from bad dreams. Sometimes, the head gets bored, so it thinks up its own stories to keep itself entertained.
I wish he were here now. He’d tell me not to be such a chicken shit, and that ghosts should be more afraid of my crazy ass than the other way around. The memory of him saying that to me once has me smiling, and when I open my eyes, I find myself standing in front of the long alcove again. The one with no doors.
Don’t be a chicken shit.
“Easy for you to say, asshole. You’re already dead,” I mutter back, lifting the lantern.
The gold details of the paisley print walls shimmer as I shine the light over them. Of all the nooks and crannies in the house, this space is the most unimpressive. Nothing but an empty hallway that ends at nothing but an empty wall. It’s there I scan the light over a dark spot, maybe a couple of inches in diameter, that I didn’t notice from before, where the wall looks to have been damaged, the wallpaper curled away. Just my luck it’d be black mold growing on the other side, so I don’t bother to examine closely.
Instead, I drag the light over the ceiling, and pause at the outline of something toward its center. Something I didn’t notice the last time I investigated this corridor.
A square. Attic maybe, judging by the small stretch of rope that looks like it’s been cut. With a deep breath, I pad toward the center of the hallway and reach up for the rope that’s just out of my reach. Fingertips swiping for the end of it, I can’t seem to take hold, so I hop up, just brushing my fingers across the frayed fibers sticking down. I hop again and snap my hand closed around it, but the moment my feet hit the ground, it slips out. A third time, and my knuckles burn as I curl my fingers around it, refusing to let go. I give a yank, and the door reluctantly comes loose. With the end of the rope closer now, I give another yank, and it creaks as I widen the opening, revealing a folded ladder that spills out toward the floor.
The same feeling shivers over my skin, as when I used to stand at the top of the staircase leading down to the basement back, when I lived in the cabin with Russ. I used to hate whenever he asked me to retrieve something from down there, in the darkness, where noises always seemed louder, shadows always bigger.
Nabbing the lantern from beside me, I aim the light upward, toward where the ladder disappears into the dark empty space above.
Had to be a creepy as all hell attic.
Blowing out a resigned breath, I take hold of the ladder’s edge, but as soon as I do, an image, words, flash through my head.
“Up you go. Quickly, now!”
My father’s voice.
The pounding in my chest mirrors the anxiety stirring in my gut. Ignoring it, I take the first step. The second. Keeping the lantern above me, in case anything jumps out, I climb the staircase. Once I breach the entrance, I direct the light over my surroundings. Wooden floors. A broken chair in the corner. Half-cocked curtain hanging off the window across the room. The scent of mold and neglect thickening the air.
It’s when I twist around that I nearly drop the lantern.
Across from me stands a small door. Perhaps to the height of my shoulders, though it’s hard to tell while still standing on the ladder. Not red,