Lainie thought back to the last time she’d used it. On the way here, to make sure I was on the right road… checking my work email after I arrived… Calling my manager… Oh, no.
The last time she remembered using her phone was that morning. It seemed so long ago now. She’d used it as a flashlight to light up the dingy interior of her grandparents’ house.
I must have used it since then. Surely. I—oh, shit. I must have dropped it after I saw the painting. We went around the rest of the house with just Harrison’s flashlight, didn’t we?
Shit.
She would have to go back for it. She couldn’t leave it there, not in this rain—with her luck, the old wreck of a house would spring a leak and she’d turn up in the morning to find her phone had drowned to death.
Damn Hideaway Cove. Lainie flung her suitcase open and grabbed the raincoat she had packed in the hopes of not having to use it. At least she still had the rental car. Please tell me I didn’t drop the keys as well—oh, thank God, there they are.
Lainie poked her head into reception on the way past, but there was no sign of Mrs. Hanson, the B&B’s owner. She called out, but heard no response. Fighting back the uncharitable thought that the old lady had probably gone to join the rest of them in planning the best way to kick Lainie out, she wrote a short note on a pad at the reception desk:
Dear Mrs. Hanson. Change of plans. Need to stay one more night due to storm, hope this is OK. Thanks, Lainie.
***
The storm was raging by the time Lainie pulled up in front of her grandparents’ old house. The drive up the hill had be
en hairy, and she took a few minutes to pull herself together. The little Ford hadn’t coped with the potholes as well as Harrison’s truck had.
Rain lashed at the windscreen. It was so heavy the windscreen wipers hadn’t been any use on the way up. Now, she turned the engine off, and the outside world blurred and dripped on the outside of the glass.
Lainie zipped up her raincoat and pulled the hood as far over her forehead as it would reach. “Here goes…”
She gritted her teeth and launched herself into the rain.
The wind was stronger than she’d expected, buffeting her from side to side as she raced to the front door. She wrestled with the lock for a moment—long enough for every part of her not covered by the coat to become soaked—and tumbled inside. The chill of the wind and rain left her gasping as she wrenched the door shut.
That morning, she had thought the shuttered, dust-caked windows hadn’t let any light in. So why did it look even darker now?
It was like she was wearing a blindfold. Lainie swore as she realized she hadn’t brought a light. Well, of course she hadn’t. She was going to find her light, e.g., her phone. She would have to find her way around by touch, that was all.
At least she was fairly certain where her phone was. In the sitting room, on the other side of the house.
Lainie stepped forward, her hands stretched in front of her. So far, so good. She edged forward until she found the far wall. So far… still good.
Navigating by memory, Lainie made her way slowly towards the sitting room. Thank goodness all the furniture was cleared out years ago, she thought.
Around her, the house creaked and groaned as the storm raged outside. Lainie flinched as an extra strong gust of wind made the whole building shudder. She didn’t even want to think of what her pants would look like after this. Soaked by the rain, and then marinated in all the dust she was kicking up—bleugh.
At last she found the door to the sitting room. The room overlooked the open sea, and even through the shutters the noise of the surf was deafening. It almost sounded as though it was coming up from under the floorboards. Lainie shivered.
She edged sideways until she found the old brick fireplace. God, my hands must be filthy. Right—here I am. Now, where was I when I dropped the phone?
Lainie imagined herself looking up at the painting, and stepped slowly backward, sliding her feet across the floorboards. Another squall hit the house, making her jump. Her heel hit something.
Trying to ignore the deafening sounds of the storm and surf outside Lainie bent down and, after a moment’s scrambling, picked up her phone.
“Finally! Time to get out of here.”
Lainie turned the phone on and, miraculously, it still had some battery left. She used the light to look around. The room was just as she remembered it—from the day before, not from her childhood. The overstuffed sofas and colorful rugs were long gone, replaced by thick sheets of dust and muck.
She squinted into the shadows. Was that a trick of the light, or did something just move out there?
Lainie lifted her phone-light higher, peering into the darkness. Was there an animal or something stuck in here, hiding from the storm? Oh, hell, it couldn’t be a kid, could it? This place was probably the coolest hang-out spot for Hideaway Cove teens. The haunted Eaves house.
“Hello?”