“He had it imported like everything else. He’s got logs for the fire and some two-by-fours. Seems like he keeps it stocked.”
I nod, feeling a little burst of relief over that. It’s further proof that a ship does come by and confirmation that wewillget off this island. It’s just a matter of when and how long we’ll need to live in fear before it happens.
A lot can happen between now and then.
The second Enzo shuts the front door behind him, the stillness grows heavier. I work to swallow, a pit of dread forming in my stomach.
Fuck. This is so creepy.
Just as I reach for the remote, something thumps from above. The muscle in my chest skips over, missing a beat and landing amid a heart attack.
Oh,fuckthis.
I stand for no other reason than because it makes me feel less vulnerable. I strain my ears, listening for any more noises.
After thirty seconds, my shoulders relax just as soon as the distinct drag of chains starts up. From how distant it sounds, I’m confident it’s coming from the third floor, like it usually does. But it doesn’t make me feel any safer.
Adrenaline and terror are circulating throughout my system, mixing until there’s a dangerous cocktail in my bloodstream that is just on its knees and beggingfor me to go into cardiac arrest.
I dance on each foot, groaning softly under my breath for Enzo to hurry. If he doesn’t come back within a minute, I’m out of here.
The pacing stops suddenly, and that is one hundred percent scarier than the actual pacing. At least then, I could tell exactly where the spirit was. Now, it could be anywhere.
Whatever it is, it has a tight grip on my lungs. My chest aches from how little oxygen I’m taking in. I’m too scared to breathe correctly. Or rather, my brain is seized by fear, and it is no longer capable of sending signals to the rest of my body.
Shit, all my organs are going to give out by the time the thing even makes itself known, and I think I’m glad for it.
But then, there’s a quiet knock from above. It’s difficult to hear over the pounding in my ears, but after a few seconds, there’s another knock.
It sounds… curious. Like someone knocking on a door to greet their new neighbor with a freshly baked casserole.
For reasons I’ll never be able to explain, my feet carry me toward the stairs. I stop before them, and on cue, there’s another knock. Louder this time. More direct.
“Hello?” I call.
No one answers, and I feel stupid. But then there’s a loud thump as if it’s now slamming its fist into the wood. I jump, a startled scream slipping free.
“What’s wrong?”
This time, my scream is loud. I whip around to find Enzo standing at the front door, a concerned pinch to his brow.
He rushes toward me, but I quite literally can’t move or breathe.
“What happened?” he asks urgently, twisting my body back and forth to check for injury.
I manage to squeak out, “Ghost. Knocking. Scary. Get the water police.”
He relaxes, his shoulders dropping. Casting his gaze to the ceiling, his jaw pulses.
“It’s okay. It can’t hurt you.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not true. Have you ever seenThe Conjuring? Or literally any other paranormal horror movie? They definitely get hurt. People die. Demons are like, serial killers, Enzo.”
I sound stupid—I know that—but I’m still struggling to get my brain back into working order, and one thing I am sure of is that whatever it iscanhurt me. If it’s capable of slamming its fist into the floor, I’m confident it can do the same to my face.
“They’re not demons, they’re spirits,” he reminds me.
I shrug. “These spirits were evil people alive. What makes you think they’re not evil in death?”