Page 22 of Eldritch

Sybil snorted a laugh as she looked at Letisha. Letisha joined her. They couldn’t stop for a moment, practically choking on their mirth.

Letisha asked, “Shouldn’t we check in the closet and under the bed for murderers?”

“You’re right. We should. Let’s do it together.”

Safety in numbers. Right.

Sybil headed for her bed, and they both looked under it from either side.

“Nothing under here but a millennium’s worth of dust,” Sybil said. “Maybe I should clean up this room next.”

They stood, and Letisha went for the closet. She slid open one side. It rolled open easily. They looked in. Way in the back.

“Nothing in here other than my clothes,” Sybil said after a cursory glance.

Sybil scrubbed one hand through her hair. She looked around the room, and even the tall windows didn’t let in that much light. She hurried to the windows and pulled back the dark purple velvet drapes, and a puff of dust floated off.

Letisha wrinkled her nose. “This room really has that whole gothic vampire undead thing going on. All it needs is a coffin.”

Sybil couldn’t help but smile. “It is disturbing, isn’t it?” She took in the sumptuously carved mahogany headboard. The huge dusty chandelier that hung down from the ceiling in the center of the room. “Hey, at least Clarice hired professionals to clean all the chandeliers in this place. What a nightmare.”

Tinkle. Tinkle.

Sybil’s gaze snapped upward to the chandelier. A couple of multi-faced teardrop crystals move a hair’s breadth.

Letisha said, “Draft.”

Sure. It’s a draft. Just a draft. It’s gotta be that, right?

Disquiet built in Sybil. Not because she thought it was a ghost. No, something worse maybe. Maybe.

“If there isn’t a burglar or some other creep in this house, then maybe I didn’t notice the new muddy footprints going around the whole top floor,” Sybil said.

Letisha looked at the bedroom door, which was still open. “I suppose that door just isn’t latching right. That has to be it.”

“One theory...but I know you won’t like it.”

Impatience flashed through Letisha’s dark eyes. “Ghosts?”

Yes. Sybil wanted to say. Maybe.

Instead she said, “Pauline or Maria. Although I’m not sure why Maria would do anything like this. Especially this elaborate.”

Letisha shook her head and started for the doorway. “When would they find the time? How? We’re pretty much in each other’s pockets. How would someone have made these footprints in the time we were downstairs? That’s a pretty colossal risk that we wouldn’t catch them.” She gripped the doorknob. “I’ll get back to work.”

“I’m going to try Clarice again.”

“Sounds good.” Letisha left and closed the door behind her.

Sybil sat on the bed and contemplated what had happened since they’d arrived at the house. A shiver danced over her arms like tiny spider feet rushing to escape destruction from a killer shoe. She’d wanted to ask Letisha why this whole thing didn’t bother her more, but a lot didn’t faze Letisha. Sybil envied the confidence that oozed from her friend’s pores. She always had.

Letisha the beautiful. The smart straight-A student with scholarships and boyfriends.

“Stop it,” she whispered and unzipped her belt bag to retrieve her cell phone. “This isn’t high school.”

The cell phone rang, and the Clare de Lune ring tone and name flashing on the screen told her who was calling.

“Clarice. I was just going to call you again.”

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