Page 61 of Eldritch

“I’m flattered,” he said, still smiling.

Her gaze met his, and the male interest in them filled her with new confidence.

Before she could say anything else, though, or allow that intense expression in his eyes to make her say something else vulnerable, she continued with, “Let’s finish this up. It isn’t going to get any less creepy.”

“Nope, it’s not.”

When they reached the cellar door, she unlocked it. She ignored the crawling sensation that went up her arms as she opened the door. The hinges let out a squawk.

“That didn’t happen before.” She winced. “Guess it’s time to put some oil on that.”

“Unless you like the haunted house ambiance.”

Without the light, the stairs looked like a yawning, dark mouth. She caught her breath.

She turned on the light and the illumination rid the cellar of that choking sensation.

Come on. You did this before. You can do it again. Don’t be a coward. Unless you are. Could that be the real problem?

Descending the steps, she decided she didn’t want to seem cowardly. She reached the bottom of the steps and heard him behind her. She glanced around. Nothing had changed in the rooms. At least from what she could see. Still dusty and filled with junk they would clear when everything else was done. Okay, not everything here qualified as refuse. Many valuable antiques had moldered way in here for decades collecting dirt.

She stopped cold when she noticed something on the floor right ahead of her. She walked that way and squatted down to look. “What is this?”

He pulled a small flashlight out of his pocket and clicked it on. “Mud?”

“I don’t know, but it wasn’t there when we were down here before.”

“Not that I remember,” he said as their gazes met.

She squinted, checking out the muddy tracks on the floor. “It can’t be.” She pointed at the mud. “Those are tracks. Like the attic.”

“No way.” He leaned over and inspected. “Well...it does kind of look like it. Or it could be one of your crew came down here and tracked in mud.”

She considered it. “Maybe. But these tracks look like the big lizard dinosaur ones in the attic.”

She stood, and he did the same. Their gazes connected again. “Do you think there’s a hole down here we haven’t found yet and some escaped Godzilla is tracking through the house without us seeing?”

He moved around the tracks and examined them, as if he could find a solution to the muddy footprints.

He grinned. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

They started work on putting in the cameras. A low hum of anxiety, of feeling as if the walls wanted to take her began to build inside her as she assisted Doug.

As she watched Doug climb on a ladder to attach a camera to one wall, she heard it in her head. A whispery voice. She was prepared for the voice of self-recrimination this time. The one she lived with her whole life. A sibilant, awful tone that reminded her of slime and stickiness and the realm of a sewer. Of a malignant place she had imagined before but never seen.

She started. Looked around. In case a human had spoken. Doug appeared preoccupied.

Her name sounded scratchy. An irritating itch. She rubbed her arms as her skin crawled with cold and a building fear.

“Sybil? You okay?”

She started and realized Doug had spoken to her. She smiled, reacting on instinct to cover the crazy inside her head.

“I’m great,” she said.

He frowned, and she could see in his eyes that he didn’t believe her. It felt like he could see straight through her into the lie. To all the lies she’d ever told anyone.

“We’re all done,” he said.

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