Page 29 of Girl, Haunted

The drive to Gallows End took Ella and Luca deep into the Oregon wilderness, down winding roads flanked by towering pines that swallowed the sky. Ella's mind churned with the implications of Luca's early morning detective work. Isabella Thorne, with her bad blood and her creepy teddy bears, had rocketed to the top of their suspect list.

The woman seemed a real piece of work if the lawsuit was anything to go by. Entitled, narcissistic, probably thought she was the queen bee of this twisted little hive. But murder? It seemed a stretch. Then again, Ella had seen people kill for far less. Wounded pride was one hell of a motive.

Beside her, Luca fiddled with the radio, trying to find a station that wasn't static or country music. He'd given up on conversation twenty minutes ago, right around the time Ella had started grinding her teeth.

They pulled up to Gallows End just after nine AM. Ella strained her to neck to take the whole place in. The architecture was a mishmash of styles and eras, Victorian gingerbread nestled up against brutalist concrete, Gothic spires jutting up next to Art Deco domes. It was like someone had taken a normal haunted house and fed it after midnight. There was a solitary red Camaro in the lot.

‘Bates Motel much?’ she asked.

‘Close enough,’ Luca said. ‘Covers some serious ground, doesn’t it?’

Ella killed the engine. ‘Sure does. Ready?’

‘Yup. Got our teddy bear?’

She tapped her handbag. ‘He’s safe in here.’

‘Then let’s go.’

Ella stepped out of the car. The air was different here, laden with the scent of damp earth and something a little subtler. She breathed deep, trying to place it, but it remained elusive.

They approached the entrance, a massive oak door that looked like it could withstand a siege. Intricate carvings covered its surface – scenes of torment and damnation straight out of Dante's Inferno. Ella raised her fist to knock, but before her knuckles could connect, a disembodied voice crackled to life from a hidden speaker.

‘Sorry, we’re closed. First spine-tingling tour begins at two PM.’

Ella rolled her eyes, already feeling her patience wearing thin. She never had much time for the carnival barker crap. ‘You’re not closed for us. FBI. Looking for Isabella Thorne.’

Silence stretched for a beat, then two. Ella was about to speak again when the voice returned, dripping with forced cheerfulness.

‘FBI? What can I do for you?’ A British accent. Possibly put-on for show.

‘You can open this door.’

Another pause, longer this time. She glanced at Luca, who gave her a slight nod. Ella had voluntarily taken up the bad cop role already.

Finally, a series of clicks and thuds as locks disengaged. The massive door swung open with a groan.

Ella and Luca stepped into a colossal lobby that seemed more like Satan’s torture den than a waiting room. Crimson wallpaper peeled at the edges, revealing glimpses of what looked disturbingly like human faces pressed against the plaster. A threadbare Persian rug led the way to a raised dais, upon which sat an antique reception desk. Behind it, encased in a glass partition that wouldn't have looked out of place in a maximum-security prison, sat Isabella Thorne. Even from a distance, Ellacould tell this woman was trouble. She wore a blood-red pantsuit that screamed power and a smile that could cut glass.

She approached the partition and said, 'Miss Thorne. I'm Agent Dark, and this is Agent Hawkins. We need to ask you a few questions.'

Isabella's eyes flicked between them, then landed on Luca for a jealousy-inducing amount of time. Ella began counting down from five in her head. Just before she reached zero, Isabella buzzed them in through a side door.

‘Please, come through.’

Ella followed around into a box-room office that doubled as a ticket counter. The walls were lined with framed newspaper clippings and awards, all singing the praises of Gallows End and its illustrious owner. Isabella Thorne seemed to be anything but modest.

‘Take a seat,’ Isabella continued.

Ella waved off the invitation and instead stood beside the door. Luca positioned himself a few feet away. Two guards blocking the only exit.

‘We prefer to stand,’ Ella said. She kept her eyes on Isabella, watching for any tell, any crack in that perfectly cultivated facade. The woman's body language was open, relaxed – almost too relaxed, like someone who'd practiced looking innocent in front of a mirror.

‘So, the FBI make house calls now?’ Isabella asked.

Ella ignored it. She started with a softball to test the waters. ‘We're investigating a series of incidents at some of the local haunted attractions. Thought you might be able to shed some light.’

Isabella's smile flickered. If Ella had blinked, she'd have missed it. 'I assume this is about Greg at the Screamatorium?'

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