Page 10 of It's the Worst Time of the Year

Edna clapped her gloved hands together, her face lighting up. “That’s the spirit, dear! Stuck together on a snowy evening—why, it’s practically a Christmas miracle!”

Theodore rolled his eyes so hard I was surprised they didn’t get stuck. “This is more like a nightmare,” he muttered under his breath.

Ignoring him, Bailey turned to me. “Jacob, why don’t you help me look for supplies? Edna, maybe you can check if there are any more fireplaces that can be used safely. Theodore…”

“I’ll supervise,” he declared firmly.

“Excellent,” I said dryly.

Bailey shot me a warning glance, but I could see the flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Let’s get moving,” she said.

The manor was enormous, each hallway stretching into shadowy, forgotten corners that whispered of decades—if not centuries—of neglect. The air was thick with the scent of dust and aged wood, tinged with a hint of something floral that had long since faded. Every step we took seemed to echo louder thanit should, the sound bouncing off high ceilings and down empty corridors.

“This place gives me the creeps,” I muttered as we passed a room filled with cobweb-covered furniture draped in white sheets. It looked like a scene straight out of a horror movie.

Bailey glanced at me over her shoulder, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “Scared of a little old house, Jacob?”

“Not scared,” I defended, though I wasn’t entirely convinced myself. “Just cautious. I prefer my houses without the potential for ghostly inhabitants.”

She chuckled softly. “It has character.”

“Sure. If by ‘character’ you mean a haunted Scooby-Doo vibe,” I retorted, peering into a room where a grand piano stood silent and wondering how long its keys had remained untouched.

Her laughter echoed softly, warming the cold air around us. For a moment, I allowed myself to bask in the sound. It reminded me of simpler times—nights spent daring each other to sneak into the old, abandoned lighthouse by the harbor or sharing stories under the stars at the lake in summer.

We reached a door tucked away at the end of a narrow hallway. Bailey tried the tarnished brass handle, and to our surprise, it creaked open, revealing a steep staircase descending into darkness.

“You’re kidding,” I said, staring down into the inky blackness. “You want to go down there?”

She flashed me a challenging grin. “It’s probably the basement. Where else would they keep supplies? Unless you think the attic is a better option.”

“Attics, basements…both prime locations for horror movie clichés,” I mumbled, but I followed her as she began to descend.

The stairs protested under our weight; each step accompanied by a groan that made me question the structural integrity of the entire house. The temperature seemed to drop with every step, and I worried whether Bailey was warm enough, since I knew for certain I was not. However, I didn’t want to rock what tenuous boat we were in by expressing my concern, for fear she’d be offended and assume I was condescending or objectifying her or something. When it came to anyone else, I was always confident I knew exactly what to say, but when it came to the woman next to me, I found old insecurities rising that made me feel as awkward and incompetent as I had at sixteen.

Bailey held her phone in front of her, the flashlight casting a narrow beam that illuminated the damp stone walls and the cobwebs that hung like tattered curtains from the low ceiling.

“Watch your head,” she warned as a particularly large web threatened to ensnare me.

“Thanks,” I said, ducking just in time. “I really didn’t want to find out what kind of spiders inhabit this place.”

“Afraid of spiders now, too?” she teased.

“Not afraid. Just... respectfully cautious.”

She shook her head, her smile visible even in the dim light. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Neither have you,” I said softly, and for a moment, she paused, her eyes meeting mine and something unspoken passed between us.

Clearing her throat, she turned away. “Come on, we’re almost there.”

At the bottom of the stairs, we found ourselves in a cavernous storeroom. Both of us swept our phone’s flashlights across the space, revealing rows upon rows of shelves packed with bins, crates, and boxes.

“Whoa,” I breathed, taking in the sheer volume of items stored here. “This is... unexpected.”

Bailey stepped forward, her eyes widening as she examined the neatly labeled bins of Christmas decorations, everything from delicate glass ornaments to strings of multicolored lights. Stacks of thick, plush blankets occupied one corner, while crates filled with non-perishable food lined the walls. What was more, a large freezer sat in a corner that looked brand-new. Opening it, we both gasped to discover it stocked with everything from turkey and ham to breads, cheese, and vegetables.

“This...is not normal,” I said, crouching to inspect a box of croissants.

---