Page 52 of Home Before Dark

Which leads me to a single, undeniable fact—someone else is inside the house.

I edge around the table, never taking my eyes off the bells, just in case one of them rings again. Moving backward, I reach the counter, my hands blindly sliding along its surface until I find what I’m looking for.

A block holding six knives.

I grab the largest one—a carving knife with a seven-inch blade. My reflection quivers in the glinting steel.

I look scared.

Iamscared.

Holding the knife in front of me, I creep out of the kitchen and up the steps to the main part of the house. It’s not until I’m in the great room that I hear the music. A crisp, almost dreamy tune I’d have recognized even without the lyrics floating from somewhere above.

“You are sixteen, going on seventeen—”

My heart, which was still beating wildly a mere second ago, stops cold, making the song sound even louder.

“Baby, it’s time to think.”

I move through the great room on legs so numb with fear it feels as though I’m floating. When I reach the front of the house, I notice the chandelier is jangling. Almost as if someone is pounding the floor directly above it.

“Better beware—”

I have two options here—run, or confront whoever’s inside the house. I want to run. My body begs me to, twitching insistently. I opt for confrontation, even though it’s not the wisest choice. Running only leads to more questions. Facing it head-on can only lead to answers.

“—be canny—”

Mind made up, I start to run, not giving my body a chance to protest. I rush up the stairs, across the second-floor hallway, up another set of steps. I’m still running when I reach the third floor, the study door shut and looming before me.

“—and careful—”

I hurtle toward the door with my grip tight around the knife, letting out a scream as I go. Part of it’s self-defense. Trying to catch whoever’s inside off guard. The rest is fear, bursting out of me the same way I’m bursting into the room.

“Baby, you’re on the brink.”

The study is empty, even though all the lights are on and the record player on the desk blares at full volume.

“You are sixteen—”

I flick the needle away from the turntable and, pulse still thrumming, survey the room, just to confirm it is indeed empty. Whoever had been up here must have left as soon as they started the record player, ringing the bell on the way out.

Which means it was a ghoul. Some punk-ass kid who’d read the Book, heard I was back here, and now wanted to reenact part of it.

The only wrinkle in my theory is that I’d closed and locked the gate after Brian Prince left. I also closed and locked the front door when I got back to the house. If it was aHouse of Horrorsprankster, how did he get inside?

That question vanishes when I take another look at the desk and notice something off.

Just like the letter opener in the parlor, the teddy bear Dane and I had found in the closet is now gone.

JULY 1

Day 6

“He says we’re going to die here.”

Until then, the day had been notable fornotbeing notable. No ringing bells or rogue snakes or new, unnerving discovery. If there had been a thud at 4:54 in the morning, I slept right through it. It had simply been a normal day. Our first at Baneberry Hall.

Then my daughter uttered those words, and it all went to shit.

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