Page 1 of Strangled
PROLOGUE
Astranger is in my house.
My view is obscured as he disappears around a corner, but I can still hear his every footstep as they thud against the floor, loud and obnoxious. I resist the urge to growl as his presence taints my space.
Silently, I shuffle along the wall cavity, rounding a corner that leads to the kitchen. Fresh cobwebs stick to my flesh as I find the hole next to the fridge.
I have to squat slightly to get the angle right, but I realize I don’t mind when his face comes back into view. He looks… odd. His face is too sharp, yet round, with lips too full, and hair too short. My eyes narrow when he picks up the old, corded telephone off the wall and traces his fingers over the keypad.
I bare my teeth, my lip curling in disdain. Why is he here?
Touching my things. In my house.
Mine.
The stranger looks around once more before exiting the room. I huff a breath of exasperation and scramble to catch up. Having him out of sight makes my skin crawl, the sensation similar to when my friends crawl on me—but that’s a welcome feeling.
This… is not.
The space behind some of the walls is difficult to pass through. It’s been a couple of years since I’ve had to come this way, and now that I am, it makes me detest this stranger more for making me aware of this newfound difficulty.
I find him in the sunroom near the back of the house, my hole giving me the perfect view of the side of his face. The table and chairs he is standing by are still covered in thick layers of dust, dirt, and grime. This is my house, yes, but I much prefer to stayinside,rather than out there where anything can happen… but I have kept my house maintained well enough that it is still livable without much strain.
I simply prefer it this way.
His fingers have the lightest touch as they brush over the oddest things. A random spot on the wall, the edge of a chair… And now, he’s moving to another room.
My eyes blur, a hot flash pulsing through me. My hand slams against the wall without thought, and the stranger stills, his eyes widening as they fly around the room, searching for the maker of the sound.
Breathing heavily through my nose, I press against the hole, my eye zeroing in on him. My hot breath blows back in my face the tighter I press. The wood bites into my skin, but I can’t get close enough.
My fingers ache to circle his neck as I place my palms next to my head. I brace my full weight against them, making the wall creak from the strain of my mass on the weakened frame.
After a few moments of silence from my mishap, the stranger digs into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out a phone, placing it against his ear.
“Hello?” His voice shatters the tension, and my fingers curl, nails scraping loudly along the splintered wood. It delves under my fingernails, splitting my skin open, encouraging me to dig deeper.
Blood trickles from my throbbing digits, but the sound of the stranger’s voice muffles the sound of it dripping onto the floor.
“I want it.”
Harder. Deeper. But the pain is acute in comparison to the throbbing in my skull.
“I’m aware of the history. It doesn’t bother me. Let’s get the paperwork drawn up.” He pulls his phone away from his ear. “I can be there in about twenty minutes.” He hangs up, running his hand back and forth over his short hair as he stares out one of the smeared windows facing the expansive, wooded backyard.
Before he can exit the room, I inch my way back toward the front of the house, taking a shortcut—which means crawling under the floors. It’s dark and smells of wet earth and musk. A comfort.
Dense, sticky cobwebs distort what’s left of my vision as I slink across the narrow passageway I dug for myself as a mere child.
I’ve accommodated the space to fit me over time, but it’s still a relatively tight fit, especially since I haven’t had to use this tunnel in years…
As I near the end, a small streak of sunlight peeks through the opening. Shifting onto my back, I move until my back hits the wood bracing the wall. Gripping the edge of the floor, I pull myself up using my upper body strength.
Once my feet drop down onto the wood, I quickly make my way to the front door, not wanting to miss the stranger’s departure.
The compulsiveneedto see him leave my house churns through me.
The hole I’m prepared to use is blocked by something, so I shove my pinky finger in and swipe it around. A sharp prick makes me pull my hand back, finding a small black and yellow friend hanging onto the end. I bring my hand closer and peer at the tiny arachnid with mild interest.
