Page 71 of Knot Baked Out For This
The old music room sprawls in elegant decay, high ceilings lost in shadows, tall windows that rattle with every gust. An ancient piano hulks in the corner, covered in a sheet that moves slightly even though there's no breeze.
Don't think about the piano. Set up the station. Ignore the definitely haunted piano.
"This is cozy," Levi says cheerfully. "Very 'grandmother's house if grandmother was a witch who collected children's teeth.'"
"That's disturbing."
"That's ambiance."
We set up my station—black tablecloth, battery-powered candles, my treats arranged in what I hope looks intentionally spooky rather than accidentally cursed. Levi helps, his sheetconstantly getting in the way, tangling around his legs until he nearly face-plants into my cupcakes.
"Maybe lose the sheet until the kids arrive?" I suggest.
"But I'm method acting. I need to become the ghost."
"You need to not destroy my four hours of work."
He pulls the sheet off, and his hair stands up in every direction, static-charged and ridiculous. His grin is pure sunshine in this house of shadows. "Better?"
Yes. No. Stop noticing how green his eyes look in this light.
"Marginally," I say, fixing the display he's knocked askew.
More volunteers arrive, the manor filling with controlled chaos. Someone's testing the sound system, shrieks and moans echoing through walls that have probably heard worse. The fog machine achieves sentience, flooding the first floor until visibility drops to zero and someone's dad walks into a wall.
"I need to find more extension cords," I announce, surveying my station. "The battery candles are dying already."
"Storage is in the basement," Sarah chirps, appearing with her clipboard like a organized poltergeist. "Lots of supplies down there! Probably definitely not haunted!"
Probably definitely not haunted. Great. Perfect. No red flags there.
The basement door looks like every horror movie's opening scene—peeling paint, rusty hinges, darkness that seems solid beyond the threshold. The single bulb at the top of the stairs flickers with suspicious timing.
"I'll come with," Levi offers.
"You need to practice your ghosting," I say, needing to prove I'm not afraid of a perfectly normal, definitely not cursed basement. "I can handle fetching cords."
Famous last words, Hazel.
The stairs down are narrow, wooden, and make sounds that wood shouldn't make. Each step is a gamble with physics andstructural integrity. The single bulb provides just enough light to make the shadows worse, turning boxes and furniture into lurking threats.
The basement sprawls larger than seems possible, full of sheet-covered shapes and towers of boxes labeled in handwriting that probably predates electricity. It smells like earth and age and something chemical that burns my nose.
I find a box labeled "ELECTRICAL" in the far corner, because of course it's in the farthest, darkest corner. The extension cords are tangled in a Gordian knot that would make Alexander weep.
That's when the lights go out.
Not dimming. Not flickering.
Complete, absolute darkness.
No. No no no no?—
The dark is solid, pressing against me from all sides. My chest tightens. My breath comes in short gasps that don't bring enough oxygen.
The pantry. Korrin locking me in the pantry when I "needed to calm down." Hours in the dark, begging to be let out, his pack laughing on the other side of the door?—
I drop to the floor, back against the wall, making myself small. My hands shake. My whole body shakes. The darkness has weight, mass, malevolent intent.
