Page 2 of Kat Bethel

This suffocating feeling was easier to deal with while wearing a pair of grippy socks and a roommate that screamed about the devil.

Somewhere I hadn’t been tricked into the illusion of forever.

I leaned against the wall, glancing down at the newspapers in my hands to find something to ground myself to. Something that wasn’t the ruin of my life.

The top one was from the morning with a big, ugly headline:Seventeen suicides for this year’s graduating class. The tiny town is in shock.

Statistically improbable.

The softest thump from the box grabbed my attention again. It needed to be burned with salt.

These were things I knew how to handle. Not this weight sitting on my chest.

The concept of staying here was enough to make me nauseous. At least monsters didn’t pretend to love me.

Tears pricked my eyes and I grit my teeth.

My eyes flickered to my wedding photos again.

Fuck it.

I dropped all the other newspapers over the spilled tea stain, went to the kitchen, and poured an entire gas can around the wooden box. The wraith I’d trapped inside screamed as if it knew what was coming.

“Shut up,” I said and went to pack the little bit of personal belongings I had. A duffle bag of clothes and a handful of sentimental trinkets that illustrated how maybe this was never my safe space.

I found the spare gasoline in the garage and walked through my house, splashing it on the walls and over the ground. I probably should have stopped to think things through.

Thinking was hard though.

Doing was easier.

I made a trail all the way out the front door until the fumes could be smelled from a mile away. I tossed the duffle bag, still on my shoulder, and the picture of my cousins in the back seat, then lit a match. The familiar scent of sulfur hit my nose, and it felt more like home than those four walls ever did.

Don’t do it.

Why not? I didn’t have an answer for that.

He’s tossed everything aside. Why couldn’t I?

I threw the match through the open door.

The flames caught with a whoosh as I climbed into my truck. Warmth radiated through the old, worn leather of the steering wheel. The engine started up easily, like an old friend welcoming me home.

This was where I belonged.

The wraith in the box screamed from its prison, scraping against every nerve I had and sending goosebumps down my spine.

Now that job was finally done.

Time to move on to the next one.

I shifted into reverse as the other lights in the neighborhood turned on, making sure to give the burning house a stiff middle finger as I passed it.

Good riddance.

Chapter 2:

Checkingintothecheapmotel was easier than going home.