Page 10 of If You Dare

It seemed to have come from behind her. Right behind her. A chill clipped its way down her back, ticking every vertebra along the way. The hair on her arms stood on end. She tried, and failed, to convince herself she was hearing things. A voice had spoken one word, a word now etched in her memory like hieroglyphics.

Go.

She rose from the air mattress slowly, intentionally, her eyes shifting from the staircase to the closed front door. The urge to obey the unseen entity’s command, and bolt outside as fast as her Skechers would carry her, was strong. But the practical half of her brain—the half logical enough to know a howl of wind could have masked itself as a two-letter word—kept her rooted to the floor.

Blood pounded her eardrums as she attempted to listen past her hammering heart and jagged breaths. She watched the stairs until her eyes blurred and her forehead broke into a sweat.

Her phone chimed, shattering the silence. She emitted a little yip and then growled under her breath as she pulled the cell from her back pocket. It was a text from Marcus.

10 pm. Is all well? Send me proof.

Bihourly photos were part of the bet. A time-stamped photo from her smartphone would prove she hadn’t taken multiple photos in a span of five minutes and then hoofed it off the property.

She tapped her camera app, lined herself up with the mostly boarded-up window behind her, held up her middle finger, and snapped the picture.

A few seconds after she sent it, a return text read: Ha!

She could have sworn she’d heard his deep chuckle coming from outside the house. But then, she was imagining hearing a lot of things tonight, wasn’t she?

Two seconds later, her phone chimed again. What’s that weird ball of light over your left shoulder?

Before she could stop herself, she’d turned to look behind her. He must have guessed she’d fallen for it. The next text read: Sucker!

The texts had given her a few moments of levity, though, and for that she was grateful. So when she punched in the reply of Asshat, she’d meant it as a playful compliment. She tossed the phone onto the mattress and sat facing the creeptastic staircase…just in case. She reached for her iPad, and then reconsidered.

If she had heard something, and if it were a real threat, she didn’t like the idea of background noise. If there was a rabid raccoon chomping on the exposed wires, or a freaky opossum hunching its way across the insulation in the attic, she would like to know. Even though the only weapon she had was the plastic knife that’d come with her dinner. She should have brought the crowbar inside with her…

Most likely, nothing would happen. She’d endure the remaining hours in the house and then claim Hawaii. Easy-peasy.

She abandoned the tablet and dug out the novel she’d impulse-purchased. It was a romance novel—no Stephen King for her. She’d barely cracked the spine on the friends-to-lovers vacation read when she heard it again, as loud and real as if she’d said it herself.

“Go!”

Gooseflesh lit her arms and legs despite the propane heater next to her warming the air. Definitely a voice, she was sure of it this time. It’d been tinny as if being played back from a gramophone, but unmistakably feminine. Almost…forceful.

Her dinner lurched in her stomach as her eyes tracked to the stairs leading up to the inky beyond. The voice had come from the second floor this time. If only she hadn’t made out the word so clearly. If only it had been some garbled, unidentifiable sound, she could’ve passed it off as the house creaking. But she’d heard it. As clearly as she heard her teeth chattering in her head right now.

Whatever was in here with her wanted her to leave. She might have needed to be told twice, but she wasn’t about to wait around for a third time. Knees wobbling, she kept her eyes glued to the staircase as she felt around for her phone and her purse. The darkness upstairs morphed into insidious shapes the longer she stared into it, so she risked looking away long enough to gather her things.

She gauged the distance between the staircase and the front door, inventorying the obstacles that lay between her and the exit. The urge to run was strong, but she chose her steps carefully. It wasn’t like she could physically outrun a ghost anyway… Which did not make her feel any better.

Following the mental path she’d mapped in her head, she stepped around the air mattress, over the lantern, and skirted the heater. She’d come back for her things in the morning. In the bright, happy sunshine. She was out of here.

Her feet hit the porch seconds later. She ran for her car, not bothering to close the mansion door behind her. Heart thundering, she plunged a hand into her purse.

“Keys, keys,” she muttered while she searched. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. But each time her hand encountered anything and everything but keys in her Louis Vuitton bag, she panicked more.

She heard a sound in the distance and jerked her head toward the house. It stood still and quiet, the faint light from her lantern barely illuminating the entrance. There was no screaming banshee racing across the yard. No specter floating toward her on a cloud of ethereal smoke.

She still didn’t want to go back inside.

She dumped the contents of her handbag onto the hood of her car. Lip gloss, pens, coins, and various other useless items rolled onto the ground. No keys. Which meant…

“No.” Her voice was a tiny whine.

She was going to have to go in and get them.

She yanked on the driver’s door, then all three of the passenger doors of her cherry-red compact. Each handle lifted and sprang back—locked.