Page 43 of The House That Held Her

I press one of the tiny legs, and it gives way with a barely audible click, staying depressed. My heart leaps into my throat. I press another, then a third, until finally, after the fourth leg, we hear a strange sound—a mechanical whirring deep inside the wall. The legs reset, jutting back out, and I realize that we’re dealing with a combination.

A four-digit code. What could it be? I try to recall everything we had learned about George, his past, and what mattered to him. The years that had defined his life float around in my mind—Amelia's birth year or perhaps Cecilia and George’s anniversary?

I skip the second option because I don’t know the year the couple was married. But I do remember our conversation with Marty that Amelia was born in 1970. My heart sinks: there are only six legs, plus the creature’s pincers, and the second digit required a 9.

“What about the book itself, Margot? When was The Gold Bug first published?” Shannon asks.

I almost jump out of my skin. I hug Shannon and litter her face with kisses. Of course, that sequence didn't require a 9 because the yearThe Gold Bugwas published– 1843.

Assuming the legs were ordered as North Americans read, I press the bug's first pincer from top left to bottom right, then the eighth, the fourth, and finally the third. Each tiny carved appendage clicked into place…

Silence.

Shannon and I stand perfectly still, waiting. Several moments pass and I turn to speak when I hear a soft metallic creak, as though gears were shifting behind the wall. The bug's carved body slowly pushes outward, protruding from the frame, leaving its legs behind. It looked like an old-fashioned dial waiting to be turned.

“Ho-ly… shit.” whispers Shannon.

I swallow hard, glancing at my best friend. With my heart pounding, I grasp the bug's body and twist it clockwise. The turn was almost too easy, the mechanism smooth and deliberate. A deep, resonant click echoed through the room, followed by the unmistakable sound of something unlocking.

I push the bug back into place, holding my breath as I listen. A muffled noise comes from somewhere deeper within the house. My pulse quickens as we both turn our heads, straining to locate the source of the sound. Nothing seems different. There were no sliding panels, no secret doors swinging open. But I know something, somewhere had moved.

“Something definitely unlocked,” Shannon whispers.

“I agree. Whatever we just did moved something.” I whisper in return, wondering why we’re whispering at all.

We search the corners, the underside of the mantel, behind the sofa. Nothing.

“Let’s split up,” Shannon says. “It might be in another room. You check the ground floor. I’ll go upstairs. If you find anything—shout. Although maybe a little less than before, you scared me half to death.”

I don’t love the idea, but it’s logical that time could be critical with a timer counting down until whatever we opened, closes again. “Be careful,” I say softly, catching her anxious expression. She nods, jogging up the steps while I methodically sweep the foyer, the kitchen, the hall closet. Each minute that passes without discovery makes my nerves jangle harder.

When I’ve checked every crevice, I hurry to the staircase, a knot of worry in my chest. “Shannon? Did you find anything?” I call, heading up. No reply. The second-floor hallway is silent but for the faint hum of electricity.

I poke my head into the spare bedroom—no Shannon, no changes. Then I approach our bedroom, the one I once shared with Nate. My hand hovers over the doorknob, bracing myself against a flood of painful memories. Summoning courage, I push it open.

“Shannon, you in—?” My voice dies. The desk in the corner is swung away from the wall, like it’s mounted on a hidden hinge. There’s a narrow gap of blackness behind it, the wood paneling parted.

My pulse spikes. I swallow hard, stepping closer. The gap is just wide enough for a person to slip through. A draft of cold air wafts out, carrying a stale, musty smell. My hands tremble as I grip the desk edge and shift it farther aside, peering into the darkness beyond.

“Shannon?” I whisper. My voice echoes faintly, but no answer comes.

Fear prickles the back of my neck. My friend wouldn’t just vanish. The only explanation is she entered this secret passage. But why didn’t she call for me? Why go without me?

Steeling myself, I slip through the opening. Shadows swallow me whole, the air thick and suffocating. “Shannon, can you hear me?”

Silence.

30

Ibend down, my shoulders wedging through the tight threshold behind my bedroom wall. My phone’s flashlight slices jagged beams through the oppressive darkness, and every time the light grazes a shape, my imagination warps it into something menacing. My pulse hammers in my throat as I step inside, each footfall swallowed by an eerie hush.

I call Shannon’s name over and over as I push deeper into the darkness, my fear increasing with each moment of silence.

At the center of this cramped, hidden space stands a drafting desk. Scattered papers lie across its surface like fallen leaves in a forgotten storm—worn, crumpled, dust-ridden.

Cautiously, I move closer to the drafting desk and switch on a small lamp. A jolt of yellow light flares, flickering once before steadying. It sends our shadows dancing across the walls, turning the cluttered contents of the room even more sinister. I realize now that this space is larger than I expected, the corners fading into gloom. Shelves line the walls, cluttered with tattered books, rusted tin boxes, and glass jars filled with things I can’t begin to identify. A stale, musty smell clings to the air, thick with the weight of secrets that never saw the light.

My eyes drift to a solitary, narrow bed in the far corner, its thin blanket half-pulled off, as if whoever used it left in a rush. A small dresser sits nearby, piled with more tools, scattered papers, and books. It’s as if some frantic force was at work here before everything froze in time.

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