Page 33 of Scaredy Cat
Slowly, I turn back to the barn, shining my flashlight over the outside. The loft doors are gone, probably rotted in the piles of debris littering the property. And the main doors, which were probably built by hand and with such care over a hundred years ago, are still just barely hanging onto their hinges. For a moment, I imagine the barn for what it once was. That this place was beautiful instead of creepy.
Mill Housedidn’t choose to be the site of so many murders, after all. And in another universe, it could have been something much different from what it is. But I don’t have time to feel bad for abandoned houses and the ghosts that may or may not still haunt them when I have my own problems. Murmuring a soft apology to the universe, I step inside, and my feet sink slightly into the dirt floor within.
The barn creaks as if it’s either welcoming or warning me, though I can’t tell which. Biting my lip, I shine my light around, using it to take a few pictures with questionable illumination that end up looking more abstract than not. I can see the loft up above, though it’s mostly a collection of cracked planks with holes in between that certainly doesn’t look very steady.
Stalls line one side of the barn, making me wonder what kind of animals the original family once kept here. Any fences that may have been outside are long gone, but that’s not saying much, since the earth is good at reclaiming anything left to rot for this long.
I’m so enthralled with the barn, at first, the crunching outside barely registers in my brain as something to notice. I mentally write it off as just a natural sound until the steps get close enough that it occurs to me they arenot.
Instinctively, I glance at the permanently open barn doors, flicking off my flashlight and phone as my stomach does a little flip. My ribs seem to tighten around my lungs as I fade back into the shadows of the building, trying not to get too close to the walls that might have rusted nails sticking out of them, ready to give me tetanus.
Belatedly, I realize there’s no real way to pretend I’m not here. With my car outside, it’s pretty obvious there’s someone inside. At first, I consider that it could be the property owner. There’s nothing wrong with her wanting to come out and check on me, to make sure I’m not doing something weird at the house famous for the murders committed inside.
I’d come check on me as well, to be honest. But then I remember that she told me she was going to be gone for a week. Something about a vacation in Spain to see her grandkids for the first time.
But if it’s not her, then I have no idea who it could be. Why would anyone…?
The shadow in the doorway hesitates, standing still with only the sound of breathing to disrupt the silence around us. My fingers tighten on the flashlight, and I briefly wonder if I could use it as a weapon if I have to. It’s certainly heavier than my phone, and longer, but I’d really rather not have to try to wield it against anyone if I don’t have to.
The person takes a step, and the second that they enter the barn, I see the distinctive wolf-skull mask backlit by the last quickly disappearing rays of sunlight. While I can’t see any detail, I see the shape enough to be sure, and my breath catches in my chest.
I’m both relieved andterrified.
How did he find me?
What does he want?
What does he plan on doing with no one around?
I didn’t come here to be afraid. Not exactly. And I can’t figure out how in the world he knew that I was here, when I hadn’t posted anything about it online. Maybe he really is stalking me, and not just in the sort of cute, sort of charming, online way.
I’m huddled close enough to the wall that the shadows obscure my shape, and I can see him tilt his head from one side to the other. “I know you’re in here, little Scaredy Cat,” he purrs, his voice traveling in the near-complete silence of the dark barn. “Why don’t you come out and play with me, hmm? Surely you know that you can’t hide from me. I always find you, babe.”
My teeth grit in both irritation and something like adrenaline-fueled anticipation. I don’t move, knowing that any twitch at all could alert him to my presence.
But I don’t know what to do. My only option is to get back to my car, though currently, he’s too close for me to sneak out without him noticing.
Waiting feels dangerous. He could turn at any moment and notice the too-big bundle of shadows by the door. But I don’t have any other choice, and hope rises in my throat when he takes another step into the barn, widening the distance between us. If he can just walk in a little further, I’ll feel better about making a break for it.
Don’t fuck this up,I lecture myself mentally.Don’t trip, or drop your keys, or run like the first victim in a slasher movie.
Thirty feet max, I wager, lies between me and my car door. The only problem is that my keys are in my backpack, which is sitting outside of the barn, leaning up against the rickety, sagging wall.
Fuck.
Okay, well, my car isn’t locked. So if I grab my backpack as I run, I could at least get into the driver’s seat, slam the lock button, and then dig for my keys while sitting in relative safety. It’s better than nothing, I suppose, and?—
He takes another step away from me.
Then, miraculously, he takes one more.
I don’t let myself stop and talk myself out of it like I know I could. Shoving off the wall, I make a break for the doors, my footsteps quick and light in the dirt that turns to grass once I’m outside. I hear his loud, overjoyed bark of laughter, and then footsteps sound behind me, running just as fast as I am, if not faster.
“Please, please, please,” I hiss under my breath, gripping the strap of my backpack in one hand and the flashlight in the other. Desperately, I turn just enough to chuck the light at him, and I’m rewarded with his surprised yelp and the sight of him raising his hands to shield his masked face. But he barely falters. I hit the hood of my car with my hands, my feet sliding on the slick grass under me, but just as I turn to lunge for the door, he’s behind me.
His handsslamdown on either side of me on the hood, caging me in against the still-warm metal. He’s laughing in my ear, and barely panting, but when I turn and swing my backpack at the taller man, he has to back up just a little, giving me enough room to turn so I’m facing him.
“Leave me alone!” I snarl, my heart pounding in my chest.
