Page 24 of A Heart So Haunted
Then, that other option, the one I’d convinced Sayer wasn’t true: The house was haunted.
Could this—could this be what Aunt Cadence was talking about? That teasing nursery rhyme she’d made up, that warned us not to stay at night. Was it real?
I wiped the sweat at the back of my neck and edged down the hallway. The air hugged, tight and cold, against my bare legs, sending shivers over every open inch of skin. Blood pulled from my extremities, making my hands and neck clammy.
“Momma,no,” the voice cried.
I hurried to the stair landing. It sounded far away, but not too far, like the voice came from the first floor.
Through the darkened entryway downstairs, a shadow hovered on the other side of the front door. The hazy silhouette shifted from side to side. Short. Like a child.
I was right.
I needed to call the police, I needed help—I needed to wake up Emma. I kept my eyes on the door, hands gripped white-knuckled on the banister rail, and started, “Hey, Em—”
“Momma, no.”
The voice was everywhere and nowhere, so close I could almost breathe it in.
This child needed me. Right now.
A sick, twisted feeling exploded in my gut. There it bubbled: fear. Fear of what might happen if I didn’t open the front door, or worse, if I did—what I might find on the other side.
My feet moved on their own accord. There was no time to wake Emma.
In a possessed hurry, I tripped down the stairs, gripping the railing the entire flight. There was a child on the front porch, and he needed help. Someone could be hurting him. He needed meright now—
I yanked the front door open.
That child needed help—they needed—
The door opened so fast it hit the wall behind it.
Nothing but empty porch and cool night air stretched in front of me.
The rocking chairs sat as still as sentinels. Not a breeze could be felt; not a cricket chirped. The vicious urgency within me vanished like a gasp, there one moment, gone the next.
No one stood on the porch. It was quiet, like I’d imagined it all.
Chapter Five
Ididn’t sleep well for days.
The call from the funeral home iced the cake. I shouldn’t have forgotten—I knew the ashes would be ready at any point, but I’d gripped the reminder as well as an oiled hand caught water.
I’d forgotten to get Aunt Cadence’s ashes.
To make matters worse, Mom called. Nine times in the span of two minutes.
On the final ring, my resolve broke.
“How could you forget topick her up?” she snarked over the phone. “They called mewhile I’m at work. Do you know howembarrassedthat made me feel?” Every other word seemed emphasized, like they carried their own personal exclamation point. A teeny, tiny knife, just large enough to poke at a sliver of my exposed guilt.
I huffed a strand of hair out of my face as I slammed my car door shut. Phone pinned between my shoulder and ear, I retrieved Aunt Cadence from the back seat. I bumped the door shut with my hip.
I hadn’t realized urns could be so big.
The urn fit her personality. Larger than normal, a standout of green and white marble with a little dragonfly atop the lid. David, the funeral home director, had told me prior to her service that she’dpurchased the urn nearly ten years ago, just in case. “Didn’t expect to fulfill it in my lifetime, but people have a way of surprising you,” he told me.
