Page 45 of A Heart So Haunted
Why’d you look at him? You expect him to come over and talk to you?
Come on, Lan. Just once. No one has to know.
Are you being serious right now? How do you think that makes me feel? How am I supposed to love you when you won’t listen tomyneeds?
I shook them away. “I just want the house to sell, okay? Maybe Em’s right. Maybe he’s the best one for it.”
“What do you want, Lan?” he pressed. “You. Not Em. You.”
“To get this over with so I can drive two states away and everyone gets to leave me alone again,” I groused. And that was the most honest thing I’d said in weeks.
Sweat slicked my back, sticking my tank top to my skin like window tint. The house practically exhaled every time I inhaled, smothering me in humidity and grime.
Three swings and the sledgehammer broke through the wall. I probably could have gotten away with a regular hammer, but it would have taken too long.
Particles of sheetrock and chipped paint littered the tarp I’d placed over the floor. The TV murmured from my bedroom, a new requirement because I refused to have nothing but silence and risk hearing something I didn’t want to hear. The TV, at the very least, acted as a stand-in during Emma’s absence.
I coughed and fanned the floating debris with my hand. Stepped closer, sledgehammer still in hand, I bent to get a better look through the hole I’d made.
There it was.
I straightened, took a breath, and swung. With a grunt, I heaved the sledgehammer upright and brought it down on the bottom section of drywall. Bits connected to the doorframe splintered away with the sheetrock—enough for me to grab and pull open.
I propped the sledgehammer against the wall, weighted end down. My hands moved with urgency, pulling and yanking and snapping as I tore away piece after piece of wall and piled them to the side. The longer it took for me to pull parts away, the sloppier my hands felt.
I’d really left that little boy behind.
The weight of it festered anger, not for the boy, but myself. Why hadn’t I tried to usher him out?
And maybe, just maybe, it was the conversation with Sayer today that spurred the urgency. What if I went back in and I couldn’t find him?
“Come—on,” I grunted.
Once I removed the majority of the sheetrock, I wedged the heel of my shoe against the base of the doorframe. If I could get all this out of the way, I’d have a bigger opening in case that creature came after me again. The last thing I needed was a child in tow and the both of us getting tripped by something I could have cleared out.
Grip tight, but not tight enough to entice splinters, I leaned back with all my weight—and the splintered frame snapped free, taking another chunk of drywall with it. I coughed away floating debris and examined the piece—indents, like wood burn marks, ran along the wood. Maybe I needed to have the house tested for termites, just in case.
Gooseflesh pimpled my skin. A tangy excitement, anticipation, started to seep through my body. And maybe, just maybe, if I found the boy and brought him out, the crying would stop at night.
I ran my thumb over the divots in the polished door. For my sanity and the child’s safety, I needed to get him out of there.
And if things went south—I didn’t know what I would do. Maybe it was the fact that the creature hadn’t followed me through the door last time that hardened my resolve. If I made it to the door, we could make it through, but not the creature.
I pulled my phone from my pocket, just to check. No notifications, no missed calls. If Emma did decide to come back for the night,I didn’t expect it to be before midnight. It was still early—only ten o’clock. I had time.
My eyes drifted back to the sledgehammer. Then the door. Then back to the sledgehammer.
I grabbed the handle. At least I had this. A weapon was better than no weapon. Sledgehammer in hand, I made to open the door.
At first, the door hitched, like it was stuck, so I used my body weight to pull. The latch popped open an inch.
My breathing trembled, adrenaline already coursing through my extremities.
The icy air hit me first. Like an exhale against my cheeks, it pushed my hair away from my face, making me squint. My hands tightened around the sledgehammer. Slowly, I opened my eyes, part of me expecting the creature to be sitting by the door where I’d left him nearly two weeks ago. I paused, my pulse throbbing hot in my jaw.
Harthwait had changed.
The framework of the house stood tall, crooked in the majority of places. Holes in the brick wall gave glimpses to a withered lawn, windowsills gaped empty, vacant of their glass panes, and the ceiling—didn’t exist. Nothing but charred framework dangled above me. It looked like the house had caught fire and only the resilient bits remained.
