Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 73665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
We started as a team, tackling the boxes to get them down off the stacks, but we quickly branched off, going through trunks and boxes and looking in nooks and crannies, jam-packed corners, overflowing crates, and messy piles.
I yank on the trunk again, and when it gives, with a weird sucking sound followed by a crack, it jars my shoulder so hard that I wonder if the crack part was the echo of my bones dislocating.
I lift the lid and swipe my hand through the dancing dust mites.
At least eight sets of eyes stare up at me from the depths of the trunk. My heart stops, then slams into a feral pace. Those eyes aren’t animate, but they’re capitalized creepy.
I pull out the doll with tape and wire wrapped around her neck to hold her blading head on. Her eyes flicker up and down, then go back to the half-mast staredown she was giving me from the trunk.
I set her aside and examine the collection of soulless stuffed animals at the bottom of the trunk. The bear at the very bottom of the pile is the worst, as though all the other toys attempted to cover up his malevolent face to prevent the terror from leaking out of the cracks between the lid and the body of the trunk like black smoke.
He’s missing an eye, but that’s the least of his worries. His gap-toothed grin is something from the worst of the worst and then still, the worst nightmare. It appears human teeth have been sewn onto his face, and long, streaky hair sprouts from his head. Thank goodness it’s fake. Like it was ripped from a doll’s scalp.
I hold the bear aloft like he’s going to be kinged. I spin around, laughter spilling out of me. It’s a little unhinged and a whole lot triumphant. “Rowleigh!”
He turns from his pile on the far side of the barn. His eyes lock on me first and then slowly rake up my body to the bear. The way he takes his time getting there ensures that my lady bits notice hard and throw a little lady bits party with a full celebration dance.
My feet tap out their own little happy dance. “Beat this, baby!”
Rowleigh’s eyes finally hit the bear. “Gah! What the fuck?”
“I know! Isn’t it amazing!” I crow.
“Put that thing down! It looks like it needs a hearty exorcism.”
“Hearty?” I lower the bear and cradle his foul body in my arms like a baby. “And here I thought just a regular one would suffice.” I lift a shoulder in an innocent shrug. “I win. I win so hard.”
This was totally worth breaking three of my nails down to the ouchy pink part, getting dust in my contacts, and melting in my clothes and the itchy mask. It’s probably going to leave suction marks on my face when I take it off. I can feel the sweat and breath pooling inside it in a dank, soupy mix.
Rowleigh looks around the barn, then points to an old car grill he propped up against the wall earlier. It’s from the thirties, I think. It’s from one of those gangster cars that had those doors that open the wrong way.
“I’m choosing the grill.”
“That’s cool, and it would look sweet in a mancave, but I think you should keep going. I already have my prize. I’m taking a water break.”
I close the trunk and carefully put the bear down on top. He’s decrepit enough to crumble.
“You have to find your own chest of chilling cadaverous creepiness. Minus the cadaver.”
Despite saying I was going for water, I ended up not. Instead, I lean up against one of the old stalls on the side of the barn where a cooling breeze is blowing through the open doors and watch as Rowleigh turns back to sorting through the pile he was tackling.
It was dark in here, but our eyes are well-adjusted now. The sunbeams look extra bright, a storm of little particles rising up to dance like fairy dust with every movement.
“So…tell me about your daughter.” For the love of rusty rats. Of all the things my brain could pick, it pulls that out?
Despite this chaotic plan, I hate being dishonest. Lying hurts people, and Rowleigh would be so appalled if he ever found out I’m best friends with Mika. No, when he finds out. I’m going to have to tell him. Sooner rather than later.
He stops and turns, brushing dirt off his hands. “The internet didn’t give you enough?” He laughs behind his mask, a muffled hmm hmmmm hmmmm that sounds far prettier than it should. Also funnier. Somehow, it’s both, which makes my stomach all fluttery.
It’s the barn dust. It’s creeping in through my ears because it can’t gain access to my nose or mouth, and it’s addling my brain.