Courtney Summers - Defy the Dark

McKenzie’s breath hitches, and I know I’ve got her.

I walk over to her and take the flashlight out of her startled hands. “What do you say we go downstairs and check it out?”

“The basement? Are you crazy?”

I hold the flashlight up so that it illuminates our faces from below, classic ghost-story style. I give her a sardonic smile—one of my best, if I must say—and she blushes. “I thought you wanted to go ghost hunting with me,” I say. “Are you scared?”

“Of course not,” she snaps. She crosses her arms defensively and adds, “It’s just not safe down there. Kelsey’s mom says the tours can’t go into the basement.”

I cock my head at her. “I thought you liked to live dangerously.”

Her gaze flickers briefly to the window, then back again. “Fine. Let’s go.” She holds out her hand. “Give me back the flashlight.”

“Not yet,” I say, and lead the way out of the room.

“Ty!” she objects, but I don’t stop, and since she doesn’t want to be left in the dark, she has no choice but to follow.

A latch holds the basement door shut, and when I lift it, the door pops open with a sigh. A scent of dampness and rot wafts up from the darkness below. A chill runs over my skin, and I wonder if this is a good idea.

“It smells down there.”

There’s something prissy about the way she says it, and it completely annoys me. My anger comes back, hard as armor, and I’m not scared anymore. I want to do this, even if it’s stupid, because if there’s anybody who deserves to have their safe little bubble popped, it’s McKenzie. “Come on,” I say, and I point the flashlight down the narrow wooden stairs.

The basement is really more of a cellar. The floor and walls are hard-packed dirt, and the ceiling is the bare rafters supporting the floor above. When I reach the bottom, I turn and shine the light up at McKenzie, who has paused halfway down.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” she says.

I can practically feel the dark against my back, cool and slightly wet. But I see that she’s on the verge of splitting, so I say, “There’s nothing down here.” To her credit, she descends the rest of the stairs, and when she steps onto the dirt floor, I offer her the flashlight. “You can be in charge now.”

She takes it, and when our hands touch, I notice that her fingers are freezing. She sweeps the light around. There isn’t much to see. The room is small and bare, except for a pile of broken wooden crates next to the stairs. The light skitters over a door on the far wall, and I reach out to grab McKenzie’s hand.

“Jeez!” she shrieks.

“Door,” I say calmly, and guide the flashlight beam across the room. I start walking.

“Where are you going?”

“I want to see what’s on the other side.” Adrenaline is racing through me now, electric and insistent.

“You’re crazy,” McKenzie says, but she scurries after me, keeping the beam leveled at the door.

This one has an old metal knob, spotted with rust. I turn it and push and, at first, the door sticks as if there’s something behind it. McKenzie’s so close I can hear her breathing, quick and fast. Suddenly the door gives way, and the air that whooshes out is even more musty than the stuff we’re breathing already.

“Ugh,” McKenzie groans as she shines the flashlight inside the space.

There’s something hanging from the rafters.

It moves in the light before darting back into the dark. McKenzie’s hand clamps down onto my arm, her nails digging through the material of my jacket and into my skin. She’s mumbling oh my God over and over again, pulling me away from the door.

Someone else is breathing down here.

It’s not McKenzie’s panicked hyperventilating, and it’s not my own breath, which isn’t exactly steady, either. It’s slower, raspier, as if it’s coming from an ancient pair of lungs.

“Oh my God, did you touch my back?” McKenzie whispers.

“You’re holding my arm,” I point out.

She shrieks and spins around, the flashlight beam jerking around the cellar. The thing hanging from the rafters moves again, and McKenzie screams and runs, dragging me with her, her fingers so tight around mine, it feels like she might crush them.

Upstairs McKenzie sprints for the exit, but I pull away from her.

“Ty! What are you doing?”

“Closing the door.”

She doesn’t wait for me. I’m alone in the hallway at the top of the basement stairs. I look back down, hesitating. And then I push the door shut and drop the latch in place.

“Thanks,” I whisper.

2. October 31, 10:49 p.m.

The Spruce Street Guest House’s backyard is full of shadows. Spruce trees are clumped together in one area, and a dilapidated shed leans to one side near the brick wall at the back of the property. It’s cold tonight, but at least it’s not snowing. From what people have told me, it almost always snows on Halloween. I huddle in the dark corner between the shed and the wall, squatting in my increasingly frigid jeans so I don’t have to sit on the even colder ground.

It’s not long before the girls come through the broken section of the wooden fence along the right side of the yard. I hear their giggling before I see them, and I wonder if they realize how loud they are. I recognize Kelsey Fisher’s voice as she says, “Watch out! Shh!”

Lauren Meier gasps a little, as if she’s trying to stop herself from laughing. “Did your mom notice you taking the key?” She seems to be trying to whisper, but the question carries all the way across the yard.

“No,” Kelsey answers. “She’s so busy this time of year, she barely pays attention.”

“You guys are being too loud,” says a third girl, and my stomach lurches when I recognize the voice. It’s McKenzie. I’m not entirely surprised—she and Lauren and Kelsey are best friends, and they seem to do everything together—but I am disappointed. More than disappointed. A sharp pang goes through me, and I get mad at myself. I don’t know why they’re here yet. Maybe it’s not what I think it is.

They run across the yard, crunching over the fallen leaves so loudly, it doesn’t matter that they manage not to say a word. I hear them climb the steps of the back porch, and then more furious whispering as Kelsey unlocks the door. It creaks as they push it open, and one of the girls—probably Lauren—squeals in fright.

“Shh!” McKenzie hushes them. “Let’s go.”

I wait till they’re inside and then I follow as silently as I can. I’m a lot quieter than they are. They’ve left the door partly open, and I slide inside by pushing it just a little. It gives a barely noticeable groan.

I look around the kitchen. Luckily there’s a half-moon shining through the windows tonight, because I can’t turn on a flashlight and expose myself. I don’t want them to see me. At first I don’t know where they went, but then I hear them going up the stairs, and I pad softly into the hallway after them.

“Did you bring the camera?” McKenzie asks as she climbs the stairs.

“Yeah,” Lauren says. “My brother showed me how to set the timer and everything.”

“Cool,” McKenzie says.

Once they reach the second floor, they disappear into one of the bedrooms, and I tiptoe after them, flattening myself against the wall outside the room they’ve entered. Something thumps onto the floor, and a bag unzips.

“Give me that,” McKenzie says.

“Jeez, I’m just trying to help,” Lauren says.

“I want to make sure this goes off without a hitch,” McKenzie says. She’s definitely in charge, and the disappointment I felt earlier turns toward myself. I should’ve known better.