a couple of cushy chairs with knitted afghans, a filled bookcase, a reading lamp and a patterned throw rug to soften the original hardwood floor. The faded yellow walls needed to be repainted. After dictating a few notes into her phone, she checked out each of the three bedrooms with identical hardwood floors. Thankfully, they needed nothing more than to be cleaned and repainted.
The bathroom was another matter. Sure, she could live with the aqua-colored tub and matching toilet and black linoleum and call it retro, but did she want to? Replacing them would put quite a dent in her savings.
What had Aunt Claudia been thinking by keeping the decades-old fixtures?
After snapping a few photos and taking more notes, Tori headed out of the room and noticed a door outside the bathroom at the top of the stairs. How had she missed that coming up? Probably because she’d been too busy whining to herself about climbing the Mount Everest steps.
Must be a linen closet.
She tried to turn the old-fashioned black knob, but it was tight. She turned harder, and the door popped open. She made a quick note to replace the knob and tucked the phone in the back pocket of her jeans.
Definitely not a closet. It had to be the entrance to the attic Aunt Claudia had mentioned. Tori had expected a pull-down set of rickety steps.
She peered up the steps, seeing nothing but shadows. Was she brave enough to venture into the unknown? And climb more stairs?
She felt the wall for a light switch and flicked it on before remembering the utilities hadn’t been turned on yet. Another thing to add to her to-do list.
A heavy musty odor hung over the darkness like an invisible curtain. Light filtered through a dirty rectangular window at the top of the stairs, casting shadows across dusty rafters and various-sized boxes.
Maybe she could open the window to air out the space.
Tori pulled her phone out and flicked on the flashlight, pointing it ahead of her. Dust motes danced in the narrow beam. The low-battery warning chimed. She’d have to hurry.
Cobwebs, burdened with dust, stretched between sturdy beams. The wooden floor creaked beneath her feet as she made her way to the window. She felt like she’d stepped inside a Nancy Drew novel, exploring with Nancy, George and Bess.
Something rustled to her right.
Tori froze, her heart hammering against her rib cage.
Maybe she didn’t need to open the window after all.
Pointing her phone in the direction of the noise, she flashed the light across a rusted metal tool chest, half a dozen boxes, stray limbs from an artificial Christmas tree and a plastic play kitchen missing a faucet.
She exhaled and shook her head.
Nothing to be afraid of.
Something soft and furry brushed against her ankle, and Tori yelped, jumping back. She shined the light to the floor as a tiny gray puff with a long tail scampered across her foot and disappeared into the darkness.
She screamed, dropped her phone and turned, slamming her toe against the metal toolbox. Pain shot across her foot.
Clenching her jaw to hold back another scream, Tori snatched her phone off the floor and half ran, half limped to the doorway.
She hurried down the stairs to find the door had closed behind her. She hadn’t even heard it. She twisted the tight knob, but it wouldn’t budge.
Oh. Come. On.
She rammed her shoulder against the door. She tried the knob one more time, turning with all the strength she could manage. She felt a pop, but instead of the door opening, the stupid knob broke off in her hand.
Terrific.
What was she going to do now?
Tori plopped down on the step and tossed the knob next to her. It clattered down the two stairs and rolled against the stuck door.
She sucked in a deep breath. Sweat beaded across her forehead as a chill stroked her arms. She gathered her knees to her chest and closed her eyes, focusing on slow, even breaths.
Think, Victoria.
There had to be some way of getting the door open.
Tiny feet scurried across the floor above her.
And soon.
Maybe the wretched toolbox she stubbed her toe against had a screwdriver or something in it.
She reached for her phone, turned on her music and blasted the volume as she limped back up the steps and flashed the light to guide her. She found the toolbox, reached for the latch and felt a small padlock.
Of course.
Her phone beeped, then dimmed in her hand.
She headed for the stairs while she had enough light to guide her path. She took another step, and the floor gave slightly, feeling a bit spongy. As she took one more step, her foot slid on a slick spot. She reached out to catch herself and dropped the phone, plunging her into darkness except for the light coming from the grimy window.
Her weight landed on her right side, forcing her foot through the damaged floorboard. She tried to pull her foot free, but pain knifed her ankle.
Tori’s chest shuddered as her breathing quickened and her pulse raced.
She was trapped with no way of calling for help. Darkness hooded her as the noises amplified.
Was that a squeak?
Something brushed against her arm. She batted at it.
She was back in the closet again. In her father’s house. But this time she wasn’t cradling a terrified Annabeth against her chest, trying to silence the little girl’s sobs so they wouldn’t be found by intruders plowing through the downstairs.
No.
She was safe.
In her own house.
But trapped.
Branches scratched against the windowpane, throwing long-fingered shadows across the room...reaching out for her. With no phone, how was she going to be able to call Aunt Claudia for help?
Help me, God.
Seconds became minutes.
Tires crunched in the driveway. A moment later, the doorbell rang. Then someone pounded on the door, calling her name.
Why had she locked the door?
Because she was a scaredy-cat.
A grown woman afraid to be in the house by herself.
And of the dark.
A moment later, an engine started.
“No! Don’t leave! Help me!” Tori’s cries, punctuated by sobs, bounced off the beams.
She tried to pull her foot free again and sucked in a sharp breath as the splintered wood razored her leg. She dropped to the floor and tried to pry the damaged wood away, but it broke off in pieces. A splinter speared her finger.
Heavy footsteps thundered up the staircase to the second floor.
Someone was in her house.
Tori brushed a hand over her face. “Help!”
Wood splintered with a loud crack, then swung free, throwing welcoming light up the darkened steps.
“Tori?” Jake’s voice caused fresh tears to fill Tori’s eyes.
She blinked them back. “I’m up here. My foot is stuck.”
He raced up the steps and swung a flashlight in her direction.
She threw up a hand to shield against the brightness. Jake hurried over to her. Handing her the flashlight, he knelt beside her. “Hold this.”