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I counted the thundering beats of my heart. My joints locked with tension as I stood and waited.
And waited.
It seemed like an hour had gone by, but it was only a few minutes before I forced myself to move. I leaned close to the door, pressing my eye up against the open crack and peeked outside.
The front door was open, letting in a rush of cold air and moonlight that lit up the dark entryway. My nerves pulled taut as something shifted. Ice cold fear shot through my veins as a tall, dark figure walked toward the front door.
I couldn’t see who it was, but they were so tall and broad, too big to be anyone other than a man. His face was covered by a black ski mask.
Pure and utter panic hit me. I didn’t think my heart was even beating as the black figure halted in the doorway. His head turned as he looked over his shoulder. A set of dark eyes seemed to look directly at me.
It felt as if he pierced me with his stare, and I was positive he had seen me through the open sliver of the bathroom door. But he didn’t turn. He simply twisted his head back around and stepped out of the house, snapping the door closed behind him.
I stared at the door as my whole body trembled. It didn’t make any sense, but despite the fear and panic, I opened the bathroom door wide. What little light from inside filtered out into the entryway.
My eyes fell from the front door to the floor.
Another shot of ice hit my system.
Something dark and wet was smudged on the floor. It must’ve been a footprint, though it wasn’t very defined. I didn’t know how I knew what it was, but I did.
It was blood.
A scream lodged in my throat as my head whipped toward the staircase where the masked man had come from.
Thea
The ringing of my phone broke through the dream. I startled, my eyes opening, my chest heaving for a breath I couldn’t catch. Sun streamed in through the windows of my bedroom, and I squinted against the brightness.
My fingers curled into my sheets until my knuckles hurt and my pulse slowed. The phone still rang, but I stared around the bedroom, grounding myself in the calming purples and teals of the walls. Small butterflies were all over the space, hand-painted by my mom and me when I was seven. This place hadn’t changed in so long, and I breathed in that nostalgic comfort as I came back to my senses and pushed the memory of the nightmare away.
The nightmares about that night nine years ago had been getting worse in the week that I’d returned to Ember Hollow.
I reached for the phone that was now silent. The missed call from my mother flashed on the screen. I didn’t call her back.
It had been a few days since I’d dumped an entire coffee over Reid Ramsey’s head, and I still felt like I wanted to crawl under a rock and disappear. My mother did nothing to help, and the memory of the look on her face as she stared at Reid was burned into my brain. She had stared at him like she hated him, and I had no idea why.
My mother only got along with a special few people, but she always seemed neutral when it came to Thea and the Ramseys. She had been kind to them, even.
I shook my head, trying to get thoughts of Reid out of my mind—something I’d had to do a lot lately—and focused on the morning. Today was a big day.
I dragged myself out of bed, trying to forget the memory of the man in my nightmare, and got ready. I checked on my mother, who was in bed with an aching ankle and a brewing headache, and then left the house.
I had a very important task that I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.
A nervous chill skated over my skin as I flicked on the light of the small storefront. It was early morning; the sun was barely awake, just like me.
Flutter Nook Gifts and Treasures, my mother’s store, was officially reopening.
I walked around the eclectic consignment shop filled with homemade candles and soaps and clothes. It was no secret my mother had an affinity for birds, and the shop was decorated with small paintings of my mother’s favorite birds in flight. Homemade dream catchers dangled from the ceiling, their feathers gently dancing in the shifting air. Anything someone could make with their hands was present, and I clung to the bit of happiness seeing the hard work of local people displayed proudly made me. One reason I was willing to help run the shop was for them. People spent so much time and love making these items, and I wouldn’t let that go to waste, no matter how terrified I was.
I’d grown up inside this shop, helping my mother whenever I could. I was scared, now, to work with the public again after everything that had happened, but this store always had my heart. It held great memories for me.
The place had even sparked my love for marketing and design. I used to make my own hand-drawn advertisements that Mom would hang outside on the windows of the shop.
I scanned every display, making sure all the tables and shelves were tidy and ready for customers again. I had been working the last day and a half on dusting and cleaning the place. The scent of pine cleaner and disinfectant lingered in the air as I sucked in a deep breath. The shop had only been closed for a couple of weeks, but cleaning was not my mother’s strong suit and I had a feeling it had been awhile since the place had a good scrubbing.
I teetered on a step stool, trying to reach a stray cobweb in the corner of the ceiling with the duster, when a knock on the door startled me. I yelped, my arms pinwheeling as I dropped the duster and tried to steady myself. I grabbed the nearest shelf for dear life, thankful it was strong enough to hold me, and breathed a sigh of relief.
