Does It Hurt? (90)

For all we know, that ship comes by a lot less frequently than Sylvester said. It’s better to conserve.

“Lie down,” Enzo says, pointing toward the couch. Sighing, I do as he says, not having the energy to argue. This peace between us is exhilarating, and I have no interest in shattering it because he’s actually being nice. That would just be stupid.

He gets the little fireplace going while I settle on the couch. Once I’m comfortable, he hands me the shotgun, a grim look on his face.

Staring up at him with wide eyes, I grab the weapon from him hesitantly.

“Sylvester hasn’t restocked the wood in the kitchen, so I need to get it from out back. I shouldn’t be gone for more than a few minutes. Just keep this close to be safe.”

“Okay,” I mutter. “Where the hell did he get wood from anyway? This place is practically devoid of plant life.”

“He had it imported like everything else. He’s got logs for the fire and some two-by-fours. Seems like he keeps it stocked.”

I nod, feeling a little burst of relief over that. It’s further proof that a ship does come by and confirmation that we will get off this island. It’s just a matter of when and how long we’ll need to live in fear before it happens.

A lot can happen between now and then.

The second Enzo shuts the front door behind him, the stillness grows heavier. I work to swallow, a pit of dread forming in my stomach.

Fuck. This is so creepy.

Just as I reach for the remote, something thumps from above. The muscle in my chest skips over, missing a beat and landing amid a heart attack.

Oh, fuck this.

I stand for no other reason than because it makes me feel less vulnerable. I strain my ears, listening for any more noises.

After thirty seconds, my shoulders relax just as soon as the distinct drag of chains starts up. From how distant it sounds, I’m confident it’s coming from the third floor, like it usually does. But it doesn’t make me feel any safer.

Adrenaline and terror are circulating throughout my system, mixing until there’s a dangerous cocktail in my bloodstream that is just on its knees and begging for me to go into cardiac arrest.

I dance on each foot, groaning softly under my breath for Enzo to hurry. If he doesn’t come back within a minute, I’m out of here.

The pacing stops suddenly, and that is one hundred percent scarier than the actual pacing. At least then, I could tell exactly where the spirit was. Now, it could be anywhere.

Whatever it is, it has a tight grip on my lungs. My chest aches from how little oxygen I’m taking in. I’m too scared to breathe correctly. Or rather, my brain is seized by fear, and it is no longer capable of sending signals to the rest of my body.

Shit, all my organs are going to give out by the time the thing even makes itself known, and I think I’m glad for it.

But then, there’s a quiet knock from above. It’s difficult to hear over the pounding in my ears, but after a few seconds, there’s another knock.

It sounds… curious. Like someone knocking on a door to greet their new neighbor with a freshly baked casserole.

For reasons I’ll never be able to explain, my feet carry me toward the stairs. I stop before them, and on cue, there’s another knock. Louder this time. More direct.

“Hello?” I call.

No one answers, and I feel stupid. But then there’s a loud thump as if it’s now slamming its fist into the wood. I jump, a startled scream slipping free.

“What’s wrong?”

This time, my scream is loud. I whip around to find Enzo standing at the front door, a concerned pinch to his brow.

He rushes toward me, but I quite literally can’t move or breathe.

“What happened?” he asks urgently, twisting my body back and forth to check for injury.

I manage to squeak out, “Ghost. Knocking. Scary. Get the water police.”

He relaxes, his shoulders dropping. Casting his gaze to the ceiling, his jaw pulses.

“It’s okay. It can’t hurt you.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not true. Have you ever seen The Conjuring? Or literally any other paranormal horror movie? They definitely get hurt. People die. Demons are like, serial killers, Enzo.”

I sound stupid—I know that—but I’m still struggling to get my brain back into working order, and one thing I am sure of is that whatever it is can hurt me. If it’s capable of slamming its fist into the floor, I’m confident it can do the same to my face.

“They’re not demons, they’re spirits,” he reminds me.

I shrug. “These spirits were evil people alive. What makes you think they’re not evil in death?”

He stares at me.

“Good point,” he concedes. “If I need to fight a ghost, I will. Just lay back down for now.”

His fists will do precisely zero damage, but since it’s a noble thought, I shut my trap and trudge back toward the couch. Enzo digs out some nails from Sylvester’s little toolbox he keeps in a closet in the kitchen, then gets to work.

With each two-by-four nailed across the doors and windows, I feel more and more claustrophobic.

This lighthouse is supposed to be safe compared to the cave. Yet, my life feels more in danger than when I was lost at sea.

There’s a shark in the water, and just like being in the ocean, we’re in his territory.