The Waiting: A Supernatural Thriller(43)

Evan stepped back, still looking at the dark striations along the edges of the shadow, their lines like brushstrokes of midnight. He stared at the center of the shape until Selena touched his arm.

“What does this mean?”

“I don’t know. This isn’t what I expected to find.”

“What did you expect?”

“I’m not sure. Something, but not this.”

He walked away from the spot, pausing to examine the floor in one corner before moving to the windows. The view of the forest and field surrounding the house was breathtaking, but something looked off. It took him a few seconds to realize what it was. The grass and trees closest to the house were dead. In an almost perfect circle around the building, the foliage looked brown and dismal. When they’d entered the house on the ground level, the effect hadn’t been noticeable, but from a higher vantage point, it became obvious.

Tearing his eyes away from the spectacle below, Evan moved along the wall, trying to process the clock’s shadow and the lack of growth outside. His shoulder caught something hard as he walked, and when he turned to look, he saw that the corner of the painting had snagged his shirt. He unhooked the cloth, expecting the painting to shift, but it didn’t. He reached out and tried to move the picture, but it stayed firmly in place.

“Glued or something.”

He looked closer at the painting, with its running lines that once might have been a graceful depiction of something in nature. A hole sat in the middle like a black eye forever watching the room. Evan put his finger against the hole’s edges. It looked as though someone had shot the painting with a gun.

“What?” Selena asked. She stood by the doorway gazing longingly back down the stairs.

“I said this picture is glued or—”

His tongue stilled as his eyes hovered on the lower right side of the painting. He reached up and, with care, rubbed the spot with his thumb.

“Evan, I don’t mean to sound like a wuss, but I’m starting to get a little freaked out. Can we go?”

He nodded, his eyes still locked on the words etched in the painting. “Yeah, let’s go. I think I got all I need here.”

Even in the wan light, the name stood out in ink that hadn’t suffered the span of years. He read it one more time to be sure he wasn’t seeing things, then turned toward the doorway, giving the clock’s shadow one last look.





14





“Yay, Shaun! You did it.”


Becky clapped her hands and watched Shaun’s face light up as he looked at the finished puzzle before him.

“Yay!” Shaun said.

“You did great. Okay, what’s next? Should we have a snack?”

He slapped his hands down on the table and grinned.

“Oh, be careful not to hurt yourself. I’ll get us a snack.”

Becky rose from the kitchen table and moved to the fridge, her gaze wandering to the gray light outside. The clouds hadn’t released a single drop of rain, but they hadn’t abated either. If anything, they looked darker. With a quick glance into the living room, she continued toward the refrigerator.

The house didn’t seem so spooky after being in it a while. She’d almost turned back before getting to the island, her childhood fears becoming more pronounced as the boat pushed her closer and closer to the Fin. As kids, she and her friends had floated near the island on inner tubes and rafts, daring one another to set foot on land. There had been a running wager: fifty dollars to whoever actually did it. No one ever collected on the bet, and now she couldn’t remember who, if anyone, had held the money.

Shaking her head and smiling a little at the memory, Becky picked up a cereal bar from the counter then pulled the fridge door open and scanned the contents. She grabbed a juice box for Shaun, then paused, her hand hovering over a half gallon of chocolate milk.

No, that’s why Greg isn’t with you anymore, remember?

She sighed and settled for a low fat yogurt instead.

A gloom, which had nothing to do with the weather or her location at the moment, descended over her as they ate at the table. She stabbed her spoon into the yogurt as though it were the culprit of her unhappiness.

“Men are shallow, Shaun. Don’t grow up to be shallow, okay?”

Shaun swallowed his bite of cereal bar, his eyes large. “’Kay.”

“You’re such a sweetie, you know that?”

He smiled, his teeth covered with bits of the bar. Becky laughed and helped him with a sip of juice.

A dog whined behind the basement door.

Becky froze, her hand trembling enough that the straw pulled away from his lips.

“More?” Shaun asked, signing the word too.

“Shhh, hold on,” Becky said.

She stared at the door for almost a minute, sure that she’d been mistaken about what she heard. The Tormers didn’t have a dog—at least, Evan hadn’t mentioned it.

“Do you have a dog?” she asked, her eyes still on the door.

“Da,” Shaun said, pointing at the dog in the puzzle.

“Yep, that’s right. Do you have one? Downstairs?”

Shaun’s brow furrowed, and he looked at the puzzle. “Da?”

The whine came again, this time farther away from the door. It filtered up through the floorboards beneath their feet. The keen of it raised the hairs on Becky’s arms, bringing to mind images of an animal hurt or dying. Was that why Evan said she wouldn’t need to go downstairs? Because he had a mistreated dog down there?