Chapter 3
The Manipulator
T his isn’t how I imagined I’d spend my Friday night. Digging around in the walls of an old-ass house with god knows what kind of creatures trapped inside.
I’m just waiting for a rabid squirrel to jump up and latch onto my outstretched arm, driven mad with hunger and willing to eat anything due to so many years being trapped in the walls, nothing but bugs to keep it fed.
My arm is shoulder-deep in the goddamn hole Greyson created, a flashlight held tightly in my grip. There is just enough space to fit my arm and part of my head in at an odd angle to look around.
This is stupid. I’m stupid.
The second I heard the door hit Greyson’s ass on the way out, I inspected the damage. It’s not a massive hole, but what gave me pause was the rather large gap between the two walls. At least three or four feet of space. And why else would it be built this way if there wasn’t a reason?
It feels like a magnet is pulling me towards it. And every time I try to pull away, a deep vibration travels through my bones. The tips of my fingers buzz with the need to reach out. To just look inside the fathomless void and find what is calling my name.
Now here I am, bent over and stuffing myself in a hole. Suppose if I couldn’t get mine stuffed tonight, I might as well get my action this way.
The flashlight on my phone reveals wooden beams, thick cobwebs, dust, and bug carcasses on the inside of the wall. I turn the other direction and point the light down the other side. Nothing. The webs are too thick to see much, so I use my phone like a baton and start tearing down some of them.
I swear if I drop it, I’ll be pissed. There will be no getting it back and I’ll have to get a new one.
I wince from the feel of the hair-like webs brushing across my skin, imitating the sensation of bugs crawling on me. I turn back towards the left and shine the light one more time.
I bat down a couple more cobwebs, ready to just give up and ignore the siren call that got me into this dumbass situation in the first place.
There.
A little way down the hall is something glinting off the light. Just the barest hint, but it’s enough for me to jump in excitement, knocking my head off the thick drywall and sending flakes tumbling down in my hair.
Ow.
Ignoring the dull throbbing in the back of my head, I rip my arm out and rush down the hallway, guesstimating the distance on where I saw the mysterious object.
Grabbing a picture frame, I unhook it from its nail and gently set it down. I do this several more times until I come across a picture of my great-grandmother sitting on a retro bike, a bundle of sunflowers sitting in the basket. She smiles wide, and even though the picture is black and white, I know she’s wearing red lipstick. Nana said she’d put on her red lipstick before she’d put on the coffee.
I pull the picture from the wall and stifle a gasp when I see an army green safe in front of me. It’s old, with a mere dial for the lock. Excitement burns in my lungs as my fingers drift over the dial.
I’ve discovered a treasure. And I suppose I have Greyson to thank for that. Though I’d like to think I would’ve taken these pictures down eventually for the sake of no longer having my ancestors look down on my extremely questionable decisions.
I’m staring at the safe as a cold breeze washes across my body, turning my blood into ice. The sudden freezing temperature has me turning around, my eyes sweeping the empty hallway.
My teeth chatter, and I think I even see my breath puff out of my mouth. And just as quickly as it came, it dissipates. Slowly, my body warms up to a normal temperature, but the chill down my spine lingers.
I'm unable to tear my eyes away from the empty space, waiting for something to happen but as the minutes tick by, I end up just standing there.
Focus, Addie.
Gently setting the picture down, I decide to brush off the weird chill and google how to break open a safe. After finding several forums that list a step-by-step process, I run off towards my grandfather’s toolbox collecting dust in the garage.
The space was never used for cars, even when Nana owned the house. Instead, generations of junk collected here, consisting mainly of my grandfather’s tools and some odds and ends from the house. I grab the tools I need, run back up the stairs, and proceed to force my way into the safe. The old thing is pretty shitty in terms of protection, but I suppose whoever hid this box here didn’t actually expect anyone to find it. At least not in their lifetime.
Several failed attempts, bouts of frustrated groaning, and a smashed finger later, I finally crack the sucker open. Using my flashlight again, I find three brown leather-bound books inside. No money. No jewels. Nothing of value really—at least not monetary value.