Fear.
He knew that this was how he would die.
The static in the air spiked, and Ashley crumpled to her knees with her palms cupped over her ears. Somewhere in the static, there was a scream, low and guttural and deadly.
A body thumped against the floor.
The charge in the air died.
There was only quiet.
“Jesus,” Alejo whispered.
Ashley opened her eyes and saw it. Sheriff Paris’s body was slumped against the basement wall, neck crooked, arms splayed out at his sides. He looked at nothing and his eyes were wide with fear. She didn’t need to check Paris’s pulse to know he was dead. In the last few weeks, she’d seen more than her share of corpses.
Tristan reemerged. His shoulders sagged as he materialized in the frigid basement air. He settled in the middle of the floor like a cold draft of air, and he looked tired.
Alejo’s back pocket buzzed, breaking the silence. Shakily, he pulled out his phone and Ashley recognized the Scripto8G clipped to the back of the case. He tapped the screen, and then his eyes widened. Tentatively, he angled the phone screen toward Ashley. “It’s for you.”
She blinked. The phone screen was stark white with two words in bold black: STILL HERE.
Tristan knelt in front of Ashley. He took her shaking hands in his and his eyes were still his own. Under the gray, misshapen flesh, they were bright blue and full of tears. His skin felt like a cool breeze against her fingertips, but it was enough. He was still here, still with her, still at her side for a little bit longer. Her lips quivered and her breath was ragged. Even now, she was afraid.
Ashley closed her eyes. “Do you have to go now?”
Tristan looked across the length of the basement and his expression twisted in pain. He let go of her hands and drifted to the far wall, lingering beside a boarded-up section of crawl space.
“What’s wrong?”
Alejo put a hand on Ashley’s shoulder. “Something’s keeping him here.”
The smell of mildew burned in her nostrils. Tristan continued to hover near the crawl space. When she squinted, Ashley saw that he was shaking. Between the mismatched boards, she saw the deep blackness inside and her stomach dropped. She closed her eyes.
“The, uh, the crawl space.” Ashley pointed to the boards. She felt numb, head reeling. Dark crept into the corners of her vision. “I think he wants us to open it?”
Alejo nodded. He dragged his palm down the front of his face. “It shouldn’t be you. I … I’ll do it. I’m—”
He pressed his palm to his forehead and sucked in a sharp breath. Beyond the smell of dust and decay, there was something pungent and sweet permeating the air. Alejo moved to the crawl space and Tristan stood beside him. He looked at Ashley as if to make sure she was watching. Alejo grabbed a crowbar from the tool bench. His breath was short, hands fidgeting at his sides.
“You want us to open it?” Alejo asked Tristan.
Alejo’s phone buzzed between Ashley’s palms. The Scripto8G simply read YES. Ashley looked at Alejo and nodded.
“Okay.” Alejo grimaced. “Can you please call the state police?”
Ashley dialed the Oregon State Police while Alejo pried the first plank from the crawl space. The darkness opened up behind the wood, stretching several feet back into the wall. Alejo pressed his foot to the wall and pried away the second board. It fell away, and the contents of the crawl space were visible. A small patch of dirt, flecks of dust and debris swirling in the blackness. She thought she saw something jutting through the stale surface of the dirt, round and rubbery like the toe of a tennis shoe.
Alejo covered his nose and mouth with the collar of his shirt and stifled a cough. “Oh my god. Ashley, don’t look.”