“Who’s there?” I called out. I grabbed the flashlight, fumbled for the switch, and then bounded out of bed toward the small entranceway. Instinctively I leaned hard against the table, making sure the person couldn’t push open the door if he had a key. “Who’s there?” I called again.
There was another rapid scratching noise—a couple of strokes, like Zorro making the sign of the Z. Next I heard retreating footsteps and the sound of someone tripping down the stairs.
I ran back toward the phone to call extension seven but remembered the line was dead. I had absolutely no desire to bolt out into the hall, but I had to figure out what was going on—and to alert Scott. While I slid my feet hurriedly into a pair of ballet flats, I heard Jessie pound on the wall between our two rooms. After dragging the table away from the door, I peered outside. No one was there. I scurried down the hall and tapped on Jessie’s door, announcing it was me. In the beam from the flashlight I saw four or five large scratch marks carved in the wood of her door. I aimed the flashlight back toward my own door. There were ugly scratch marks there, too.
“What the hell is happening?” Jessie asked as she opened the door. She looked terrified.
“I don’t know. You’ve got Scott’s cell phone number?”
“Yeah—why?”
“See if you can wake him. At the same time, I’ll head over to his room.”
“Be careful, okay?” she pleaded.
Hurrying toward the stairs, I trained the beam of my flashlight raggedly over every corner of the landing, making sure no one was hiding in the darkness. On the ground floor I could see scratch marks on two guest room doors. Richard, Christian, Cap and Whitney, and Tommy and Tory were all on this floor, but I had no idea whose room was which. Was one of them the culprit? Had the person already snuck back into his room?
I pivoted and made my way to the entrance of the glass passageway. Once inside, I saw that I almost didn’t need my flashlight; the piles of snow outside partially illuminated the passage. Grabbing a breath, I picked up speed. Once I thought I heard someone behind me and spun around nervously. No one was there. The sound, I told myself, must have come from the glass being shaken by the wind.
I reached the other barn and pushed the door open. Just as I stepped inside, the freaking light of my flashlight died. I shook the torch a couple of times and the light came back on, but it seemed dimmer now.
I trained the stream of light toward Scott’s door and made my way in that direction. I knocked several times, and when that produced no results, I banged and called out his name. Nothing. Where was he? I wondered anxiously.
Then I heard a noise to my right. I turned and aimed the feeble beam of my light there. The main door of the barn, the one that went outside, was shuddering a little from the wind, and I could see that it hadn’t been shut tightly. It looked as if someone might have hurried outside and left it ajar.
Oh, fun, I thought. I’m gonna have to investigate out there. But, I realized, that might be exactly where Scott had gone—to check outside. I strode to the door, heart in mouth, and pulled it open.
Because of the snow I could see a little better outside than in, though that wasn’t saying much. The surrounding woods seemed so big and ominous, ready to engulf the barn. But there were no humans in sight.
“Scott!” I called out several times. He might, I realized, have hightailed it down to Ralph’s. There was no reply, just the sounds of trees crackling. I glanced down. There seemed to be fresh boot prints in the ice-crusted snow, but as far as I knew, they could have been made hours ago.
I stepped back inside and closed the door, wondering what I should do. The best course might be for me to head down to Ralph’s cabin. A big knot of fear had started to form in my tummy. To make matters worse, my flashlight suddenly sputtered—and then died for good.
“Fuck,” I said out loud.
I remembered that earlier Ralph had dumped extra flashlights on the island upstairs, and if I were in luck, one would still be there. Cautiously I made my way toward where I knew the stairs were and felt in the darkness for the wooden handrail. I found it after a few clumsy attempts and began the climb to the second level. Once upstairs, I took a moment to orient myself, trying to use my sense memory. I moved toward the area where I was sure the island was and finally bumped into it. I patted my hand over the entire surface, but there were no flashlights on top.
The smartest move at this point, I realized, was to return to Jessie’s room, borrow her flashlight, and head for the cabin from the door of the smaller barn. I took cautious baby steps toward the landing. Just as I’d placed my foot on the stairs, I heard a sound and froze. Somewhere behind me in the blackness of the great room, something had just moved. Oh, man, I thought, please don’t let this be happening.
“Who’s there?” I called out, weakly. My legs felt as limp as shoelaces.
Suddenly I heard a whoosh of air as someone rushed up behind me. I caught a whiff of rancid sweat at the same moment that I heard a swishing sound, like the movement of fabric. And then, while passing me, the person shoved against the right side of my body, pitching me forward. Instinctively my hand flew out in search of the rail, but it was too late. I was being propelled down the stairs, headfirst.
Chapter 8
With each roll of my body, the same thought kept shooting through my brain: Please don’t let my neck snap in two. Though I tried to grab on to something, all I could reach was air or the edge of each stair step, and neither was any help. Suddenly my head thwacked hard against something—maybe the base of the banister—and my hand slammed into the ground floor. I stopped rolling. I lay on the ground, eyes closed. A million little lights pulsed in my brain.
I moaned. My head hurt and so did my butt and left wrist. And then there was a light nearly piercing my eyelids. I felt a rush of panic, thinking it must be the person who had knocked me down the stairs. But as I opened my eyes, squinting, I saw that it was Scott who was standing there, holding a flashlight.
“Are you okay?” he demanded.
“Uhhh, I’m not sure,” I groaned.
“I don’t want to touch you—in case something’s broken. Can you just wiggle your fingers and toes and make sure you can move?”
“Yeah, just give me a second to catch my breath.”
Though I knew I was probably bruised in places, it didn’t feel as if anything was broken. One at a time, I lifted each arm and leg, making certain I could move them.
“I think I’m okay,” I said after a minute. “Could you just give me a hand?”
Taking my arm, Scott eased me into a sitting position and then helped me stand. For a second I felt a wave of dizziness, but then it subsided.
“What happened, for God’s sake?” Scott asked.
“Someone knocked me down the stairs. I’m not sure if they did it on purpose or were just trying to get around me. They were hiding in the dark up there.”
“What? What do you mean, hiding in the dark?”
I described what had happened up until he’d found me sprawled at his feet.
“I thought I heard a knock,” he said. “And my phone ringing. But it took me a minute or so to figure out if I was dreaming or not. Just as I reached the door, I heard someone tumbling down the stairs.”
“And you didn’t see anyone when you opened the door?”
“No, no one. My God, this is crazy.”
He directed his flashlight around the ground floor of the barn. Lying in a small heap near the door was one of the dark green rain ponchos from the pegs.