Fear and trepidation threatened to consume her. Sweat beaded upon her upper lip as her heart rate increased to abnormal proportions. What could he mean?
Just listen to me Luce. You can’t sell the house, not yet. I know all about your mother and your money problems. But if you will just help me then I promise I will help you.
That’s not important right now. What is important is that we find the book. So will you help me?
Gnawing on her lip with worry, Lucretia looked around the huge hull of the empty home. The furniture was covered in white sheets which lay still. Dust covered every exposed surface. With each footfall an echo reverberated around her. Without her mother within the walls the house was spookier than ever. Could she stay here alone? Could she make it through one night in this place?
Taking a gulp, she said, “Devon, I’ll help you. But you have to tell me what you meant earlier. What you meant when you said, you wouldn’t kill the one you loved.”
Lucretia waited but there was no reply. “Devon, are you there?” The whispered words which returned to her ears sounded like a shout, but there was still no reply.
It felt as if she waited forever. After a time of standing there in the foyer, Lucretia began to wonder if perhaps the trauma of everything that had happened of late was getting ot her. Perhaps everything was nothing more than a fantasy.
To keep her mind off what was happening, Lucretia cleaned. Roughly she jerked sheet coverings this way and that. The room smelled of must and mold and she opened a window and turned on a ceiling fan. Now as the sheets came off the furniture they billowed out in the breeze making shapes and loud clapping sounds. A shiver ran up Lucretia’s spine as she worked to ignore the odd noises.
Humming a tune under her breath, Lucretia continued. The wind coming through the window resembled a whistle, the sound of which blended with her own humming mimicking a song. Her lips pursed together and she stopped. As she quit so did the whistling. Looking around to see if she was still alone she decided once again to make her own music. The whistling began again in earnest.
The sound was coming from upstairs. Placing a hand on the wooden railing, Lucretia’s foot touched the first step. As she ascended, cold chills raced up and down her arms. There was something up there she could feel it. But what was it? And if not a what, then who?