She thought of Xiomara, scowling down at her. Kicking her ass being chicken-shit, for not being thorough. It seemed like at times like these, she always thought of Xiomara.
Kara sighed resignedly, with undisguised anger. She knelt down, slowly picking up the bed skirt. Peeking her way under…
There was blackness. Nothingness. She couldn’t see anything.
The flashlight. She almost wished she hadn’t remembered it. Damn.
It took every last ounce of Kara’s will to bring the flashlight down. She swung it in her hand, wincing apprehensively as she shined the beam directly into the shadows beneath the bed…
“OH FUCK!!!”
Her breath caught in her throat as her body recoiled in horror. She saw a face! A dried up, shriveled up, dessicated face with mottled grey hair and pointed teeth and—
It’s a cat you asshole!
Kara clutched her chest, her heart still beating so hard it felt like it would burst!
It’s just a dead cat. A long, long dead cat…
An arm went under her, yanking Kara to her feet. Jeremy spun her around to face him. He was out of breath, his face alive with concern.
“A— Are you okay?”
Kara swallowed dryly. She nodded.
“Yes,” she said at last. “Yeah, I’m okay.” She stared down at the bed, her face beaded with a cold sweat. “It’s this place that’s fucked up.”
Twenty-Six
She continued on alone, room by room, despite Jeremy’s insistence that they stick together. Partly because there were so many rooms, and it was still a good way to cover a lot of ground. But mostly because she was embarrassed.
Kara had always prided herself on being fiercely independent. And here she’d cried out like a scared little girl… over a cat that probably died while the Beatles were still on tour.
And Logan, her conscience reminded her. Don’t forget Logan.
Twice she’d shown weakness when it came to the ex lover who had scorned her. Twice she’d given in. No matter what occurred for the rest of the trip, Kara was determined not to let that happen again. She’d be strong. Professional.
But still scared.
The third floor only got more spooky and bizarre. The next room she encountered was a lot like the first, only this one was painted blood red. Floor to ceiling, the entire thing was covered in a thick red paint. Even the rugs were red.
She saw a white room after that. At one time it must’ve been impressively pristine, but now it was faded ivory and filthy with disuse.
“They redecorated in the sixties,” Jeremy explained out in the hallway, while they were passing off the skeleton key. “Did some kind of kooky theme rooms to attract guests. I just did one that was painted in spirals.”
“Ugh,” Kara said.
“Yeah,” he coughed. “I was in there for only five minutes and I was all ready to throw up.”
“Didn’t they shut this floor down sometime in the nineteen-sixties?” Kara asked.
“I think so.”
She spat out some dust. “Maybe that’s why the spirits got so pissed back then.”
Jeremy took his glasses off and started cleaning them against his shirt. He looked slightly older now, more distinguished… but he was still the same old Jeremy. More memories came flashing back. Memories of her hiding his glasses, back at the Manor. Of sending him on little treasure hunts to find them. He always did look more handsome without them, Kara reminded herself. And now… maybe even more so.
“So you’re saying that whatever spirits still reside here got stirred up during the renovation?”