WALL MEN: A Haunted House (The Wall Men 1)

Maybe this entire pantry is a reference library for feeding Wall Men. Is this why he was hired to work here?

I spot a notebook on the bottom shelf and open it. Inside are handwritten notes.

How to prepare a deer? I cover my mouth, reading in detail how the blood must be saved for sausage, as it is a prized dish. The heart, lungs, kidneys and liver must be used to make the stew. “See page 115 for notes on the most successful recipe.” The rest of the deer, after it’s dressed, should be roasted on a spit and served with herbs and tubers.

I stare at the page. If this is how I’m supposed to feed the Wall Men, I don’t know that I can. I’m not a hunter, like Bard. I have never torn out an animal’s organs or prepared them for soup. This is my worst nightmare.

Bard, please wake up soon. Please. My mind starts spitting out all the reasons I’m not equipped to deal with this on my own. I don’t even think I can feed them. And what the hell is up with them being in the walls? They’re supposed to be chained up! Bard said they’re the only thing keeping the monsters out.

Suddenly, I have the worst thought ever: What if the Wall Men are planning their revenge for being chained up all those years? Hell, maybe they’re working with the monsters and planning an attack. Anything is possible! But one thing I know for sure, Alwar and his men are up to something. Why else would they play prisoner? I bet they’ve been in the walls, listening to everything we say.

On the other hand, if the Wall Men and monsters can come through that window and into the house, why haven’t they? What’s holding them back? I’m no match for them. I’m one person.

Something must be stopping them.

I don’t know, but either way I have to cook them dinner and give them the opportunity to tip their hand. The only problem is that my body won’t stop shaking, especially when I think about going back in that big old house. Grandma was right; the Wall Men are deceitful and conniving. And I have zero doubt in my mind they’re dangerous, too. They’ll probably kill me the first chance they get. After they torture me. Oh God, what am I going to do?

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I went through Bard’s freezer and fridge, hoping to find game meat already prepared. I found an uncooked pork roast and some fresh greens instead. It’s as good as I can do on the fly. I only hope it’s enough for three Wall Men.

I keep the seasoning to a minimum—salt, pepper, onion, and garlic—and roast the meat. I make a salad with some walnuts and drizzle a little olive oil over the top. It’s basic, and it will have to do.

After feeding these beasts, I’m off to bed and then getting up early to see Bard in the hospital. I’ll stop and buy some clothes, too.

Still wearing Bard’s red plaid shirt and huge sweats, I slide on my snow boots, pick up the tray of food, and head outside into the freezing night. Everything is eerily still, just like the other night. No wind. No sounds. Almost like the animals and the trees are watching with bated breath. Do they know something I don’t?

My stomach rolls in nauseating waves, and my body won’t stop trembling. Each step closer to the house, my fear grows. I know this is dangerous. The Wall Men can’t be trusted. But it feels more dangerous to ignore them, so I’ve made my choice: I have to go inside. I’ll minimize any conversation with Alwar or the other two and pray they don’t sense how scared I am. They’ve been trying to convince me that they’re the victims, and the people I love have been lying. All the while, they’ve been sneaking around inside the walls.

I need Bard. I just wish he’d been more honest. Like I said, I’m getting the feeling everyone’s hiding something.

I stop in Grandma’s kitchen to grab a few forks and butter knives. Bard’s sweats keep shimmying down. When I get to the master bedroom, I have to set the tray on the floor to unlock the door. I take a moment to retie the drawstring, too.

“You will not say another word about it, Gabrio. We stick to the plan.” It’s Alwar speaking. I’d recognize the deep, velvety timber of his voice anywhere. “She is the last proxy, the last of the Norfolks. If we do not do this, it is over for everyone, and our suffering has been for nothing.”

I think they’re talking about me. Is this in reference to planning an invasion? I hold my breath, taking careful mental notes.

“You place too much faith in the woman to win. We should go to plan B and make our move now,” says one of the other men. Not Alwar.