Theyd told her she lay there wide-eyed and shaking, in a catatonic state, neither out cold nor coherent.
Jillian didnt remember any of it, except going down into the basement. Her parents came to take her home, her friends more than happy to see her leave, all shaken by the experience.
That had been eleven years ago. Why think of that now? This basement was constructed of concrete block walls, not dirt. A little cleaning would remove the cobwebs and old crates.
The chill and the dampness filled her pores. For a moment, she forgot why she was there.
Then the meow of the kitten penetrated the haze of memory and forced her to lift her feet, to move and find the source of the sound.
Wrapping her arms around her middle, Jillian shivered, going deeper into the basement. Something moved among the old boxes. Jillian fought the urge to jump up on one of the wooden crates, her mind conjuring images of giant rats. If there were giant rats, they could easily kill the kitten.
Jillian had a soft spot in her heart for kittens and puppies. She couldnt leave the animal in the basement. Not even for a night.
As she stepped away from the staircase, the dull yellow light flickered and suddenly blinked out, plunging her into a darkness so very deep, she couldnt see her hand in front of her face.
A soft click sounded above and what little light that had come from the open door above was erased.
Jillian screamed and spun toward the staircase, her pulse beating so fast it made her dizzy. Her chest seized and she couldnt drag in a breath to feed her airless lungs. With no sense of what was right or left, up or down, the ground seemed to rise up to greet her.
* * *
Armed with directions and a promise to be back with Miss Taylor by dinner, Chance set off. Lowering all his windows, he took the coastal highway back toward Cape Churn. In less than fifteen minutes, he was bumping along a gravel road, wondering if hed taken the wrong turn.
Chance couldnt believe Mollys friend planned to live on a creepy, isolated road that had seen far better days maybe a century before. At the end of the road, the trees seemed to part and an old Victorian house appeared, tucked into a wooded glen. Like the road, the house had seen better days. The paint was peeling and a couple of the windows were broken. The yard hadnt been maintained and the porch sagged. A truck and trailer sat in front of the dilapidated structure, the doors wide-open.
Chance parked his SUV beside the truck and climbed down. His feet had barely touched the ground when he heard the scream. At first he thought it was a figment of his imagination. The setting was perfect for a horror story; perhaps his mind had conjured a muffled scream to add to the ambience.
Miss Taylor? Chance called out.
No response.
He climbed the stairs and entered through the open front door, treading softly, holding his breath and listening for any sound.
Nothing moved. The old house didnt even creak, as if it, too, held its breath. Chance passed through the wide center hallway all the way to the back of the house, peering through the open doors into what appeared to be a living room, study and dining room. At the other end of the house, he emerged onto the back porch. Lumber lay in neat piles against the side of the house. But there was no one around.
Chances gut tightened. Mollys friend wouldnt have abandoned her truck, leaving the truck doors and the trailer wide-open.
He returned to the entrance and climbed the stairs to the second story. Cobwebs hung from the corners and the wooden floors were covered in a thick layer of dust. This home hadnt been lived in for a very long time.
After determining each room was empty, Chance returned to the first floor, passed a stack of clean white drywall leaning against a wall in the living room and entered an old-fashioned kitchen. Some of the upper cabinets had been ripped from the walls, and the countertop had been removed from the lower cabinets, making their remains appear skeletal.
Miss Taylor? Chance called out.
A plaintive, bleating cry of a small animal, muffled by walls, reached him, and he turned toward a door at the far end of the kitchen.
Chance twisted the knob. The door didnt budge. Inspecting the door, he noticed a rusty hook near the top, threaded through a metal eye loop. Forcing the hook out of the loop, he flung open the door and flipped the light switch. A yellow bulb blinked to life, illuminating a small portion of the stairs nearest him.
The weak cries of a tiny animal sounded again, only louder.
Chance descended the stairs, the pitiful amount of light diminished by the time he reached the bottom. In the gloom, he almost tripped over a pile of rags. When his toe connected with them, the rags moved and a low moan rose from the floor.
Chance dropped to his haunches, his vision adjusting to the darkness. A figure dressed in jeans and a faded plaid flannel shirt rolled over and light blue eyes stared up at him.
Who are you?
Chance McCall. Molly and Nova sent me over. You must be Jillian Taylor. He scooped his hands beneath her, lifted her into his arms and rose with his burden.
She blinked and stared around the basement, her pale blond hair tousled, strands falling across her forehead. What happened?
Id like to know that myself. But first, lets get you out of here. Chance started up the stairs.
I can walk, she protested.
Yeah, but if its all right by you, Id like to get you into the light without worrying about someone pushing you down the stairs again.
She shook her head, her silken hair brushing against his arm. I wasnt pushed.
No?
Her frown deepened. Why would you think that?
At the top of the stairs, Chance set her on the dingy linoleum floor, keeping an arm around her waist to steady her. If you werent pushed, why was the hook engaged at the top of the door? He tipped his head toward the hook.
Leaning against him, she glanced up at the door, her eyes widening. Why would the hook be engaged? I was the only one in the house. All the workers left.
That was my question.
Maybe it fell into place when the door closed.
Lets see...the door was closed, the hook engaged, and when I opened the door, the light was off. Are you telling me you turned off the light, as well? And if you werent pushed down the stairs, you must have fallen.
I didnt fall down the stairs. She pinched the bridge of her nose.
Then why were you lying on the ground?
She stared up at him. I dont know.
Well, one things for sure.
Whats that?
You cant stay here alone.
Jillian stiffened. This is my house.
Yeah, but somethings not right here.
She glanced around as if still getting her bearings. Some say its haunted.
And you?
She shrugged. I think it needs work, but its my home.
Lady, youre crazy. The best thing that could happen to this dump is to run a bulldozer over it.
Jillians chin lifted. That is not going to happen. I have workers scheduled to restore the house to its former glory. You wait. Its going to be beautiful.
Chance snorted. Its your funeral.
The only way Im going to die in this house is from old age. She pushed away from him and headed back to the front of the house. You can go back to the B and B. I dont need your help.