Page 26 of Property of Anchor
“Not a chance.”
But the truth was, he already had.
We worked the rest of the afternoon in shifts, one room at a time.My brush moved across the walls, dragging color and shadow into place, but my mind kept drifting.Anchor’s voice.Anchor’s eyes.The way he’d looked at me like he wanted to bite.
By five, the light started to shift.The haunted house tour would open again in an hour, and we were clearing out to keep things clean for the guests.I wiped my hands, called it a day, and walked the short trail back to my cabin.
Bernice was already inside hers.Lights off.Out cold.
She reallydidgo to bed by seven.
I tossed my brush kit on the counter, changed into clean jeans, and decided to go for a walk.
Just to clear my head.
The woods around the cabins were quiet, too quiet.I followed a narrow path that twisted past a storage shed and curved toward the lake.The wind off the water was cooler now.
That’s when I saw it.
A scrap of fabric, snagged on a bush just off the trail.Faded gray.Torn.The edge soaked dark like it had been wet too long.
I crouched and pulled it loose.The material was thick, canvas, maybe.Like the bottom of a jacket or—
I froze.
Red.Not bright.But deep.Dried.
Blood.
I stood up slowly, heart pounding.
In the distance, I could hear laughter echoing from the dock, the faint scream of someone getting scared on the tour.
But this?
This wasn’t fake.
This wasn’t part of the show.
And I had a feeling it never was.
Chapter Twelve
Anchor
I leaned back in the chair, one boot propped on the desk in front of me as I watched the flickering screens in the surveillance room.The grainy black-and-white feed gave me a look at the heartbeat of the island, cameras trained on the haunted house, the docks, the gift shop, the food court, and most of the paths that twisted between the trees.Nothing ever slipped past us for long.
Most nights, I watched out of habit.Force of routine.I’d been Prez for ten years, and Skull Island was our domain.Every flicker of movement, every guest getting handsy behind the funnel cake stand, every actor slacking off—I caught it.
But tonight, I was watching for one reason.
Pearl.
I didn’t know what it was about her that kept pulling my eyes back to that particular screen.The one pointed at the two cabins tucked near the tree line.Maybe it was the way she moved.The quiet confidence.Or maybe it was the way she looked at everything around here with this spark in her eyes like it was magic.
At first, I thought she might just be a pretty face tagging along with the crew, but she was the damn heart of it.Every brush stroke on those walls, every idea for the murals, the lighting, and the staging was all her.
And now she was stepping out of her cabin again, wrapped in that same worn blanket, moving across the small porch without sitting down like she had the last few nights.She hesitated for a second, then turned toward the path that led down to the lake.
