Page 13 of Dark Shadows
A man lay on the floor. His eyes were missing. His throat was cut. A plastic sheet had been spread out beneath him, like someone had planned it that way.
And the smell…it wasn't just blood. It was sharp and sour, like old markers or paint. Whatever it was, it didn't belong in a barn.
Her hands had shaken as tears slid down her face.
She stepped back, tripped again, and dropped her backpack. She didn't stop to grab it. She ran all the way home.
She'd just thrown open the front door when someone grabbed her from behind.
“What are you doing?” her stepfather asked, spinning her around.
Her mother rushed into the foyer from the kitchen. “What's wrong?”
Savanah had tried to speak, but she couldn't catch her breath. She pointed toward the door, hands trembling.
Her mom dropped to her knees in front of her. “Breathe, Vanna. Just breathe.”
Those words had stuck with her over the years. She could still hear her mom's voice anytime panic started to creep in.
She'd sucked in a ragged breath.
“Did it happen again?” her mom had asked. And now, remembering it, Savanah realized her mom already knew. It was written in the lines of her face.
Savanah had been crying too hard to speak clearly. “There's a dead man in the woods.”
Her mother went pale. “Richard, call the police.”
But by the time the cops got there, the barn was empty.
No body. No blood. Just a trail of her footprints. And her backpack.
They told her she'd imagined it.
But Savanah remembered the eyes.
She'd never forgotten that.
The town streets yanked her back to the present.
She'd replayed that memory a dozen times. It never changed, just like the diner.
Mason parked his SUV outside the diner, but before Savanah could reach for the door handle, her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number:
Welcome home, freak. Someone's watching.
Her breath caught in her throat. She quickly deleted it, heart hammering against her ribs.
“You okay?” Mason asked, noticing her tension.
“Just tired,” she lied, forcing a smile. “Let's grab that coffee.”
As they walked toward the entrance, Savanah felt that familiar prickle at the back of her neck that she was being watched. She scanned the parking lot and then spotted a dark blue sedan with tinted windows idling across the street. The car pulled away when she stared too long.
“What is it?” Mason followed her gaze.
“Nothing,” she muttered, but her hand instinctively touched the knife in her bag. “I’m probably just being paranoid.”
5
