Paws stomp on the first step of the stairs. Bubbles doesn’t dare climb, but her barking gets louder and louder.
She should wake him any second.
But she doesn’t.
The barking continues, as does the stomping. Her eyes look up, seeing something I can’t see in the dark.
Trembling fingers miss the light switch three times as I prod the wall, needing to light up the second floor.
“Ambrose?” I call as things grow silent. “Ambrose!”
All I hear is Bubbles.
“Why won’t you go up?” I ask and wait, almost like she can answer.
Another scream, and I can’t ignore the pull that puts me on the bottom step with Bubbles’ paws.
Clutching Duggan a little bit tighter, I take the next few steps. “Come on,” I call back for Bubbles, needing her with me.
She stays put. The only thing moving is her mouth as she and Ambrose fight over who can be the loudest.
Finding my footing on the next step, I take them one by one and painfully slow until I reach the gargoyles.
A chill runs down my body, a wave of emotion trailing behind me.
I can feel them here.
“Mom? Dad?”
No answer.
Just screaming from a room around the corner.
Just barking from the foyer.
“It’s just the gargoyles.” I choose to believe they’re the reason that Bubbles hasn’t followed me up here, and I put my feet on the carpet that’s still stained with my parents’ blood.
The dark red blemishes stand out on the cream carpet. I creep around them, focusing on getting across the hallway as fast as possible. There are the odd few patches of graffiti on the walls, but no other damages in sight as I turn right at the fork. I continue, ignoring the narrow hallway that appears on my right, and I stop in front of the two doors directly opposite one another.
“Ambrose?”
The wailing comes from behind his door. I twist the ancient handle that we kept because Mom loved them so much, my hand encapsulating the cherub that leads me inside.
“Ambrose?” I creep across the floor, hating how dark it is in here. The hallway light leaves a lot to the imagination.
If it were any darker, I’d be stiff with fright.
Quickly making my way to a lava lamp that I’m sure he got for his twelfth birthday—an attempt from my parents to stop him from favoring the dark—I flip the switch.
I take a heavy breath when a low glow floats around the room, little twinkles glittering against the glossy posters on the wall.
My body shudders, turning to another scream.
Using my feet to help, I pull off one sock at a time and crawl onto his bed.
With a feather-soft touch, my hand lands on his chest, and I call his name again.
He doesn’t respond, still thrashing beneath the sheets and sweating until the T-shirt he wears sticks to him. Through gritted teeth, he screams again.
