4. Camryn

FOUR

CAMRYN

"Camryn," a voice hisses, the sinister sound echoing around me as I shoot upright in bed, clutching the quilt to my chest. Sleep lingers at the fringes of my consciousness as I rub my face. The darkness is pierced by an ominous, vicious growl that sends a chill down my spine. My heart races, pounding in my throat as I take a shaky breath.

I slowly turn my head toward the door, every nerve in my body on high alert. Bruno bares his sharp canines, poised to attack, when another rumbling growl fills the silence.

"Bruno?" I glance at the door, seeing nothing but the outline of the gown hanging on the hook behind it. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I swallow hard. "There's nothing there, Bruno."

Instead of quieting, his low growl intensifies, and he inches backward closer to the bed. I turn on the bedside lamp with trembling fingers and look back at the door. As I thought, my peach gown hangs on a hook.

After removing the quilt, I sit at the edge of the bed and run my fingers through his coarse fur, feeling his tense muscles contracting beneath my touch.

Dread twists my gut as I whisper, "Bruno? What do you see, buddy?"

When he continues to snarl, I rise to my feet, walk past him to the door, and spin around. "There's no one here."

Even though my voice trembles, I offer him a reassuring smile. I know it's reckless to approach him while he's so distressed, but I can't help taking a step closer, my hand outstretched in a placating gesture. "Calm down, Bruno. It's okay."

A sudden chill at the back of my neck makes me still and hold my breath. Someone is behind me—someone or something evil. There has to be. I've never been more sure of anything.

With a wall of ice behind me and Bruno in front, snarling low in his throat, I'm truly trapped. There's nowhere to run, and the last thing I want to do is to turn around.

Within my next breath, the chill shifts and moves past me. Bruno yelps and scampers away, his claws pattering on the wooden floor. My heart hammers harder, and I gulp past the lump forming in my throat. Whatever that thing was, it's gone now, though I still feel as if I'm not alone, like it's watching me.

My gaze lands on the gaping gap in the armoire doors. A gap I can't stop staring at—it seems to suck me in.

Striding over, I tear the doors open, yanking the clothes apart, almost expecting something to jump out at me. Of course, there's nothing.

I'm alone.

Gwen swipes a paper napkin across her mouth before crumpling it up and tossing it on the coffee table. Meanwhile, my glazed doughnut remains untouched.

She suggested a trip to the local bakery after class, so here we are, seated on the saggy couches nestled next to a large bookshelf near the back. An unlit fireplace to our left has more stacked books on top, and if I were to describe the scent here, I'd say it smells of old books, coffee, and the fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies that were brought out when we arrived.

On the couch across from me, Benny inhales his third macaroon.

Lily bites down on ice and puts her glass of fizzy Coke on the table. "You'll get a sugar-induced coma soon."

Benny simply shrugs, unbothered.

Beside me, Gwen eases back and jerks her chin at me. "So what's the house like? Have you noticed anything supernatural yet?"

"Give her a chance to eat her doughnut before you start your interrogation," says Brittany on my other side, popping her pink bubblegum that matches her hair.

Aron lies half-slouched on the couch with one arm behind his head and a lazy smile on his lips. His other hand rests on his jeans-clad thigh as he taps his thumb to an imaginary beat. That is one thing I've noticed about him lately: outwardly, he's the sloth in the group. But if you look closely, you'll notice he's never still. He's always moving, whether he's tapping his foot or drumming a beat with his fingers.

"So?" Gwen pushes. "Have you seen ghosts yet?"

Benny stands up and walks to the counter at the front of the bakery.

"Don't let him buy any more macaroons," Lily calls out to the elderly woman behind the cash register, and Aron clamps a hand over her mouth.

"Well? Don't hold out on us?" Gwen nudges me with her elbow.

As I lift the doughnut from the crackling wax paper and take a bite, a soft moan escapes my lips.

"It beats the doughnuts in the city, doesn't it?" Brittany asks.

Nodding, I swallow it down.

The doughnuts back home are nice, don't get me wrong, but this is a taste of heaven.

Sugary glazing coats my lips, so I reach for a paper napkin and wipe my mouth clean. I shake my head, addressing Gwen. "No, I haven't seen any ghosts."

"Nothing out of the ordinary?"

"No," I lie.

At least, I don't think I have. The woman in the window—the same woman from the photograph that fell off the wall—was a figment of my imagination. Ghosts aren't real.

"Nothing at all?" She sounds disappointed.

"I still think we should do a séance," Brittany says, chewing her gum like her life depends on it while she twirls a strand of pink hair around her finger.

"Not this again," Lily complains, and Aron slams his hand over her mouth.

"I'm with Brittany. We should do it."

Lily shoves his hand away as Benny returns with more macaroons. "Why? What good could come from it?"

"Do you believe in demons?" he asks her.

"No, of course I don't."

"Then what's the problem?"

"Do you really think it's a good idea to dabble in the occult?"

Aron ruffles her blonde hair. "You say you don't believe in demons, so it can't do any harm."

"I don't believe in demons. I still think it's a bad idea."

"So you do believe in them."

"No—"

"You do, or you wouldn't be so against the idea of a séance. They either exist or they don't."

While they bicker, I eat the rest of the doughnut.

Aron levels his bright, blue eyes on me. "What do you say? Let's bring a spirit board and copious amounts of alcohol to your house over the weekend."

I freeze, fingers sticky with sugary glazing. Somewhere in the background, the slide of the cash register mixes with the bell over the door and the hum of conversation. For a small café, it's busy.

"We'll have so much fun." Gwen pulls my ponytail.

I look between them all, trying to think of an excuse to back out. "I'm busy this weekend."

Gwen pouts, tugging on my ponytail again. Aron pokes Lily in the cheek, and she bats him off. Brittany blows a big bubble that pops and covers her nose and chin.

"Have you ever been to the house?" I ask out of curiosity as I ease back, and they all shake their heads, but it's Gwen who answers. "No, never."

"But you still believe the rumors?"

"There's something not right about that property," Lily replies.

"Ha!" Aron points a finger at her with a wicked gleam in his eyes and a wide smile. "So you do believe in demons."

"No," she says, rolling her eyes, "but you can't deny the house's history. Weird stuff happens there. People go missing." A visible shiver runs through her, and she looks at me with a crease between her eyebrows. "People die."

I swallow down the unease as I suppress a shudder. "They could all be coincidences."

"They could be, but locals stay away from that property for a reason." She sweeps her gaze over our little group. "Everyone here seems to have forgotten that."

"Relax," chuckles Benny around a mouthful of macaroon. "No one is going to die or go missing."

This conversation makes me uncomfortable, so I stand up and make my way over to the counter. The middle-aged man in front of me orders a slice of berry pie and a black coffee. Once the register slides open and shut, the man leaves with his tray. A dash of black and red shifts in my periphery, and I whip my head around.

"Can I help you?" the lady behind the counter asks, but I can barely hear her.

Overhead, the bell dings as the man I spied in the forest leaves the café. It's him. It has to be.

"Excuse me, ma'am?"

"I'm sorry," I mumble, turning around and walking out.

It must be the same man.

The bell dings again as I hurry outside, coming to an abrupt halt. I scan the desolate sidewalk and the parking lot, but there's no sign of him.

Where did he go?

A warm, stifling breeze chases away the chills on my arms, and the insect bite itches, so I scratch it, ignoring the bite of pain.

"Camryn?"

I spin around to see Gwen in the doorway. She scans the empty street and looks back at me with a confused expression. "Are you leaving already?"

Peering left and right again, I shake off the odd feeling that clings to me like sweat on my neck. "I thought I saw someone," I say.

Gwen's frown deepens, and she steps back as I enter the café. "Are you okay? You look pale."

"I'm fine," I reassure her, joining the queue at the counter. "Do you want anything?"

"What the hell?" I whisper, scooting up into a sitting position in bed, scratching my arm almost furiously. Judging by the warm slickness beneath my fingers, I know I've drawn blood even before I switch on the bedside lamp.

Blinking under the bright light, I lean against the headboard as I look down at my arm, sucking in a sharp breath at the sight of smeared blood. The itching burrows so deep I want to scratch the bone itself.

Throwing off the quilt, I make my way to the ensuite bathroom and flick on the overhead light. My tired reflection stares back at me in the mirror, dark circles framing my eyes. Gwen was right; I'm paler than usual. I turn on the tap, adjusting the temperature until the water errs on the side of too hot. As the sound of running water fills the air, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, which is slowly fogging up. I slide my hand across the glass to clear it, fighting the urge to claw my itchy skin open.

Scooping up a handful of water to wash off the blood, I pause. Something moves under the skin in search of a way out, and the sensation of crawling insects makes me stumble back a step and crash into the toilet behind me. I even knock down the toilet roll holder as I skirt the seat.

I'm clutching my arm, watching the skin bulge and strain, dizzy with panic.

Maggots erupt from the flesh, then crawl down my arm and fall to the floor.

I don't even know when I start screaming, but then Dominic is there, palming my face and jostling me.

"Camryn, fuck, look at me!" He shakes me again with enough force to make my head knock off the wall. Not hard, but enough to stun me back into reality.

When the sensation of his warm hands on my cheeks finally registers, I stare into his dark eyes while my heart races.

He jostles me again, weaker this time. "Look at me, dammit!"

Citrus and leather filter through the haze of adrenaline, and like a warm fire on a snowy winter's night, the rich notes of his cologne thaw the fear inside me. I breathe easier as I lose myself in his hard stare.

"What the hell is wrong?" he asks tersely, gripping me so hard it's almost painful.

Blinking him back into focus, I shove his hands away from my face. He doesn't fight me. Instead, he steps back and scans the room as if he's trying to figure out what spooked me.

He zeroes back in on me, and a divot forms between his brows. I'm shaking and staring down at my arm with tears hanging precariously from my lashes.

Where's the blood? The maggots? The scratch marks? Why is my skin healed?

"What's wrong?" he asks, though there's nothing gentle in his icy tone.

I meet his gaze, still clutching my arm. "There was… I have…"

"There was what?" he presses and moves closer.

Worrying my bottom lip, I look down, unsure. How do I even begin to tell him about what happened just now or all the other things? "Have you noticed anything weird since we moved here?"

With his hands on the wall on either side of my head, he peers at my face so intently that I fight the urge to shrink back.

"Anything weird?"

"Yes?"

"No," he states, flicking his eyes between mine. "Nothing. What happened just now to make you scream the place down?"

I try to look away, but he follows me.

"Eyes on me, Camryn, and answer the question."

"Nothing happened." I tip my chin, even as my bottom lip trembles.

I don't want to tell him about the maggots, Bruno's growling at the corner last night, or the whispering woods. I sound insane.

"You're a terrible fucking liar," he sneers, pushing off the wall and straightening up. I look away, but he grips my chin and jerks my eyes back to his cold ones. "Have you told your mom you're losing it?"

"I'm not losing it!" I wrench free.

"No? So tell me why you're screaming yourself hoarse in the bathroom in the dead of night?"

The itch is back with a vengeance, worms wriggling beneath my skin. I ignore it as I spit, "None of your fucking business."

"You have some backbone, after all," Dominic replies in a tone laced with amusement. "Not such a wallflower like you want the world to believe."

"Get out!" I point to the door, fed up with the knowing look in his eyes.

He thinks he is so smart, that he knows anything about me. He doesn't.

Chuckling, he leaves the bathroom, his broad shoulders disappearing through the doorway.

As soon as the door clicks shut, I find myself scratching my arm furiously until the soft welt bursts like a ripe pimple, releasing a swarm of slick, wriggling maggots. But when I look down, there's nothing there.

I'm losing it, just like Dominic said.