December 8, Sunday

"I HATE this place," Kelly whispered as we entered the funeral home, her flashlight beam dancing nervously across cobweb-draped walls. "When I visited Uncle Pete growing up I had to come here and it gave me nightmares."

Dust motes swirled in our flashlight beams, and our footsteps echoed off the high ceilings. The December sun filtering through boarded windows did little to brighten the gloom.

"Let's start upstairs," Sawyer suggested, his voice oddly tight. "Work our way down to the... preparation room."

We climbed the creaking stairs in single file. Family viewing rooms branched off a long hallway, each containing sheet-covered furniture and heavy drapes drawn against time and decay.

"Look." I pointed my light at scratch marks on the wooden floor. "Something heavy was dragged through here."

Sawyer crouched to examine them. "These are old. Probably from moving furniture."

A thump from downstairs made us all jump. Kelly grabbed my arm.

"Just the boiler," Sawyer said, but his hand went to the small of my back protectively.

We continued our search, opening closets, checking behind drapes, even tapping walls for hollow spaces. In one room, an uncovered mirror gave us all a jump scare when we caught our own reflections.

"This is pointless," Kelly muttered. "Let's go before—"

"Wait." Sawyer's flashlight illuminated a door we hadn't tried. It opened onto a narrow staircase leading down.

"The display room," Kelly said. "Where they kept the... inventory."

My heart hammered as we descended. The basement was significantly colder, our breath visible in the beams of our lights. Closed caskets lined the walls, their polished surfaces dulled by layers of dust.

"We have to open them," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

Sawyer nodded grimly. "Kelly, you can wait upstairs if you want."

"No way am I staying up there alone."

We approached the first casket. Sawyer gripped the lid while Kelly and I trained our lights on it. The hinges creaked as he lifted it.

Empty.

We moved to the next one. Empty again.

By the fifth casket, we'd settled into a rhythm, though our nerves were frayed. Each hollow thud of a closing lid echoed through the basement like a gunshot.

"Last one," Sawyer said finally, reaching for an ornate bronze casket half-hidden in a corner.

"Wait," Kelly breathed. "There's no dust on the handles."

We all stared at the gleaming metal fixtures. Someone had touched this one recently.

Sawyer lifted the lid slowly, the hinges protesting. Our lights revealed...

Nothing. Just pristine white satin, untouched by time or tragedy.

"Dammit," Sawyer muttered, letting the lid fall closed with a bang that made Kelly squeak.

"I guess I was wrong," I said, trying to hide my disappointment. But when we walked back downstairs, Sawyer ran his flashlight along the floor in front of a side entrance.

"It looks like something was wheeled through here recently—maybe a hand cart?"

He went over to inspect the side door. "This has been opened and closed recently. Did you two do it when you were here before?"

We shook our heads.

Sawyer sighed. "Maybe it's nothing."

Although I could tell, he wanted it to be something.

Kelly shuddered. "Can we please get out of here? This place gives me the creeps."

We emerged into the weak December sun, all of us breathing easier in the open air. But as I looked back at the funeral home's looming facade, I couldn't shake the feeling that we'd been close—very close—to finding Rose.