The Ghost of Molly Holt by Amy Cross

Author:Amy Cross [Cross, Amy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dark Season Books
Published: 2017-06-06T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

“Stop!” I shout as I reach the top of the basement steps and see to my horror that she's lifting her leg free of the broken wood. “Becky, stop! What the hell are you doing?”

Letting out a gasp, she falls back against the wall. She's freed her leg, but now there's blood pouring from the gaping wound. Whimpering, she starts sliding down the wall until she slumps against one of the creaking wooden steps, and then she starts muttering something under her breath that I can't quite make out.

“Why did you do that?” I ask, stepping down to her and watching as blood flows from the wound. “I told you to wait until Freddie gets back with help!”

“I can't wait,” she stammers, barely able to keep her eyes open and more and more sweat runs down her face. “I can't sit here like this. What were you doing in the basement?”

“I wasn't in the basement,” I reply, crouching down and taking a closer look at her leg.

I wince as I see bloodied, mangled skin that has been pushed far enough aside to reveal a section of bone. Whereas before the piece of wood was at least keeping Becky from bleeding too much, now there's nothing to stop blood running down her leg and splattering against the step. And while she might have removed the largest chunk of wood and pulled herself free, she's left several splinters dug deep into the meat, and I don't even know how I'd begin to get them all out.

“How bad is it?” she asks through gritted teeth. “Tell me the truth.”

“Freddie'll be back soon.”

“How bad is it, Tim?”

“It's not good, but you'll be okay as soon as Freddie arrives with help.”

“I couldn't sit here like that,” she continues. “I'm so cold. What were you doing down there?”

“I was upstairs, looking for water,” I tell her, figuring that this isn't the right moment to tell her about the video equipment. “I think -”

“I don't want to be here,” she says suddenly, as she starts trying to get up. “I don't want to be right here.”

“Wait!”

I get up with her, supporting her as best I can, but she's very unsteady and she lets out a cry of pain as soon as she tries putting weight on her damaged leg.

“I'll help you,” I tell her, “but I don't know where you want to go.”

“Anywhere,” she says, slurring her speech now. “Just not here. Please, I don't want to be on the stairs anymore.”

“I'll take you up to another room,” I reply, putting an arm around her so she can limp up to the next step.

Beneath us, there's an ominous creaking sound, as if another part of the staircase might collapse at any moment.

“Damn it!” she gasps, pulling down heavily on my shoulder as she makes her way up to the next step.

Barely able to support her weight, I struggle to follow.

“What were you doing down there, Tim?” she asks, as we get to the top. “I thought you were going to find me some water.

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