Things Not Seen by Monica Boothe

Author:Monica Boothe [Boothe, Monica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-01-01T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

“Who would break into a house in the middle of snowstorm?” I whisper. My heart is beating wildly, and my skin has gone cold. Even I know to recognize this one as fear. This is the worst possible time. We have no phones. We can’t call the police. We can’t even run away. We’re trapped.

I get up and tiptoe to the hall closet. As silently as I can manage, I draw out Josh’s baseball bat.

The whiteboard slides across the floor to my feet. I’m coming with you.

“No!” I hiss, and my heartbeat sputters forward even faster. Josh would be more hindrance than help down there. What if he’s behind me or next to me when I swing the bat? I could hit him, and I wouldn’t even know what had happened. Or what if the intruder grabs him and threatens him. They have no idea just how vulnerable we are. “If you ever listened to anything I ever said, ever, Josh, listen to me now!” I whisper. “You stay up here. Do not come downstairs unless I explicitly tell you to. You understand?

I’m afraid he’ll fight me on this, but the whiteboard comes back quickly: K.

“You’ve got your marbles, right?”

Yes.

“If anything happens—if you need me—drop ‘em. Nice and loud. You got it?”

K. Be careful.

I take the first step onto the stairs gently.

Maybe they saw that the driveway was empty so they thought no one was home. Maybe they knew our parents were out of town somehow, and they saw this as the golden opportunity to rob the house. If that’s true, surprise is our only weapon. I take the next step, careful to place my foot on the edge of the stair where it’s less likely to creak. I tighten my grip on the bat and cautiously ease my way onto the next step. When I reach the landing right in front of the front door, I carefully twist to peer down the stairs.

I can see a small sliver of the basement from here. The muted gray carpet and a bookshelf filled with old DVDs. It’s colder down here. The chill moves through the air in stiff currents. A few flakes of snow whisper their way across the basement carpet. I take another silent step and listen carefully. The wind hums, and there’s an awful creaking sound, like glass cracking. I press my back against the wall as I take the next step, both to distribute my weight away from the steps and to limit my visibility from whoever’s down there. Any second now, they might come around the corner, and if I can be ready to swing, we just might survive this.

When I reach the bottom step, I stay here, frozen against the stair wall, my grip so tight around the baseball bat that my arms have begun to tremble.

I wait.

This is my safest spot. If I peer around the corner, they might see me, but if they’re the ones to come around first, if they start up the stairs, I’ll have one split second to swing before they see me.

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