Ultimate Supernatural Horror Box Set

Chapter 26

The flashlight was practically worthless by the time Grant and Sophie reached the foyer. In the kitchen, Paige was flipping grilled cheese sandwiches at the stovetop. Grant swapped the flashlight for a pair of candles, and with his partner’s wrist still chained to his, he pulled open the door to the basement.

The darkness hovered as thick as water, and it seemed to push back against the candlelight with a palpable force, limiting the sphere of illumination to only three or four feet. Clearly, the brownstone’s recent renovation hadn’t laid a finger on this creaky set of stairs, each step bowing under Grant’s and Sophie’s weight.

The fifteenth step spit them out at the bottom and Grant held the candle above his head to get a better look.

Walls of crumbling brick climbed to pairs of windows—two near the top of the wall that faced the street, two along the back wall. One of these had been shattered. Shards of glass glinted on the rough stone floor.

A hot water boiler occupied one gloomy corner.

An electrical box another.

These were the only things in the basement that looked to have been built in the last fifty years.

There were mouse droppings everywhere, and the cellar-temperature air reeked of must.

Grant moved past an upright piano against the wall that stood draped in cobwebs. A third of its yellowed ivory keys were missing.

They stopped at the remnants of a work bench underneath the broken window.

The right-hand side of its surface had been smashed in.

“This where you dropped down into the basement?” Grant asked.

“Yeah.”

“Lucky you didn’t break your legs.”

“It was so dark, I couldn’t tell how far the drop was.”

Grant spotted a manila folder next to a rusty vise.

He set his candle down and opened it.

The first page was a spreadsheet entitled “Prior Tenants - 1990 to Present.” It consisted of three columns (Name/Dates of Occupancy/Contact Info) and nine rows of names.

Under the spreadsheet were a number of reports, each individually stapled, and all spring-clamped together. Grant recognized Stu’s handwriting on the first one.

6 out of 9 background checks, best I could do

Under the reports, he found one last item—a Residential Seller Property Disclosure. Across the top of this form, Stu had scrawled ...

you owe me for this one

“This everything you asked Stu for?” Sophie said.

“Mostly.” Grant leaned down, squinting at the poor photocopy of the property disclosure, but the light was bad. “I can’t make any of this out.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out Sophie’s phone. It still had a three-quarter charge.

“Grant?”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t believe I’m about to have a serious conversation about this, but I have an observation.”

“Shoot.”

“In thinking about Seymour and Talbert and the other men, there’s a common theme which you appear to be overlooking.”

“What’s that?”

“Your sister.”

“Meaning ...”

“This is her house. It’s her bedroom they’re all walking into and coming out like zombies. Or killing themselves.”

“Point being?”

“You’ve got all this background info on the house—and that’s useful—but are you sure you’re not missing something that’s staring you right in the face?”

“My sister is as much a victim—no, more so—than anyone. She’s a wreck.”

“But you have no idea what she’s been doing for the last five years. I mean ... do you really even know her?”

“You’re suggesting maybe Paige is the cause of all this?”

“I’m saying you seem to be looking everywhere but the obvious direction.”

“She wasn’t even in her room when Don went up there, Sophie. And you think she’s somehow causing me to become violently ill when I step outside?”

“Who the hell knows? Assuming everything you’ve told me is true, we’re dealing with a rulebook we’ve never seen before.”

“Yes, she’s an addict and a prostitute who has fucked her own life from every possible position, but that doesn’t mean ... what are you saying exactly? That Paige has put a—for lack of a better word—curse on this house? On me? On everyone who walks in? Does this mean she’s a witch? Come on.”

“Remember what you wrote in my birthday card last month?”

“Sure.”

“Say it back to me now.”

He shook his head.

“You forgot.”

“To Sophie. You’re the best partner I’ve ever had because you see cases from angles I could never reach.”

“Still believe that?” she asked.

“I do.”

“Still want to dismiss my input so quickly?”

One of the steps creaked bloody murder.

Grant turned and stared at the shadow of his sister.

Paige stood as still as a statue halfway down the staircase.

“Everything okay?” Grant asked.

“Dinner’s ready.” Her voice was flat, void of emotion, unreadable.

“Great.” He closed the manila folder and shelved it under his arm. “We’re coming up.”