Occupied

Rain pelted her back and neck like a hammer. Blaire yanked her sopping hoodie forward, but rain still poured into her eyes, blurring her vision. The world of deep, angry grays and muddy greens was ripped through with watery bullets. Mud sucking on her shoes, she pushed onward, fighting through an army of weed-riddled grass. Blades nicked her calves, left bare by her ripped jeans.

“Where are you even going?” yelled a voice behind her, one barely audible over the screeching wind. Blaire shielded her eyes with her hand and craned her head over her shoulder; a few feet away, Sarah was frantically hopping toward her, attempting to tie her mud-soaked shoelace with one hand. A rumbling growl of thunder masked Blaire’s frustrated sigh.

“There’s a house up ahead,” she offered, her throat scratching with a dryness painfully at odds with her flooded surroundings. Blaire gestured with a flourish toward a rickety, half-ruined home—more like a glorified shack. Only a few scuffed shingles remained on its partially shattered roof, its windows were riddled with cracks like spiderwebs, and its walls were a broken pattern of loose, rotting boards and graying brick. It felt like a place where old things crawled into a hole and died.

Sarah, her shoelace unsuccessfully tied and dragging limply through a puddle, finally reached Blaire and groaned. “That isn’t a house.”

Blaire frowned. “Would you rather sit on the road and hope somebody picks us up?”

Sarah gave her muddied shoes a dejected look. “Fine. The murder-shack it is.”

Fighting through an army of sharp, bladed grass that sliced their knees and a battlefield of ankle-deep puddles that sucked on their shoes, they finally reached the house’s door. It wasn’t much of a door, however—more like a few chipping boards haphazardly thrown together. Giving Sarah a quick nod that feigned confidence, she shoved it open. Tiny bits of soggy wood stuck underneath her fingernails.

“Ugh, that’s filthy.” Sarah wrinkled her nose as a blast of mildew and rot filled her nostrils. Blare failed to stifle a gag.

They slowly shuffled inside. For several painfully long seconds, it was like looking into an abyss—one that furiously shuddered with every gust of wind and gurgled with streams of trespassing water. A chill prickled Blaire’s neck.

She carefully maneuvered the door back into place, but it shook like a reed anyway. Pulling in a deep breath—and immediately regretting it as her mouth filled with the taste of filth—she moved forward. A stale puddle of muddy water soaked her shoes. Sarah, however, remained fearfully frozen in place.

“Are you gonna help me?” Blaire pressed.

Sarah’s mouth drooped open. “Help you? Are you planning on making us dinner?”

Blaire’s chest rattled with a sigh. “Remind me never to take you hiking again.”

“That sounds like a phenomenal idea,” Sarah hissed sharply. “Or maybe you shouldn’t have dragged us out here during a freaking hurricane!”

“Well, it didn’t exactly call me to say it was coming.”

With a groan Blaire hoped Sarah heard, she began exploring the house. There wasn’t much to see. The place seemed to have only two rooms—a large main room with the rotting remains of a kitchen and dining table, and a small door wedged into its far wall. Its handle was brass and slightly slick, as if someone had recently opened it with a sweaty hand.

“That’s weird,” Sarah remarked suddenly. Blaire flinched and wheeled around. Sarah’s eyes were wide with shock, and she pointed toward the kitchen. “There’s food, Blaire. Food.”

Blaire’s gaze swiveled around to follow Sarah’s finger. There, sitting on a yellow-speckled counter, were a few slightly mushed berries and blackened potatoes. A horde of flies circled the latter, swooping back and forth like a pack of shriveled hummingbirds.

Sarah moved closer and gagged. “So that’s why it smells,” she croaked into her hand. “Y’know, maybe I’d rather sit and wait by the road after all—”

The floor groaned. Blaire and Sarah froze; Blaire’s heart pounded in her chest, sending blood rushing to her temples. Carefully, she placed a quivering finger to her lips. The seconds ticked by, and the sound was buried beneath a crackling chorus of thunder and a torrent of rain.

Blaire gave Sarah an encouraging look. “It’s probably nothing, okay? Just the house settling.”

A scream burst through Sarah’s lips as the floor groaned again. She flattened herself against the far wall, her face draining of all color. Blaire ripped her gaze away from Sarah and pinned it on the second door. She warily inched her way forward.

“Blaire!” Sarah hissed through gritted teeth. “Are you crazy? We’ve gotta leave!”

“It’s just a house!” she answered sharply. “Houses can’t hurt you!”

Sarah whimpered. “We’re gonna die,” she moaned.

Blaire ignored her. She gripped her fingers around the doorknob. It was freezing and damp—little droplets of water mixed with the beads of sweat on her palm. Though a small piece of her wondered if Sarah was right, they didn’t have a better option. Suffer in here, or suffer in a downpour. She knew which one she preferred.

The handle turned, and the door swung open. There, leading downward, was a rickety stairwell ending in another inky, black abyss. Blaire leaned forward, but couldn’t see anything; her toes inched onto the first step. A bubble of fear rose into her throat.

“Hello?” Her voice drifted down into the darkness like a quivering breeze. Seconds passed, and her call was answered with silence. With one hand holding the door open, Blaire descended onto the second step. From behind her, Sarah was frantically saying a prayer. Blaire whispered one, too—just in case. Then, she repeated her call.

Like a ripple of pebbles cascading off a cliffside, something shuddered. A scraping sound filled Blaire’s ears, then the soft clinking of metal. She turned to face Sarah, her limbs cold with dread, when a flickering flash of light filled the room.

Her heart dropped into her stomach. A sickly, yellow glow spread across the room downstairs.

Someone was there.