There’s a shark latched onto my leg, and I think I’m screaming helplessly when something smacks into the side of my head. In my dream, it’s a tennis racket. It’s confusing enough to distract me from the beast gnawing on my leg, but the tennis racket is slapping into my cheek again.
Hard enough for the terrifying situation to swirl away and plunge me back into reality.
Something is leaning over me, breathing heavily, and in my discombobulated state, my fists immediately go flying.
“It’s me,” Enzo hisses, grabbing my wrists before they can connect.
Instantly, I’m overcome with dizzying relief and a touch of disappointment. I’m glad there isn’t a shark using my leg for a chew toy, and the person above me isn’t Sylvester or a pissed-off spirit. But I’m a little sad I didn’t get to hit Enzo. That would’ve felt nice.
Just as I open my mouth to apologize, I realize that my dream wasn’t the only thing keeping Enzo awake.
The angry knocking is back. And this time, it’s on our fucking bedroom door.
It has one two-by-four barred across it, a nail on each end. Enzo left one hammered halfway in so he can easily pry it out and allow us to come and go from the room. But right now, those nails feel as effective as if the wood is being held up by bubble gum.
I freeze, the terror from my nightmare flooding back tenfold. Before, it was only an annoying wave that kept slapping into your face every time you caught a breath. Now, it’s a fierce riptide of fear dragging me under and drowning me within it.
“What is that?” I whisper, the words hardly rising above the loud banging.
As if hearing my question, it pauses.
Enzo’s tight grip on my arms only confirms that he’s still here. Otherwise, his silence would have convinced me that I was alone.
Suddenly, there’s another thunderous bang against the door. This time, it sounds like someone either kicked it or rammed their shoulder into it.
Just like earlier when it was pounding on the ceiling, a scream breaks free from my throat. I slap my hand over my mouth, trembling violently as the thing rams into the door again.
“I’m going to open the door,” Enzo says quietly.
“No!” I gasp, my hands flying to the collar of his t-shirt. Except he’s shirtless, and I only end up digging my nails into his skin.
“We can’t just let it keep doing this,” he argues through clenched teeth, grabbing my wrists and clutching them tightly.
“What if it’s Sylvester?” I reason.
“He’d be shouting or shooting off the gun, and you know it.”
“So, then what the hell are you going to do?” I whisper-shout. “Open the door and tell it to quiet down or you’ll give it a spanking?”
“I’m going to give you a spanking if you keep it up,” he snaps.
“You’re going to invite it in,” I say, ignoring his threat and attempting a different angle. “It wants in, and you’re going to just… give it permission.”
“It’s not a fucking vampire, Sawyer,” he growls, obviously frustrated. It’s apparent that neither of us has ever had to deal with evil spirits in our lifetime, and we’re both severely ill-equipped. It’s not like either of us carry around holy water and Bibles. And Sylvester has never given any indication that he’s religious and possesses those things, either.
“There’s nothing to do but wait it out,” I conclude.
BANG!
I jump beneath Enzo’s weight, cringing from how fucking awful the noise is. It’s the type of sound that makes your ass clench.
There’s something outside our door, and it’s using all its strength to get in.
That, and it clearly didn’t appreciate my idea to ignore it.
“Fuck this goddamn island,” Enzo mutters beneath his breath, rolling onto his back. It feels cold without his weight crowding over me, and somehow, I feel more vulnerable. More exposed.
Praying like hell he doesn’t reject me, I turn onto my side and lay my head on his chest. He doesn’t even hesitate. His arm slips around me, pulling me into his hold.
I have the strangest urge to cry. Instead, I nuzzle my nose against his bare skin, closing my eyes and thanking God that I’m not in this alone.
Something shifts beneath me, disturbing the restless sleep I’ve gotten lost in. It was a shitty sleep, but it was all I had.
The loud banging lasted deep into the night, and by the time it finally quit, there was a tinge of blue to the sky. We tried our best to sleep through it, but it’s safe to say we were both entirely unsuccessful.
I groan and roll onto my back. It’s still sore as shit, but laying in an actual bed eased some of the tension.
Enzo sighs from frustration, and I can taste his sour attitude on my tongue. If I’m being honest, mine doesn’t taste any sweeter.
We’re going to have a great day.
He sits up, tossing his legs over the bed, and rolls his neck, letting out a deep sigh. For a moment, he just sits there and breathes. I could slice through the tension with one of those dull plastic knives toddlers get in those kitchen sets.
Then, he stands and trudges over to the wooden board. He grabs the hammer leaning against the wall and makes quick work of prying the nail free. He lets it go, and it slides away, dangling from where it’s nailed in on the other end.
He replaces the hammer with the shotgun, tosses a quick glance over his shoulder at me, then whips open the door like there wasn’t something trying to break it down all night.
Nothing is on the other side.
It’s quiet and cold and it feels almost like a slap in the face. Why does it choose to harass us when sleep is required and then stop when it’s time to wake up?
So fucking obnoxiously rude.
I bite my tongue as I stand, the aches in my back screaming. I force myself to stretch, the pain bordering on pleasure and so acute, that I can’t help but let out a groan.
Feeling a little dizzy from it, it takes me a moment to focus again to slip on my shorts.
Enzo is staring very intently at me, an angry frown marring his face, then he turns his attention to the opposite side of our door. Furrowing my brow, I approach him to see what the issue is.
I can’t tell if he’s pissed off at me or the door, but I’m instantly defensive anyway.
Almost immediately, I notice the deep gouges in the wood and how it’s splintered from where it must’ve been ramming its shoulder.
My mouth drops. I don’t even remember the clawing. It must’ve happened when I was delirious from lack of sleep.
“Fucking hell,” I murmur, fingering one of the marks.
Enzo is silent, but I can hear the steam shooting from his ears.
“Spirits can’t do that,” he says.
I shoot him a nasty look. “How would you even know?” I mutter. “Not like you’re an expert.”
The glare he pins me with could melt fucking Antarctica. But I don’t shrink away from him. I’m not sure if it’s the severe lack of sleep, the pain throbbing in my entire back, or just that I’m so drained of fear that I don’t care if I die today, but I give him the bird and shove past him.
I’m not going to stand there and argue about a ghost defying the laws of physics. I’d rather spend my time gurgling caffeine like I’m a porn star surrounded by five dicks.
Despite the two-by-fours slapped across the windows, morning light peeks through the cracks, washing the bottom floor in deep blue. Dust motes dance in the sunbeams, and I flap my hand at them as if that’s going to accomplish anything. I’ve always been weirded out by the sight of dirt in the air. It’s a rude reminder that I’m inhaling some gross shit on a daily basis.
Enzo stomps down the stairs a moment later, and we promptly ignore each other. Even in his annoyance, he whips up a fried egg and piece of toast for each of us, so I concede and pour him a cup of coffee.
In our stilted silence, I notice the steak knife I was using to eat yesterday is now missing. I distinctly remember setting it on the island before I went to bed. Enzo went up before me, so I don’t see how he could’ve moved it.
The notion that a demon stole a knife is more nerve-racking than them scratching a door.
When I tell Enzo about it, he just grunts, though I notice his eyes sharpen and become more alert.
It’s not until after we’ve both eaten and drank our liquid drug that he finally opens his mouth.
“We need to look for the beacon today,” he announces.
No shit. What the hell else are we supposed to do? Sit here and come up with a super-secret handshake for kicks?
Okay, so clearly, food and caffeine didn’t improve my mood much.
I don’t bother responding. Instead, I stand, the chair grinding obnoxiously on the floor and earning myself a severe eye twitch from Enzo.
I’m still convinced the entrance to the beacon is somewhere on the bottom floor. But just like upstairs, there are only so many places the door could be hidden.
I get to work rapping my fist on any open areas on the walls, searching for a hollow point.
“I’m going to keep looking upstairs,” he mutters.
“Divide and conquer, sounds great,” I comment, knocking on the wall again to double-check that it’s solid.
I hope I’m returning the favor and keeping the ghosts up as they did me.
If I don’t get to sleep, the dead don’t get to, either.
