Cora’s unmarred eye blurred with tears. “I didn’t die,” she whispered, revealing the gaps in her teeth where her attacker had knocked them out. “I’m still here.”

Case #92-10945

Case #92-10945

Conversation dated November 18, 2017,
via DarkestDoor.com

Corareef12:

JW44, I have a few more questions. Where did you go after you left Pitch?

Corareef12:

If you are really Joseph Wither, how can you still be alive? Wouldn’t you be really old?

4leafclover:

I don’t think he’s coming back and that’s a good thing. You really need to be careful in these chat rooms. You just never know who you are talking to.

Thomas Petit Tuesday, April 17, 2018

Thomas Petit

Tuesday, April 17, 2018

Now, Thomas stands outside Jordyn’s bedroom door and listens. The boys, when they were upset, would storm out of the house and disappear for two or three hours but would always come home when their stomachs began to growl.

A part of him wants to barge in and yank Jordyn right out of bed and another part of him wants to just let her sleep. Jordyn didn’t come down for dinner last night even though she hadn’t eaten any lunch. Thomas tried to imagine what Tess would do in this situation. Probably bring her something to eat, but Thomas thought that if Jordyn got hungry enough she would come out on her own.

Jordyn didn’t come out, at least not that Thomas knew. Before he went to bed last night, Thomas stood in this exact same spot and listened. Through the heavy oak door, he was sure he heard his granddaughter crying, but instead of going to Jordyn and trying to comfort her, he lumbered off to his own bedroom.

“Jordyn,” he finally calls out, not able to stand it anymore. “Jordyn, open this door right now.” No answer. “Jordyn Ann Petit, if you don’t open the door, I swear to God I will take it off its hinges.” Still no answer.

Ridiculous, Thomas thinks to himself. Jordyn’s meteoric moods were sucking the air out of the house.

“I’m going to get a screwdriver!” he says through the door. When there is still no reply, Thomas knows there is no turning back. The door is going.

With newly found energy he moves down the steps at a speed he hasn’t known in years. By the time he makes it to the kitchen and reaches the door that leads to the basement where all the tools are stored his heart is racing. He leans against the door frame as he collects snatches of air in short, sharp breaths.

When did he get so old? Why was everything so difficult? When he closes his eyes, Thomas still pictures himself as the strong young man who could heft kegs from the cooler with ease. He could work eighteen hours at the bar, sleep for six and then start all over again. Where had that man gone?