As I walked away from the service station and up the road, trying to find some clarity and a way forward, I spotted a derelict house with boarded-up windows. Its heavy wooden door was padlocked, and the place appeared empty, so I decided it would be my refuge for the night. It was getting late, the air had cooled, and I was too exhausted to formulate a better plan. Come morning I’d figure out what to do next. Maybe find a hospital—no, they might call the cops—a shelter of some sort then, somewhere they wouldn’t ask too many questions.

After glancing over my shoulder to make sure nobody was watching, I sneaked around the side of the house, pushed open a creaky, rusted iron gate and found myself in an overgrown backyard that long hadn’t been on anybody’s to-do list. I got to work on the board covering a window on the left, and part of the rotting wood crumbled under my fingers as I wiggled the nails loose. Not long after, the broken board lay on the ground. I took off my jacket, wrapped it over my hand and gave the brittle pane a good punch. It shattered with a crunch, and after removing the rest of the shards, I hoisted myself up and over the windowsill, cursing when a piece of glass I’d missed cut into my thumb.

Once inside I stood still, listening for the noise of other unwanted guests, human or otherwise, but the musty air, which smelled of damp, rot and mold, remained silent. The light from the broken window behind me barely made it past my feet, and I put my hands out in front of me to feel my way, taking small, uncertain steps, hoping I wouldn’t crash through the floorboards.

A couple of plywood panels had fallen away from the windows in the front room, letting in enough light for me to make out it was empty. There was no furniture, not even a crate or an abandoned cardboard box. A giant stone fireplace covered almost half of the left wall, but when I examined it, hoping to find wood and matches or a lighter to warm the place up a bit, I found nothing.

I stretched out on the floor, the scent of dirt and dust creeping up my nostrils, earthy and familiar. A flash of something went through my mind. A faint giggle, a girl calling out, “...nineteen, twenty. Ready or not, here I come!” Footsteps thudding, a trapdoor opening above me, someone peering down, their face obscured by the shadows.

I scrunched my eyes shut, willing the images to stay, to mean something, but they faded, and I was left in the old house, lying on the floor alone in the darkness, no closer to my truth.

6

LILY