Narrator

We'd get the SUV started, or we'd load essentials into my car and limp out on one vehicle.

we'd leave before dark no matter what while eric worked on the battery i checked the cabin again methodically windows locks foundation i looked for a crawlspace or a hidden entry because the cloth strip from my shirt was now a fact that demanded an explanation

on the back of the cabin partially hidden by stacked firewood i found a small square hatch low to the ground like a root cellar access it was latched from the outside with a simple sliding bolt the wood around it showed wear not from age but from repeated opening and closing

I called Eric over.

A way into the cabin that bypassed the front door.

A way someone could slip in while we were distracted, while we slept while we sat on the porch.

It wasn't supernatural.

It was logistics, and logistics are what make fear real.

We slid the bolt and opened the hatch.

The smell hit first, damp earth, mold, and the same sour animal note, stronger now.

Inside was a shallow crawlspace, more like a storage pit, with stone walls and a dirt floor.

There were shelves with old jars, empty now, and some rusted tools, and in the back corner, arranged neatly, were objects that made my stomach drop.

horseshoes, old iron nails, a coil of chain, and a circle of white powder on the ground, like someone had poured salt in a ring.

In the center of the ring sat a small bundle wrapped in cloth and tied with twine.

Nora whispered, ''Don't.''

''Of course I did anyway, because curiosity is another human weakness.''

I stepped over the ring without touching it and picked up the bundle.

It was heavier than it should have been.

I brought it into the light and unwrapped it carefully.

Inside was a small notebook, leather-bound, the pages warped with age.