92. Allure in Danger

Rose's POV:

The first step into the house felt heavy, as if the very air was pressing down on me, thick and unwilling. The floor beneath my foot seemed to resist, sticky with an unseen force, as though my own body was rejecting the idea of going in.

Yet, the traitorous part of my brain—the one that always seems to whisper the wrong things. The one to get so wrongly enticed —was telling me something else entirely.

At times I wonder maybe I suffered head trauma as a child, and no one ever told me.

Wouldn't be too far off, considering I survived an actual house fire at the age when kids were still playing 'the floor is lava.'

Yup. That must be it. My misplaced sense of thrill, the way I find allure in danger, has to be a side effect.

No one else is that bipolar. I fear the things happening around me, yet I can't deny that, in some twisted way, they intrigue me. I hate that fact about myself.

And sometimes, I wonder if that's why I've stayed silent. Because deep down, it is this fear that makes it interesting—I'm thrilled. Enticed.

But I refuse to be known as a nutcase who gets off on a haunted house setting. That is not my aesthetic.

With a sigh, I set my bag and keys on the table by the door.

The house was drowning in silence and shadow, save for the silver glow of moonlight filtering through the glass walls at the back.

The darkness was both unsettling and oddly comforting. After all, if I couldn't see what moved in the shadows, then technically, it wasn't there… right?

I flipped the light switch in the foyer. The sudden glow pushed back the void immediately around me, but only made the rest of the house seem more swallowed in darkness, an abyss stretching just beyond my reach.

As I bent down to take off my shoes—like the cultured grown woman I am—my eyes caught something. A flicker of movement against the glass.

A shadow. A tall one.

My breath hitched, my heart slamming against my ribs as the worst possibilities flooded my mind. But as the shape came into focus, my panic ebbed slightly.

Jake.

Oh, thank god he was home. I guess my prayers weren't ignored after all.

A smile tugged at my lips as I left my shoes on and walked further inside.

"Hey, when did you get back?" I called, my voice bouncing off the eerie silence.

He was standing near the back doors, facing away from me, looking out onto the back patio.

My stomach twisted slightly at the thought—what if he was staring at another sea of roses blooming on the patio?

Please, no. Not again.

"Why's it so dark in here? You being frugal on the electricity bill, Uncle Jake?" I joked, hoping to lighten the mood—maybe even distract him if there was indeed another unwelcome floral delivery made.

Though it would have to be the size of the truck to distract him from that scene. 

But he didn't answer.

Instead, he opened the glass door and stepped outside.

I stopped mid-step, watching as the moonlight swallowed him whole. His movements were eerily smooth, almost too fluid, as if he was gliding rather than walking.

"Wait, Jake—where are you going?" I called after him, an uneasy knot forming in my chest as I hurried toward the doors.