Hudson House [Now available for the Kindle]

Chapter 10

His brother was only joking. He was mean, sometimes cruelly so, but he wouldn't force his little brother down into the basement of this place. That would be beyond cruel.

"You waiting for an invitation, Bro?"

"I can't," Eric said.

"It's no big deal," Steve said in a you're-screwed-now voice. "This is how we get in when we can't get in the front."

He had to be joking. Steve and his buddies might drop through a basement window but what girl would do that? Were women so stupid? Why would anyone enter this way when the front door was open? Even if people were watching (and someone was always watching, at least that's what they claimed in school), no one ever complained or called the police.

"Sometimes," Steve said in a serpent hiss, "the front door is a real bitch and it won't open. We come around to this window like backdoor men." He laughed and slapped Tori's butt. She did not sound amused.

Steve didn't need an excuse to torment his younger brother-he had earned that right by birth-so there was no reason for the explanation, which meant it was the truth. If the front door of the house sometimes wouldn't open that meant that the house controlled who entered and who didn't. Sometimes the house didn't want Steve inside it, so, of course, he and his friends broke in through an uncovered window. Eric had entered easily, meaning the house had wanted him. Hell, it had practically rolled out the red carpet.

"You said you never wanted to come back here," Eric said so quickly he barely realized he was thinking it.

Steve paused. His face flattened with the fear Eric had seen outside the funeral home. "I was messing with you," he said. He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

A cinder block sat off to the side. They probably used it to block the window, prevent suspicion if the police ever came looking. He imagined the rock sliding into place over the hole of a window after he had fallen through, sealing a tomb.

"Please," Eric begged. "I can't go down there."

Steve laughed. It reminded Eric of Tommy's laugh. The same amused nastiness rolled out of both of them when they had control. The grass scratched his face and stank of rotten eggs. The darkness weighed on him and his brother weighed even heavier, bearing down, forcing him to fight, run, or surrender. He could not fight his brother; that would lead to endless punishment, possible injury, and definite humiliation. Running was always an option so long as he got an unexpected head start and, in this situation, Tori prevented a chase. Women were usually good supporters of the weak. Eric's mother had been the protector, his father merely the disciplinarian. He desperately wanted his mother now. Stuck between two choices leads to the final option: surrender. Fighting or running eventually comes back to surrender. Eric could not defeat Steve or run from him forever-one day, maybe, not today-and Steve never hesitated to sneak into Eric's room at night to execute punishment.

Steve grabbed the back of Eric's coat and pushed him toward the open window. Eric dug his fingers into the ground, which slowed the momentum until Eric's fingers twisted and one of them snapped awkwardly, painfully. The grass parted for him and the window loomed large.

"Steve, stop," Tori said behind him somewhere. She might have been yanking on Steve's coat or pulling back on his arm but Eric saw only the widening window of perfect blackness. He would drop through that window head first and crash into the black hole of Hudson House's basement. He'd fall forever, a ceaseless hell of eternal descent. If he stopped falling, he'd break his neck on a piece of moldy furniture-or maybe get impaled on some rusted garden tool. The woman would come down to visit. She might be waiting for him now with a mouthful of hungry teeth. The monster of fur and teeth was down there, too, waiting to pounce.