That’s where Hox took his victims. He tortured them in the basement and then fed them to some hideous beast. Some kids said there was no beast, just some starved dogs, but it amounted to the same: whomever Hox took was never seen again.
With the next step, the floor dipped. He stopped, waited for the wood to splinter and break. Every second he remained in place increased the odds that the floo, what ther wouldn’t hold but the fear of taking another step, onto an even thinner patch, kept him still.
A closed door stood to his right. He turned toward it, started to take a step, paused. The floor whined. He would walk to the door, push it and see what happened. If something
did
happen, he’d bolt out of the house as quickly as he could. If the opening of the door showed him merely another barren room, Eric would examine it. Then he’d find his way out. He would
not
look upstairs—homo coward forever or not, he was not going to climb those steps.
He reached toward the door and did not like how his hand shook and blurred in the light. The wood was moist. He pushed on it and his fingers sank into the door like they would into dough or soggy cardboard. His fingers sank deeper.
It’s got me
. The door would suck him in, absorb him, and keep him forever.
The door pushed into the next room and his fingers slipped on the surface with a wet squeak. Streaks of blood stretched back from his fingers across the door. The tips had been torn open, the nails ripped out. Blood poured over his hand and splattered on the floor between his feet.
He started to scream but silenced it after only a brief yelp; his fingers had returned to normal. His mind playing tricks on him. Or something
else
playing tricks.
Eric swallowed; his throat felt incredibly dry like he had swallowed a handful of dirt. A slight push swung the door a few inches forward before it swung back just past the door frame and then settled in place. If he kicked the door hard, it would swing wide into the other room and then swing back just as wide into this room. At least that promised easy escape.
He pushed the door open slowly until the hinge stopped yawning and the door could go no further.
Two boarded windows hung above a sink set in the middle of the kitchen counter. In front of the sink stood a woman with long, brown hair, her back to Eric.