Chapter 3 - The Green Journal
Arthur didn't run. He didn't shout.
He simply reached inside his coat pocket, pulled out a small black object, and clicked a button. A sharp, heavy deadbolt clicked shut at the bottom of the attic stairs—an electronic remote lock installed on the heavy oak door below.
"I know you're up here," Arthur said, turning slowly in a circle, his hands resting casually in his coat pockets. "The footprints are fresh. Size six or seven. Female. Probably teenagers from the neighborhood who think this place is a haunted house."
He took three slow steps toward the chimney stack.
"You should know," Arthur continued, his tone conversational, as if he were giving a lecture at a university, "that this house is monitored by private security. In four minutes, three men will enter through the cellar. They are paid very well to ensure that nothing leaves this property that isn't supposed to."
Emma squeezed Lily’s hand in the dark.
Lily felt her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird. She reached down with her free hand, feeling inside her open backpack until her fingers touched the cold metal frame of her heavy vintage camera—a solid steel 1970s Canon F-1.
"If you come out now," Arthur said, stopping five feet from the brick column, "we can discuss an arrangement. Money for your silence. A very large amount of money. Enough to buy whatever college education you desire."
He took another step. His polished shoe clicked against a loose floorboard just three feet away.
"Show yourselves," Arthur commanded.
Emma acted first.
She didn't run away. She grabbed one of the yellow rolls of insulation and shoved it with both feet straight out from behind the brickwork, aiming for Arthur’s knees.
The heavy, fifty-pound roll tumbled into the open, striking Arthur across the shins. He stumbled backward with a sharp exclamation, his foot catching on the lip of an open trunk. He fell hard onto his back, his briefcase sliding across the dust toward the open cell door.
"Go!" Emma screamed.
Lily scrambled out from behind the chimney, her heavy camera swinging wildly from her neck. As she passed Arthur, he reached out with a long arm, his fingers snapping around the strap of her backpack, dragging her down to the floor.
"You little brat—" Arthur hissed, his hands clawing at her shoulder.
Lily didn't try to pull away. She swung her body around, pulled the heavy green journal from the open top of her bag, and slammed the thick leather corner straight into Arthur’s right eye.
Arthur shrieked, letting go of her bag as he clutched his face, blood welling between his fingers.
Lily scrambled to her feet. Emma grabbed her arm, and together they sprinted toward the attic stairs.
They hit the heavy oak door at the bottom of the landing.
Emma grabbed the brass handle and pulled.
It was solid. Locked from the outside by the remote deadbolt.
"The window!" Lily yelled, pointing back toward the dormer windows at the far end of the attic. "The roof line!"
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Behind them, Arthur was already pushing himself up from the floor, his face smeared with red, his eyes wild with a sudden, murderous rage.
"You're not leaving!" he roared, reaching into his coat for a small silver revolver. "Do you hear me? You're not leaving this house!"
