Free Abandon by Blake Crouch

just wait down here.”
    Lawrence helped Abigail and June onto their feet, and soon they were all moving down the second-floor corridor, testing with each step the fidelity of the floor. At last, Lawrence stopped at a closed door with a tarnished number 6 hanging upside down from a rusty nail.

 
     
     
FOURTEEN
     
     
     
     

     
T
he five of them filed in, their headlamps making swaths of light across the room, showing where the gingham wallpaper had peeled so thoroughly from the walls, it resembled the curling bark of aspen trees. Aside from the broken bedposts and an upturned writing desk, the furniture had been well preserved. Water had damaged the ceiling and the south wall, and picture frames lay on the floor, their canvases gone or destroyed.
    On the door frame, Abigail’s headlamp fell upon some tiny scrawl that she wrote off as graffiti:
Something awful happening.
    “Honey, can you get over the heaviness?” Emmett said.
    “I know. It’s much colder in here. Room’s really sagging.”
    “Why are certain places paranormal hot spots?” Abigail whispered.
    “Usually because of intense, unresolved emotion,” Emmett said.
    June had wandered over to an enormous wardrobe, which she opened. Inside hung petticoats and evening gowns, so eaten by time, they’d have evaporated in a gust of wind.
    In a corner near the bed, Abigail gazed at a collection of porcelain figurines on top of a bureau, wondering how they’d remained untouched all these years. Beside them, facedown, lay a small frame, its picture gone.
    Lawrence came up behind her, whispered, “Do
you
feel anything in here?”
    “Loads of bullshit.”
    They turned and watched June approach the bay window, where, remarkably, only one pane of glass had been busted out. A divan stood in utter disintegration in the alcove.
    “She’d sit here,” June said quietly, as if to herself, “watching the world go by without her.” She crumpled down on the floor and rested her head between her knees. After awhile, she rose into child’s pose and bowed her head.
    Abigail muttered “Jesus Christ” under her breath.
    Emmett walked over to Abigail and Lawrence. “You really don’t know anything about the history of this room? Even the smallest detail might help.”
    Lawrence shook his head. “I’m sorry. I know a lot about Abandon, but there are gaps.”
    “Why don’t you two go ahead and turn off your lights. I’m gonna take some photos.” They all turned off their headlamps. The room went dark, Emmett just a shadow now, quiet save for the floor creaking beneath his footfalls, the clicking of his camera, and the deep rhythmic breaths June emitted as she knelt motionless before the bay window. Abigail’s eyes had just begun to adjust to the darkness when Emmett finished.
    “I can’t wait to process this film,” he whispered. “I think I got something.”
    “What kind of camera are you using?” Abigail asked. “I’ll need to get all the technical information right for my article.”
    “This is a Minolta X-700. Only reason I use the older stuff is because it doesn’t have all the electronic hardware, so it doesn’t fool with the film. Infrared is so sensitive, you can’t even shoot it in most of the newer cameras.”
    “Now, what exactly is infrared? It keys off hot and cold, right?”
    “No, infrared is just outside the visible spectrum of light, so our eyes can’t see it.”
    “She hears a church bell,” June whispered. “She watches them all move past, but she won’t leave.”
    “Any special lens?”
    “This is a twenty-eight–seventy. Sometimes, I’ll use a fifty-millimeter, depending on the conditions. Here, take a look.” He lifted the strap over his neck and handed the camera to Abigail. She brought the viewfinder up to her left eye.
    “I can’t see anything.”
    “Lawrence, turn on your flashlight.” Lawrence flicked it on. “Cool, it’s red,” she said.
    “Yeah, that’s the number twenty-five filter.”
    June got up