Free Charmed by Michelle Krys

on the drywall beneath. The reception desk and the banister leading to the second floor are made of rich carved wood, and a crystal chandelier hangs crookedly from a single remaining chain over an antique carpet caked with boot prints and dust and random garbage, like the place has been used recently for squatting.
    A closet behind the receptionist’s desk beckons to me. I cross over to it and whip the door open, nearly shrieking when a pair of green eyes set in a dirty face stare out at me. I leap back from the girl in the closet.
    “Get out of here, this is my spot,” she spits, before pulling the door closed. I swallow, but my heart doesn’t move from its spot in my throat. I hadn’t expected to see another teenager in this place, let alone one in a freaking closet.
    “Get out of here!” the girl hisses between the door slats. “You’re going to get me caught.”
    I step backward, nearly tripping over a stack of yellowed phone books, then spin around. A silhouette moves past the back door. I need to hurry. I scan the lobby and spot a door with a small pane of frosted glass. I dash to it, and nearly cry with relief when it’s not locked: a set of stairs winds down into the dark basement.
    My pulse races as I step inside and let the door quietlyclick closed behind me, plunging me into darkness. I think about the girl in the closet and wonder if the basement will hold more fun surprises. I hesitate, but then a set of male voices echoes through the lobby and a bolt of fear goes through me. I want to run, but I force myself to tiptoe down the stairs.
    My feet finally hit the floor. The scent of musty cardboard and gasoline fills the chilly air. After a moment, my eyes adjust to the dark, and the silhouette of storage crates and boxes set against a brick wall comes into view. I dash over and shove aside a stack of boxes, then climb behind them. I sink to my butt and wrap my arms tightly around my drawn-up knees. My whole body shakes, but not from the cold.
    Someone screams.
    The girl’s voice is so loud it’s like she’s right in front of me instead of a whole floor up. There’s the sound of a struggle, and then, just as quickly as it began, it’s over and the eerie quiet is back.
    The girl in the closet—something awful has happened to her. And if she hadn’t been hiding there when I came in, that awful thing would have happened to me.
    The door at the top of the stairs creaks open. I slap my hand over my mouth, stilling my breath even as my heart races. A shaft of light slants onto the basement floor. I shrink into the wall, trying to make myself invisible in the dark. Boots clomp down the stairs, then across the concrete. Through the space between the boxes I see someone passby just feet from me, cracking his knuckles loudly. He stops. I hold my breath until my lungs feel like they’re going to explode. A silent tear trails down my cheek. This is it. This is how it ends.
    Then the footsteps begin to retreat.
    I don’t want to breathe, don’t trust myself to breathe until he’s clear of this room, but when his boots stomp up the stairs, my face grows so hot that my cheeks prickle with lack of oxygen, nausea overwhelming me until the need to exhale is too much. The air puffs out of my mouth in one huge rush.
    The footsteps pause.
    Shit, shit, double shit
.
    In a flash, a man’s face appears above the boxes. His mouth pulls into a grin when he sees me. The guy looks wild, feral, and ready to rip me apart with his bare hands.
    I scream.

8

    W ith one sweep of his forearm the guy shoves the heavy boxes aside and then yanks me up by my wrist.
    “Let go!” I pull and twist against his grip, but his fingers clamp my arm like a vise. I dig my heels into the floor as he marches steadily across the basement, but he doesn’t so much as glance back at the girl he’s dragging behind him.
    I drop to the ground, so it’s like my captor is a mom dragging a screaming toddler through a grocery store. He grunts and