Free The Demon's Grave by E.M. MacCallum

ducked my head to see the tops of the coniferous trees as they whizzed by. The orange sunlight made them appear to be glowing. The sun wouldn’t be around much longer, which wouldn’t give us a lot of time to set up.
    The car was slowing to a crawl and it was Phoebe’s sharp intake of breath that snapped my gaze forward.
    We had finally arrived at our destination and I could see it . I wasn’t sure if I even liked it .
    “Whoa,” Read said from the back.
    “I never expected this,” Phoebe whispered to me.
    Neither did I.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    “Wooooow.” Robin’s breath warmed the back of my neck.
    Slumping in my seat, I realized my mouth was hanging open and clamped my jaw shut with a snap. We’re spending the night here?
    It was a Victorian-style house. The sun bleached brick siding was pitted with scars and scratches. A wooden front porch had faded to a sickly grey and tilted to the right. There were modern shingles on most of the roof, except for the rounded tower that was suctioned to the side. My eyes were drawn to the tower immediately. The roof bowed at a harsh angle and was littered with rotten shingles and last year’s dead leaves. The tower hovered several feet over the new roof, looking like something out of a children’s fairytale.
    The windows on the first floor were mostly boarded up with plywood and two by fours while the second floor’s were new and crystal-smooth, reflecting the orange sun.
    Rank, bare vines entwined the porch railing and clawed its way up the side of the chipped bricks, claiming the house as its own.
    A draft chilled my right arm and I realized Phoebe had stepped out of the car without me noticing.
    Aidan and I were the only ones left in the vehicle. “I know it doesn’t look like much,” he said, “but we’ve been trying to make little improvements over the years.”
    I tried to smile at him, avoiding his haunting eyes and crawled out the passenger’s side.
    Trailing behind the group, we stared up at the monstrous house, inching our way closer.
    A cracked picket fence attempted to secure a front yard, yet it was overgrown with weeds and bushes.
    “Have you been inside?” Phoebe asked Aidan. They were in the lead and the first to touch the splintering porch railing.
    Aidan nodded and explained about the improvements he and his dad had done lately. “I used to live out here during the summers with my grandpa when I was a kid.” He said.
    “Aw,” Phoebe grinned, “a Leland boy at heart.”
    Aidan didn’t return the smile and wiggled the rickety railing instead. “You could say that. Always wanted to come back, maybe even live here one day.”
    Read sauntered up behind them. “That part looks the worst though,” he motioned with his beer bottle to the tower section of the house.
    Tilting his chin up, Aidan squinted through the twilight. “Yeah, that part was off limits. Grandpa used to go up there sometimes, but I was never allowed.”
    Robin latched onto Cody’s arm and asked. “Is it dangerous inside? Like could we fall through the floor?”
    As if it had been staged, a wooden shingle from the tower scraped off the roof and landed a few feet from Phoebe and Aidan. Dried dirt sprayed up on impact.
    Dirt? With the overgrown grass I didn’t expect to hear it make a sound. Edging inside the gate, I hopped up on my tippy-toes to see paled dirt around the tower section. Not a single plant grew; no grass, shrubs or weeds, just dirt spanning a foot from the brick.
    Robin let out a breath, puffing her cheeks and looking at the rest of us wide-eyed as if to ask, really?
    Peering over her shoulder, Phoebe raised eyebrow. “Scared, Robin?”
    Robin bit down on her glossy lip and straightened her posture. “No, of course not.” I was close enough to see her fingernails dig into Cody’s arm. His tired eyes winced, but otherwise remained uninterested.
    I couldn’t blame Robin. My insides felt like mashed potatoes but if I showed any anxiety Phoebe would spend the rest of