You can read the first part here.
The first floor had a living room with furniture covered in sheets, the perfect hiding place if Cora had been ten years younger. When Tom pulled open the heavy dark green drapes covering the large front window that overlooked the front lawn of weeds and overgrown grass, dust particles swarmed in the air for several seconds, causing the family to erupt in fits of coughing.
Marcy glared at her husband as she fanned the air in front of her face. “It smells like something died in here.”
Tom chuckled. “Probably just mice…or rats…maybe something larger.”
“Something larger?” Marcy glanced toward the front door after her eyes shifted about the room.
“We’ll call an exterminator. Pest removal. It’s not the end of the world, darlin’.”
Cora rolled her eyes and walked over to the winding staircase. Spilling out into the front entrance, the wooden balustrade ended with the head of a lion with its mouth open, its canine teeth like vampiric fangs. She brought a finger tip to one of the teeth and smiled, marvelling at the decor. Cora swung her head upward to gaze upon a chandelier hanging from the second storey ceiling. In another time, it would have been beautiful with its thousands of crystal prisms, each an icicle reflecting the artificial light. She tried the light switch. Nothing.
With no interest in exploring the first floor with her annoying parents, Cora took the first step. The wood shifted and moaned. With every step, she kept her left hand on the smooth surface of the rail, a security her subconscious desired. When Cora reached the second floor, she glanced down the steps from the balcony. The drop was at least fifteen feet — the perfect place for the desperate degenerate to end it all.
The hallway afforded little light, even in the middle of a sunny afternoon. When Cora flicked the switch, she was awarded with the faint buzz of the old bulbs in the cobweb-laden sconces lining the walls. Even then, only about half of the sconces worked, their lights flickering, as if protesting having to do the work of illuminating a stale corridor.
“So the electricity isn’t completely out in this oversized shack,” Cora murmured.
As she walked down the hall, her right hand trailed along the raised contours of the wallpaper — some hideous floral design from at least eighty years earlier. She stopped when she arrived at the first door. An easy turn of the tea house doorknob revealed a stagnant room filled with crates. Cora’s nose wrinkled at the mustiness as she clicked the door shut. That room would definitely not be hers. A vision of peering into an off-limits room at the funeral parlor when she was eight surfaced — boxes of bodies.
She tried the next door and discovered the bathroom, which could be rendered charming if cleaned and restored. A claw foot bathtub sat opposite the door in the oblong room with black and white tiles on the floor. A pull chain toilet and a pedestal sink covered the wall to the right, both ringed with grime.
Cora left the bathroom door open and proceeded farther down the hall. She found her room — plenty of space for her bed and dressers. No leftovers from previous owners and two large windows that let in light. She could watch the sunset.
Every footstep reverberated across the floorboards and up the walls in Cora’s new bedroom. Clomp. Clomp. Clomp. Cora stomped on the floor with her sneaker three times just to hear the sound again. After the echo faded, in the silence of this closed up house, she heard it…
Clomp. Clomp. Clomp.
Barely there, like an imprint. A faded picture. A vague memory.
Cora’s heart skipped a beat and then sped up.
She shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “Don’t be stupid.”
Yet she dared not stomp her foot again.