Phobic by Cortney Pearson

that plummeted are back on their shelves, but I want to dislodge them again. I want to tear the paper off the walls, to break something. No matter what I break, the house will just fix it anyway.
    I don’t get what the big deal is. Joel has
got
to know more than he’s letting on. There was a definite voice in the basement. And
blood
. I don’t get what he thinks he’s hiding, but I’m sick of being left out of it. I lift my hand and cringe at the filmy gunk on it. This is my house, too. I shouldn’t be held captive from places in my own home.
    I can’t help but think of Todd, wonder what he’s thinking right now, or what he
thinks
happened. Maybe the reason I keep avoiding his questions is because I don’t fully know the answers to them myself. The thought irks me even more.
    Joel’s footsteps thump down the hallway, and I nearly swallow my lungs. He better not come in here. His door makes a soft slam, and the sound only triggers my nerves.
    I’m done dealing with him. I’m done obeying some stupid rules and not knowing why. I went in the basement and came out alright—for the most part. There’s probably nothing behind the door in the library either. Nothing besides a staircase to the ceiling, anyway.
    I’ve got to find out for myself. I’m opening that door in the library. Tonight.

I turn the knob of my bedroom door as carefully as I can, cringing when it clicks open. The only light in the hallway comes from a chink beneath Joel’s door and a soft gleam lingering toward the top of the stairs.
    His muted, angry voice carries through as I pass. I pause and press my ear to his door. Who could he possibly be talking too this late at night?
    “Get someone else,” Joel grumbles. “I told you—I won’t do it.”
    Maybe it’s someone from his office. Maybe there’s something in this case that he doesn’t want to do. I think back to our conversation outside earlier, before he’d chucked the shovel. For the tiniest moment I feel sorry for him, like I should cut him some slack for being so hard on me. I could turn around. Just go to bed.
    But this is about more than just an argument with my brother. The house attacking Todd tonight, just because I was upset that he’d invited kids over, and then again when he came bugging me for answers—I can’t help wondering why.
    I’ve lived here for so long among secrets, when all along the answers have been literally at my fingertips. At the mere turn of a knob.
    I can’t just go back to my room. I have to know more. And maybe I’m feeling more rebellious about the fact that Joel doesn’t seem to want me to than by our dumb argument.
    The steps are silent each time my socked feet touch them. My hand slides along the wooden banister, and the lack of noise snags my back, like little hooks are there, begging me to turn around and return to my room.
    “What’s going on?” I ask the empty house. It’s like a temperamental, fluffy pet dog with sharp teeth. Any minute it could snap, but for whatever reason, it’s still your pet. And you coddle it to keep it from turning on you.
    The lights flicker, and a cool, unnatural breeze teases my skin. I lean against the banister, waiting for the wisp of air to pass.
Go back upstairs. Just forget this
. The banister rungs jar into my back, but I take a deep breath and stare up at the glints of color reflecting through the stained glass windows above the entryway into the kitchen.
    “You know something, don’t you?”
    The house doesn’t respond this time, so I force myself down the steps, one after the other, until I stop in front of the French double doors.
    I don’t like the library. There has always been something creepy about it, even when my father was alive and worked in there all the time. And now it’s even worse because he died in there.
    I draw a slow breath and reach for the low brass handle with trembling fingers. I chance a peek up to the landing. Joel’s door is still shut.
    The cold, rickety knob whines