Page 56 of The Unknown

Ronan pauses on the threshold, rubbing his jaw, like he’s debating whether to enter or not. He looks around, checking to see if anyone is watching, unaware that I am. Ducked behind the curtains, peering through them as Ronan makes his choice and slips into Susie’s cottage.

As the door closes behind him, my chest begins to tighten with hurt, anger, and disappointment.

That bastard.

No, I take that back.

That bitch.

Because I know exactly what Susie’s trying to do. She’s already admitted she’s jealous of me. By seducing the director, she thinks she can also steal the role of Daisy. I think about what Violet would do right now.Probably stomp across the green and pound on Susie’s door, ready to fight for the part that is already hers. The part she earned.

I don’t, because I’m not Violet. I haven’t earned anything yet, as this morning’s rehearsal showed. Yes, there was that moment in which everything meshed, and it was magical. But a single moment doesn’t make an entire performance. For all I know, it was a fluke.

As for thinking Ronan might have feelings for me, well, that was just stupid. I’m sure Susie said he was smitten just to toy with me, and it worked. Now I only feel foolish. Going to Susie’s cottage and confronting them both won’t change that. Likely, it will make it worse.

Instead, I climb into bed and try not to think about what they’re doing this very minute.

And if I’ll still have this job once Loretta returns.

Ifshe returns.

When the scratching starts up, I first assume it’s all in my head. Nothing but jagged thoughts clawing at my brain. As it continues, though, I realize it’s the same noise I heard last night. This time, I hope it is rats, here to eat my eyes. I’d rather that happen than face Ronan and Susie in the morning.

At some point, I fall asleep, crashing from a strange combo of anger and embarrassment. I remain out like a light until, at some point in the night, I’m startled awake by a strange sound echoing through the cottage.

Not scratching.

Something new.

A loud, emphaticthwump.

It sounds again and I sit up in bed. That is not a rat. Or bat. Or squirrel or raccoon or any other animal, save for maybe a bear, and I’d definitely notice if one of those was in the cottage.

Thwump.

There it is again.

Thwump.

And again.

It’s an unusual noise. Stronger than a knock or a rap, but not as forceful as a thud. Like a sack of laundry hitting the floor. Similar to the scratching, it’s impossible to place.

Then it’s gone.

Minutes pass. Five. Ten. I spend them looking toward the same window I watched Ronan from. Although I can’t see the giant oak outside, the angle of the moon casts its shadow through the glass and into the cottage. The silhouettes of spindly branches stretch across the wall, punctuated by dark, dense clusters of foliage.

Although merely shadows, they so resemble the real thing that, for a moment, I think they’re the source of the scratching. That, at night, the branches slip through cracks in the windows and doors, scraping the insides of the cottage like it’s a pumpkin at Halloween.

But then the shadows on the wall seem to separate, one peeling off from the rest. I watch, wide-eyed, as it morphs into another shape entirely.

A human one.

Although the shadow is ill-defined, I can make out the curves of slouched shoulders, a head, and long, straight hair from which smaller shadows fall. Tiny flecks of darkness that drip like water.

Because itiswater.

And the person outside is—