Page 73 of If I Stopped Haunting You

“Stop thinking of this as an idea, or something we must do. It’s inspiration.”

“Inspiration? More likenightmares. This is—”

Turning her toward him, he leaned down, searching those pale eyes. “Do you write horror?”

She stared blankly back. Her mouth opened and closed, eyes narrowing. “Well, yes—”

“Then where are we?” he demanded, motioning to the space.

“In a hall?”

“More specifically?”

“I feel like I’m back in school,” she muttered, swiveling toward the west wing. “We’re in a hall in a castle,” she said, several emotions flitting over her features.

“Ahauntedcastle,” Neil corrected as he motioned to the spacearound them, letting go of her shoulders. “We came on this retreat for two reasons, right?” He held up a finger. “First, to get away from the world and focus on writing. And second, to get inspired by our surroundings.”

He thought of the woman in the window, of the way half her body was decaying, the raspy tone of her voice when she’d whispered to him in the study. He fought a shiver, keeping his eyes trained on Penelope. He could do this—theycould do this.

For the sake of writing.

And the people downstairs.

“I know it’s scary—literally scary, but you need to get out of your comfort zone. The best stories have a bit of truth behind them, and what’s better for a horror writer than to find themselves in some danger?”

Penelope rocked on her heels, her whole body tensing in front of him. “Can we please just get this show on the road?”

Biting back a smile, Neil rolled up his sleeves and took a step away, gently nudging her forward.

“What do you see?” he asked, eyes locked on the space ahead. He wrapped his hands loosely around her shoulders from behind, and she flinched before settling beneath the weight of them.

“I see…” She trailed off, her head moving slightly as she took it all in. She breathed in deeply before releasing a shuddering exhale. “Blackened walls, as if a fire reached its way through this side of the castle and swallowed it whole.”

“Keep going.”

She cleared her throat, and he waited. Standing there like this, she fit into the grooves of him. He couldn’t help but think of the kiss in the mudroom, of the path her hips made in the study when his hands had traced her every curve before dipping down between her legs, the sounds that she’d made as they ground against one another.

“Is this turning you on?” she asked.

Neil coughed, reaching down to adjust himself. “Just continue.”

“This side of the house has been abandoned,” she went on in a whisper. “The wallpaper has been torn from the walls, leaving behind dust and residue. The sconces are falling off.” As she said this, the light in the dark space seemed to dim even further. “It is so dark that I can hardly see,” she said a little quicker. “The cracks in the walls seem to grow, stretching farther and farther, a maw opening wide.”

He felt a slight pang of jealousy at Penelope’s ability to paint an image. How she wasn’t a bestselling author was anyone’s guess.

“Now close your eyes,” he urged in her ear.

“No, thank you.”

“Only for a moment.” He cupped his hands in front of her face. Neil waited for a beat and then asked, “What do you hear?” He shivered at the thought, eyes flicking around the space. There was nothing and no one; just the two of them.

For now.

“Nothing,” she said. “I hear nothing.”

“Come on, what else?”

“Everything is too still, too quiet. I could hear a pin drop, a squeak of the floorboard.” She tilted her head ever so slightly, a lock of hair falling from behind her ear where she’d tucked it. “The silence of a graveyard.”