Little Miss Artist

Chapter 20: Headless Chickenman?

A R I A

I stare at the pictures, hating myself for not being able to tear my gaze away. When I looked around earlier for any other presence that wasn't Miles, I found none. I was both relieved and angry. How could someone disappear so quickly? It's ridiculous.

The photographs bring back terrible flashes of memories of that dreadful day. I can never escape those memories, they'll always be there in the back of my mind to haunt me for the rest of my life. I almost throw up. The lights flicker multiple times, and I worry they'll go out again. I don't need that right now.

Miles peers over my shoulder to get a good look at the images. I turn my face slightly so I can see his expression, and it's just what I expected: confused and a bit frightened.

"Miles," I say, goosebumps covering my skin. "We have to get out of here."

"Yeah, no shit. There's no way I'm staying down here after what just happened—which I'm still confused about, by the way." He snorts and turns his focus back onto the photos again. "Are those pictures of a crime scene? See, this is why I don't like basements. Weird shit goes on down here. I read online somewhere that one guy got his eyebrows ripped off by a dude with a chicken's head in a basement. I really didn't think the Headless Chickenman existed."

I have to roll my eyes at this. His imagination is quite . . . interesting. I mean, seriously? Headless Chickenman? And where the heck would he have heard something like that? Miles really must be drowning in fake news. But, I have to admit, that wild imagination of his is kind of cute. Especially whenever he was scared shitless, it brought down that whole bad boy persona.

"Yeah, these are pictures of a crime scene. More specifically, the photos of my parents' crime scene." I answer flatly and take a deep breath, trying to ignore the lump in my throat.

Miles' brows knit together as he looks at me. "That's so messed up."

I sigh, fighting back tears. "Life's messed up."

"Shortcake? Are you okay?" He asks carefully.

What a dumb question. I just saw what I never wanted to see again.

"I'm fine," I say, my voice cracking. I pray Miles doesn't notice.

But, much to my disappointment, he does. "It's okay to not be okay, you know."

Stop being sweet when we both know you'll pull a mean prank on me the second we get out of here.

"Yeah, I probably will." He says.

Wait, what?

"Shit, did I say that out loud?"

Miles chuckles. "Yup. You most definitely did."

Lovely.

I look back at the photos, my breath hitching. Miles looks like he's about to barf. I hope it's on his shoes, and not me.

"Is this the same person who wrote that note?" He asks.

I shrug. "It might be."

What I really want to know is why they're after me now. It's been three years! After hiding in the dark for so long, and getting away with it, why now?

"Maybe they left something else. Search the other side." Miles orders, strolling to inspect an old couch.

I do as I'm told, my eyes scanning the pool table. I don't find anything, so I crouch down and look under it.

Aha!

I reach for the piece of cloth and identify the material. It's cotton, and the colour of it is a deep red. When I slip out from under the table, my head hits the roof of it. I wince and silently curse the pool table.