This chapter written by Watty Award-winning author, Joanne Weaver.

"Who's out there?" Austen called through the locked door.

Anger outbid any fear he might have had about the culprit responsible. It was probably a bunch of kids messing with them. Doubt crept in. A bunch of kids with a key? Ear pressed to the panel, he listened, expecting to hear retreating footsteps and mischievous laughter. But the hallway remained deathly silent.

"It could've been the wind, right?" said Tiffany.

"Possible, I guess. Old buildings are full of draughts. The lock might be faulty."

"Here, let me try." She nudged him aside and rattled the handle, calmly at first then with more force, but it wouldn't budge.

Austen peered around the shadowy room, hoping to find something he could use to unjam the door. The Preservation Society had attempted a restoration on the park a few years ago, but it didn't look like they'd left any tools. Not in this part of the hotel, anyway. In fact, the room in which they were trapped hadn't been touched in at least a couple of decades. A broken chair, crispy leaves, and a few bundles of festering linen were all that occupied the space.

"Rhea was in here, I swear it." He rubbed his hand over his face and went to the boarded up window. "Why did she scream like that?"

"Maybe she saw a spider. Or a ghost."

"You're not helping."

"Do you think it's true what they say about this place?"

"Don't say it," he warned.

He didn't want to consider that right now - the history and the rumours. Given the chance, his mom would talk for hours about Cliff Castle Park's chequered past and the notorious bumps in the night. Paranormal enthusiasts and thrill seeking teens were regular after-dark visitors, but he never gave the rumours much credence. Right now, all he wanted to focus on was finding Rhea and Ciggaro so they could all go home. Fingers of light reached through the planks covering the window, picking out the disturbed dust that floated in the air, and a humid breeze tugged his hair. He tested a board, finding it rotten from years of exposure to the weather.

"Give me a hand with these boards," he said. "If the door won't open, we'll have to climb out."

"Are you serious? We'll break our necks climbing down there."

He jiggled a board loose, and the nails gave up their hold, sliding out like the roots of a decayed tooth. "Do you have a better idea?" He broke off another plank and tossed it to the floor.

"Sure. You can smash a hole in the door."

"Hey, I'm not smashing anything. It's risky enough just being here. Trespassing is a crime. You should know that, seeing as your dad's a cop. And now you want to add vandalism to the list?"

"Hey," she bit back. "I don't plan on spending the night here. So if you have to do a little criminal damage to get us out, that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make."

"Me? Do it yourself."

He ripped the last board from the frame and natural light sneaked into the room, but it did little to warm the atmosphere. Outside, Lake Ontario lost its sparkle beneath a heavy storm cloud, and the waters grew murky and choppy with the impending weather. Thankfully, the hotel sat back from the cliff edge, bordered by a wide verge of grass and shrubbery. Austen spotted the point on the bluff where Tiffany has shoved him in the back. She moved close to peer outside, and the dark sky opened, fat rain pelting the ground.

"Great," she muttered, tossing her hands in the air. "I guess the party's cancelled."

"Party?"

"Pool party tonight while Dad works the night shift. Sorry, I guess I forgot to send you an invite. I'll have to message everyone." She took out her mobile and tapped the screen.

Pool party? How could she even think about a pool party right now? Seriously, he'd never understand her. Rhea was missing, they were locked in a derelict building, and she was worried about her summer party being a wash out.

Tiffany frowned. "That's weird. No signal."

"Would you forget about your dumb party," he said, exhaling loudly. "My sister is missing, or did you forget about her?"

"Forget? Are you calling me selfish or something?" Anger flashed in her brown eyes and she stepped up to him. "I want to find her as much as you do."

"Really?"

"Yeah!" She propped her fists on her hips.

Perhaps he'd judged her too quickly, but that didn't mean she could square up to him, provoking him like she had in the past. They weren't little kids anymore. In fact, standing face to face forced her to tilt her head to glare up at him. It was a hollow victory.

"Well, good," he said and looked away.

That was when he noticed the footprints. In a wide patch of light from the window, foot prints were visible on the dust-coated floorboards. Four sets. His running shoes and Tiffany's flip flops mingled with Ciggaro's paw prints and what had to be Rhea's little size tens. Their shoe marks cut across the room to where they stood, while Rhea's and Ciggaro's wound to the far wall, behind the splintered chair.

"They were here. Look." He followed the trail which stopped dead in the empty corner. "I don't get it. Where did they go? Rhea! Ciggaro!"

No answer. The whole building was silent, except for the steady drone of the rain.

And a horrible, deep groan beside him.

Austen's heart lurched in time to the widening of Tiffany's eyes and they bolted to the door, colliding with each other. Together, they stared at the corner, the source of the sound, and watched a wall panel open on groaning hinges. For a long moment, they took in the sight of the dark and empty opening, waiting for someone or something to emerge. But all that crept out was cold, stale air. Tiffany rubbed her bare arms.

Austen bolstered his courage and went over to peer inside the cavity, expecting to find a cupboard space. The entrance had been concealed at some point, covered with the floral paper that now peeled away from the mildewed walls. But someone had scored around the opening, breaking the wallpaper to reveal the door. And it was no cupboard. A passageway led off into pitch black, making it difficult to tell if anyone was in there.

"What is this?" Tiffany leaned around his shoulder.

"Probably an old passage used by servants. This place was a manor house before they turned it into a hotel. It was owned by some rich aristocrat. I could tell you a few stories, but-" he trailed off, listening to the breeze echo up the passageway.

For a second he thought he heard a distant bark. "Man, I can't believe her. Rhea! If you're hiding you'd better come out right now. This isn't a game!"

"She really went in there?"

"Looks that way. I hope you're not afraid of the dark."

She raised her eyebrows. "If there's anyone else here, they'd better be scared of me. Oh, you think that's funny? Trust me. Human, beast or supernatural freak, I'll kick their butt."

"Sure you will. Let's go get her. Come on. And mind your step. I don't know how safe these floorboards are."

He entered the passage, treading softly, and groped his way along the brickwork.

"Hold on," whispered Tiffany.

A second later, the light from her mobile cast a meagre glow around the walls. The tunnel reminded him of the video game, Zombie Slingers. In one level, all he possessed was a flashlight, a gun, and his skills. Zombies came lurching out of the darkness ahead, moaning, with putrefied flesh hanging from their outstretched arms. It was one of his favourite games. At least, it used to be. Now, he wished he hadn't thought of it.

"Where does it go?" asked Tiffany.

"I don't know. Watch out, there's a staircase."

Steps descended into a black void, and Austen's pulse beat heavily in his throat. What if Rhea had slipped? What if her scream had come from these steps? And Ciggaro, what if he'd fallen too? Scenarios flashed through his mind and a fresh surge of anxiety gripped his insides.

"Austen," murmured Tiffany. She'd stopped at the top of the steps. "I have a bad feeling."

Her words turned his stomach.

"You want to wait back up there?" he asked.

"No."

"Come on," he said, and her hand found his in the darkness.

He led the way down, barely able to see ahead of each creaking step. It amazed him that Tiffany took his hand. Beneath her tough exterior she was human after all. There was no shame in being scared, especially in a place like this. Someone once said a crisis brings people closer, well, perhaps it was time to forgive and forget the past. She squeezed his fingers lightly and he smiled nervously.

"Hey, your hands are freezing," he whispered. "I'd lend you my sweater, but I left it at home."

The makeshift flashlight seemed to get dimmer, and he glanced behind to find Tiffany and the glowing mobile lagging behind by about ten steps.

"Wait up," she called.

Shock tore through his body and he slammed his back against the wall, crying out and shaking his hand free of the cold fingers. Tiffany rushed to his side, light illuminating the deserted space around them.

"What is it?" Her voice was shrill with panic.

"Someone was holding my hand!" he panted. "I thought it was you."

"Are you sure?"

Something brushed his elbow and he yelled again.

"Relax, it's just me," said Tiffany. Her breathing shook and she swallowed loudly. "I said I had a bad feeling about this."

They stood close in the semi-darkness, trying to steady their nerves.

"I'm not leaving without Rhea," he said.

"Okay. Let's stick together. I can see the bottom step."

When they arrived at the foot of the stairs, they found themselves in a room that stretched beyond the reaches of the mobile screen light. They moved the phone together, slowly skimming shadowy lumps.

Then Tiffany clutched his arm and drew a sharp breath. "What was that?"

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