Claire turned onto her side, clutching the pillow tighter. They’d tossed her the barn like it was a leftover. Maybe that’s all it was. But maybe it wasn’t. The next morning, she returned with a flashlight, work gloves, and her father’s old pry bar.
The wood groaned as she stepped back into the barn, the air colder, the silence thicker. She knelt at the edge of the trap door. Wrapped her fingers around the ring. And pulled. The trap door opened with a crack and a heavy groan, like something exhaling for the first time in years.