Cutting Up The Competition (Horror High #2) by Carissa Ann Lynch Page A
Authors: Carissa Ann Lynch
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murmured.
The house was dark. I felt overwhelmed by a feeling, something inexplicable—dark and ominous.
Dakota got out behind me and Winter came around from the driver’s side. We stood in Sydney’s driveway, unsure what to do now.
“There’s a key in the back, in one of those extremely fake looking rocks,” Dakota told us. We cut through the yard and circled around to the back of the house. It was eerily quiet outside, albeit the usual songs of summer around here—a chorus of crickets and frogs.
I used my cell phone as a flash light, shining it around a neatly manicured rock garden along the back of the house. It took a few minutes, but Dakota found the one perfectly shaped rock with a painted, porous texture on it.
She held up the key and it glinted in the dark, casting an eerie streak of light across the back lawn.
Winter and I took Dakota’s lead, following her up to the back door while she unlocked it, then slipping inside. The room the door opened up into was a kitchen; I could see it barely only because of the moonlight. I waited for Dakota to locate the light switch, breathing out a sigh of relief when the kitchen light popped on.
I looked around the kitchen. There were a few dirty dishes in the sink. A week old newspaper on the table. Where the hell was Sydney?
We walked through each room on the bottom floor, seeing nothing out of the ordinary—besides the fact that everything looked unused, like no one had been here in weeks.
“Detective Simms said he saw signs of struggle. But I don’t see anything down here, do you all?” I asked, peeking in a tiny one and a half bath off the living room.
“Nope,” Winter said, staring at the twisted staircase leading upstairs.
We made our way upstairs to Sydney’s bedroom. Seeing it again, only after being here a week ago, felt strange. We’d sat on her bed and talked. She was this living, breathing person and now she had simply vanished. And wherever she was, she was more than likely missing a tongue…
Bottles of perfume, makeup, and clothes were strewn across her bedroom…although her bed was perfectly made.
“Do you think she was sitting at the dresser when someone took her?” Dakota asked, her hands shaking as she reached down to touch Sydney’s brushes and combs. “This must be where the struggle happened…”
“It almost looks that way…like someone yanked her out of her seat and knocked everything over in the process,” Winter added.
“Or maybe Sydney knocked it all over while she was fighting like hell against the piece of shit who took her,” I said angrily.
I opened her closet and dug through her drawers. Winter looked under the bed.
“She was such a neat freak,” Winter said, sifting through a stack of magazines she’d pulled out from under the bed. If I knew Sydney, they were organized according to date…
“She is a neat freak. Not was .” Dakota stared up from the floor at Winter, giving her the evil eye again.
“Sorry,” Winter muttered.
Standing in front of Sydney’s tall bureau drawer, I saw a cluster of silver and gold-framed photographs. There was a cheerleading picture of the whole team from last year, and a photograph of her with her parents. Behind those was a picture of a cute, little, old lady—the same one from Facebook I had messaged the other day—this must be Grandma Rose.
I lifted the photograph, staring at the woman in question. I wondered why she hadn’t messaged me back yet. It seemed strange. Most people check their Facebook accounts daily, but since she was old…maybe she didn’t log on regularly.
We searched the upstairs bathrooms and Sydney’s mom and dad’s bedroom. I was hoping to find an address book or a list of extra out of town contact numbers, but again I came up empty.
“Nothing. This place is so beautiful but it’s got no heart. Nothing in the drawers or cabinets, except for the bare necessities. I see why Sydney is the way she is. Her parents don’t strike me as the
The house was dark. I felt overwhelmed by a feeling, something inexplicable—dark and ominous.
Dakota got out behind me and Winter came around from the driver’s side. We stood in Sydney’s driveway, unsure what to do now.
“There’s a key in the back, in one of those extremely fake looking rocks,” Dakota told us. We cut through the yard and circled around to the back of the house. It was eerily quiet outside, albeit the usual songs of summer around here—a chorus of crickets and frogs.
I used my cell phone as a flash light, shining it around a neatly manicured rock garden along the back of the house. It took a few minutes, but Dakota found the one perfectly shaped rock with a painted, porous texture on it.
She held up the key and it glinted in the dark, casting an eerie streak of light across the back lawn.
Winter and I took Dakota’s lead, following her up to the back door while she unlocked it, then slipping inside. The room the door opened up into was a kitchen; I could see it barely only because of the moonlight. I waited for Dakota to locate the light switch, breathing out a sigh of relief when the kitchen light popped on.
I looked around the kitchen. There were a few dirty dishes in the sink. A week old newspaper on the table. Where the hell was Sydney?
We walked through each room on the bottom floor, seeing nothing out of the ordinary—besides the fact that everything looked unused, like no one had been here in weeks.
“Detective Simms said he saw signs of struggle. But I don’t see anything down here, do you all?” I asked, peeking in a tiny one and a half bath off the living room.
“Nope,” Winter said, staring at the twisted staircase leading upstairs.
We made our way upstairs to Sydney’s bedroom. Seeing it again, only after being here a week ago, felt strange. We’d sat on her bed and talked. She was this living, breathing person and now she had simply vanished. And wherever she was, she was more than likely missing a tongue…
Bottles of perfume, makeup, and clothes were strewn across her bedroom…although her bed was perfectly made.
“Do you think she was sitting at the dresser when someone took her?” Dakota asked, her hands shaking as she reached down to touch Sydney’s brushes and combs. “This must be where the struggle happened…”
“It almost looks that way…like someone yanked her out of her seat and knocked everything over in the process,” Winter added.
“Or maybe Sydney knocked it all over while she was fighting like hell against the piece of shit who took her,” I said angrily.
I opened her closet and dug through her drawers. Winter looked under the bed.
“She was such a neat freak,” Winter said, sifting through a stack of magazines she’d pulled out from under the bed. If I knew Sydney, they were organized according to date…
“She is a neat freak. Not was .” Dakota stared up from the floor at Winter, giving her the evil eye again.
“Sorry,” Winter muttered.
Standing in front of Sydney’s tall bureau drawer, I saw a cluster of silver and gold-framed photographs. There was a cheerleading picture of the whole team from last year, and a photograph of her with her parents. Behind those was a picture of a cute, little, old lady—the same one from Facebook I had messaged the other day—this must be Grandma Rose.
I lifted the photograph, staring at the woman in question. I wondered why she hadn’t messaged me back yet. It seemed strange. Most people check their Facebook accounts daily, but since she was old…maybe she didn’t log on regularly.
We searched the upstairs bathrooms and Sydney’s mom and dad’s bedroom. I was hoping to find an address book or a list of extra out of town contact numbers, but again I came up empty.
“Nothing. This place is so beautiful but it’s got no heart. Nothing in the drawers or cabinets, except for the bare necessities. I see why Sydney is the way she is. Her parents don’t strike me as the
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