The axe swung again, harder this time. Desperate. He wasn't trying to scare me anymore; he was trying to get in before I lit the match.
The doorframe groaned. The hinges popped. The heavy drafting table shivered.
"Lily, stay down!" I roared.
I looked at the lighter. The flame flickered in the draft coming from the hole in the door.
If I dropped this, the whole attic would go up in seconds. The fumes alone would create a fireball. We might burn. The house would definitely burn.
But if I didn't do it, the man with the axe was coming in. And he didn't look like he was in the mood to talk about grief counseling.
"Three," I counted.
Smash. The top hinge flew off, pinging against the far wall.
"Two," I said, watching the door tilt inward.
I could see his bulk now. He was huge. The suit added six inches to his height, padding him out like a tank. He shoved his shoulder against the wood, snapping the remaining wood like toothpicks.
"One."
He burst into the room, stumbling over the drafting table. He raised the axe, the black ink-blood dripping from his mask onto the floor.
I locked eyes with him.
"Burn," I whispered.
I dropped the lighter.
ns216.73.216.10da2
and then Add to home screen.