LIZZIE
This is not exactly how I pictured my Friday night to be. Instead of wine and Netflix with Hope, I'm shoulder-deep inside the wall of an ancient, crusty house—probably sharing space with generations of spider colonies and God-knows-what feral creature that's been sealed in here since the dark ages.
Any minute now, I fully expect some starved rat of ages past to spring out and clamp onto my fucking arm in a fit of rage, driven half-insane by years of surviving on dust.
My flashlight is gripped tight as I contort myself to peer inside a huge hole in this room. There's weirdly enough space for my body—if I manage to squeeze through.
As soon as I heard the front door slam behind me, I ducked into a corner. But a few minutes later, I heard no approaching footsteps. Instead, my eyes catch a glimpse of something interesting. I inspect the damage. It's not a massive hole—but what amazes me cold is the gap between the walls. At least three, maybe four feet wide.
