Chapter 12 - The Swing of the Hammer
The heavy sledgehammer felt like dead weight in Mark’s hands as he raised it high above his head and brought it crashing down against the drywall of the master bedroom. Plaster exploded in a cloud of white dust, exposing the rotting wooden studs behind it.
"More to the left!" Clara called out, standing by the doorway with a broom in her hands while Lily sat safely on the lawn outside, watching through the shattered window frame with her white stuffed rabbit resting in her lap.
"Are you sure about this?" Mark asked, pausing to wipe the sweat from his forehead, breathing heavily as he looked around the half-demolished interior of the home they had spent five years remodeling. "This is everything we own, Clara. Once these walls come down, we have nothing left."
"We have each other, and we have our daughter," Clara said, her voice firm and resolute as she walked over and placed a hand directly on his dust-covered shoulder. "I would rather live in a tent on the highway than spend another second pretending this house is a home built on truth."
Mark nodded, his jaw tightening as he swung the hammer again, shattering the stud beneath his blow with a satisfying crack of splintering timber. Outside, the lake water had receded back to its normal shoreline, and the ominous wooden structure across the water seemed to be slowly sinking into the muddy bank, its dark windows finally losing their malevolent gleam.
As Mark struck the baseboard near the corner of the room, the metal head of the sledgehammer hit something solid behind the wall that didn't sound like wood or drywall. It produced a dull, heavy metallic clang that vibrated up through his arms.
"Stop," Clara whispered, stepping closer as she knelt down to brush away the falling plaster and dust. "Mark, look at what is embedded in the foundation concrete."
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Mark dropped the hammer and used a crowbar to pry away the remaining chunks of masonry. Embedded deep within the old concrete foundation of the house was a heavy steel lockbox, sealed with a thick brass padlock that bore the initials of the local county sheriff from eighteen years ago.
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