Chapter 7 - The Unknown Number
The sharp vibration of the phone on the wooden coffee table broke the heavy tension in the room. Both David and Chloe looked down at the screen. The display lit up with an unformatted string of digits, followed by a short, chilling text message preview: The package has been delivered to the front porch. Do you want me to proceed with phase two?
Sarah lunged for the table, moving with a sudden burst of speed that caught David off guard, but Chloe reacted faster. With an athletic swipe, Chloe snatched the phone off the table just an inch before Sarah’s fingers could close around it.
"Give me that!" Sarah shrieked, abandoning her calm facade as panic violently reclaimed her. She lunged forward, her hands clawing desperately at Chloe’s arms, trying to wrench the device free.
"Dad, look!" Chloe yelled, dodging backward behind the sofa while keeping the screen illuminated. "She’s communicating with someone outside! Who is 'phase two' meant for, Sarah?"
David stepped between them, his powerful frame easily blocking Sarah from reaching his daughter. He caught Sarah by the wrists, holding her arms firmly at her sides despite her frantic thrashing. His face was a mask of cold, unrelenting fury.
"Enough!" David roared, his voice echoing off the hardwood floors. "Who is texting you, Sarah? Who was just at our front porch?"
"It’s spam! It’s a wrong number!" Sarah lied wildly, her breathing ragged as she struggled against his grip. Her blonde hair fell wildly across her face, completely destroying the polished, pristine image she had maintained for years. "Let me go, David! You are hurting me!"
"You're going to tell me right now, or I swear to God I am calling the police and handing them every single file from the security system," David warned, his voice dangerously low. He pulled out his own phone with his free hand, tapping the keypad to bring up the emergency services dialer. "Who is at the front door?"
"Don't open the door," Sarah whispered suddenly, her voice dropping all resistance. The fight drained out of her body, leaving her limp and trembling in his grasp. Her eyes widened in genuine, paralytic fear—not fear of David, but fear of whatever was waiting on the other side of their threshold.
David frowned, looking from his wife’s terrified face back toward the heavy wooden front door that led out to the sunlit porch. The doorbell suddenly chimed—a cheerful, electronic chime that sounded entirely out of place in the tense, suffocating atmosphere of the living room.
May you like
Chloe stood frozen behind the sofa, her phone clutched tightly in her hand, staring fixedly at the frosted glass window of the front door where a tall, unfamiliar silhouette had just cast a long, dark shadow across the welcome mat.
---
