Chapter 5 - The Chiming Doorbell
David froze at the top of the stairs, the note clutched tightly in his trembling hand. The cheerful holiday chime of the doorbell echoed through the empty foyer below, mocking the nightmare unfolding inside the walls.
Ding-dong. Ding-dong.
"David!" Elena called out from the living room, her voice frantic as she stepped toward the hallway. "Did you catch them? Who was up there?"
David didn't answer immediately. He stared down at the paper in his hand, the words burning themselves into his retinas: The baby was only the first warning. Open the front door or the rest of the family pays before midnight.
"David, answer me!" Elena demanded, her footsteps approaching the stairs.
"Stay back, Elena!" David shouted down, his voice cracking with a terrifying urgency. "Nobody answers the front door! Stay in the living room!"
The doorbell rang again, longer this time, pressing relentlessly.
Downstairs, the elderly father stood up, his face lined with deep lines of stress and confusion. "If someone is ringing the bell, maybe it’s the police. Maybe one of our phones finally managed to send an emergency ping before dying."
"No," David said, descending the stairs slowly, his eyes fixed on the front entryway. "The note upstairs said nobody leaves and nobody opens that door unless they want us all dead."
"What note?" Clara demanded, finally looking up from the couch, her voice sharp with sudden suspicion. "What did you find up there, David? Are you hiding something else from us?"
David reached the bottom of the landing, slipping the folded paper quickly into his grey trouser pocket. "It was just trash. An old note from the previous owners left behind in a drawer. It’s nothing."
Elena narrowed her eyes, watching him closely from the doorway. "You’re lying. Your hands are shaking. What did it say?"
"I said it’s nothing, Elena!" David snapped, his patience snapping under the immense pressure. He turned his attention back to the heavy oak front door. The bell had stopped ringing, replaced by a slow, heavy scratching sound against the exterior wood, like fingernails scraping against paint.
The elderly mother clutched her chest, gasping for air. "My medicine," she whispered faintly, stumbling backward against the couch. "It’s in my purse... in the front hallway closet."
Clara looked at her mother, her expression softening slightly before hardening again. "The closet is right next to the front door," she noted warily. "Is it a trap?"
"She’s having a panic attack, Clara!" Elena yelled, rushing past David to aid her mother. She yanked open the hallway closet door, grabbed the small leather purse from the top shelf, and unzipped it.
As she reached inside, her hand brushed against something cold and metallic. She pulled it out into the dim hallway light, and the entire room gasped.
It was a heavy, military-grade walkie-talkie, its LED screen glowing with a single blinking red light. As Elena stared at it in horror, the device clicked, and a deep, distorted voice crackled from the speaker:
May you like
"Time’s up, David. Look under the Christmas tree."
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