Chapter 9 - The Double on the Porch
Marcus stared at the phone screen in horror. The figure standing on the front porch wasn't just wearing his clothes; it had his exact posture, the same short dark hair, the same stern, questioning tilt of the head.
“Who is that?” Marcus demanded, his voice trembling as he looked up at Clara.
Clara didn't look at the phone. She simply sat down at the table, folding her hands neatly in her lap. “That’s the man who lived here before us, Marcus. The one who realized too late that you can't leave a house once the foundation drinks your shadow.”
Zuri stood up abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. She grabbed her smartphone off the island and backed away toward the front door.
“I told you we should have left last week,” Zuri cried, her voice cracking. “Every time we try to drive away, the car battery dies at the end of the driveway!”
Maya remained seated at the table, her small fingers rhythmically tapping against the ceramic plate, a steady tap-tap-tap that synchronized perfectly with the dripping water from the ceiling vent.
Marcus lunged across the table, grabbing Clara by the shoulders of her dark red button-down shirt. “What did you do to this house, Clara? What did you sign when we bought this place?”
Clara didn't flinch. Her eyes remained completely calm, almost vacant, as she stared past Marcus toward the front window.
“We signed the same thing your father signed thirty years ago,” Clara whispered.
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Suddenly, the front door downstairs rattled violently. The deadbolts turned with a loud, mechanical clack-clack-clack. The handle pushed down, and the heavy oak front door swung inward, letting in a gust of freezing wind that blew out every light in the house, plunging them into absolute darkness.
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