Chapter 3 - The Unlocked Deadbolt
The front door stood wide open, framing the gloomy, overgrown yard outside where the afternoon sun was being rapidly swallowed by an unnatural bruise-purple bank of clouds. Clara’s breath caught in her throat. She distinctly remembered locking that deadbolt twice before coming in to make lunch. She took a tentative step toward the hallway, her bare feet sticking slightly to the kitchen floor as if the polyurethane finish was melting.
"Stay here, both of you," Clara ordered, though the command sounded weak even to her own ears.
"Don't go near the threshold, Mom!" Maya cried out, darting forward to grab the sleeve of Clara’s beige sweatshirt. Her fingers were ice cold. "The letter said the threshold is the trigger. If you cross it while the house is breathing, the foundation shifts."
Clara gently pried Maya’s fingers loose, turning to look down the narrow entryway. "Maya, listen to me. We are packing the car right now. I don't care about the closing papers, and I don't care about whatever spooky stories the local kids told you. We are driving to a hotel in town."
Lily, still sitting cross-legged by the pantry, let out a high-pitched giggle that sounded entirely wrong in the tense, heavy atmosphere. She pointed a chubby finger at the open front door, where a neat stack of mail lay on the entryway rug—mail that definitely hadn't been there when they arrived home an hour ago.
"The postman came," Lily announced cheerfully, tilting her head at an unnatural angle. "He brought us a new lease."
Clara strode down the short hallway, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She reached down and picked up the single square envelope resting on top of the pile. There was no stamp, no return address, and no postmark. Her name—*Clara Miller*—was written across the front in neat, familiar handwriting that made her stop breathing. It was her own handwriting. But she had never written this envelope.
With trembling fingers, she ripped the heavy parchment open. Inside was a single photograph, developed on glossy old-fashioned paper. It showed the kitchen they were standing in right now, perfectly lit by the morning sun. But in the photograph, Clara was lying motionless on the floor by the pantry, her eyes wide and blank, while Maya and Lily stood over her, smiling into the camera lens with teeth that looked far too sharp.
"Mom?" Maya’s voice echoed from the kitchen, sounding impossibly far away, though she was only ten feet behind her. "Why is the front door locked again?"
Clara spun around. The heavy front door was firmly shut. The deadbolt was thrown, the brass latch fully engaged. She rushed back to the hallway door and rattled the knob; it didn't budge an inch.
May you like
Through the frosted glass window of the front door, a shadow shifted—tall, broad-shouldered, and entirely motionless, standing just on the other side of the porch screen.
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