Chapter 2
Mark scrambled backward on the hardwood floor, his heels scraping against the grain as Buster planted his paws and let out a sharp, protective bark.
"Quiet, Buster! Quiet!" Mark hissed, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
He scrambled to his feet, keeping the smartphone flashlight fixed on the white door. The brass doorknob remained completely still, but the air drifting out from the narrow gap at the bottom felt distinctly colder than the rest of the house, carrying a faint, metallic scent of ozone and old dust.
Mark backed away toward the kitchen, grabbing the landline phone off the wall with trembling fingers. He punched in the digits for his brother, David, who was a structural engineer and had helped him pull the original county permits back when Mark first bought the place.
It took three agonizing rings before David’s raspy, sleep-thickened voice answered. "Mark? Do you know what time it is? This better be an emergency."
"Dave, listen to me very carefully," Mark said, his voice cracking slightly as he glanced back down the dark hallway. "When we gutted the east wing ten years ago, what was behind the wall in the main hallway?"
"Are you out of your mind?" David groaned on the other end, the sound of rustling bedsheets coming through the speaker. "It was a dead utility chase. We ran the old HVAC trunk through there. Why are you asking me this at two in the morning?"
"Because there's a door there now, Dave," Mark said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "A white paneled door. With a brass knob. And something is on the other side of it."
Silence stretched over the line for several long seconds. Then, David let out a dry, humorless laugh. "You're sleep-deprived, man. Go back to bed. You’ve been working too many hours at the firm."
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"I am wide awake!" Mark snapped, slamming his hand against the kitchen counter. "Buster is standing right in front of it, and I just heard someone—or something—slide a deadbolt from the inside! There was never a door there! You and I checked every square inch of those blueprints!"
"Mark," David said, his tone suddenly turning dead serious. "Listen to me. The blueprints for that house weren't just old. When the county archived them in the nineties, a whole section of the original developer’s filings was sealed by court order. I couldn't tell you why back then, but... I found a second set of structural notes hidden in the municipal annex a week after we finished your renovation."
