Chapter 3
Mark gripped the phone tighter, his knuckles turning white as the fluorescent kitchen light flickered once above his head.
"What are you talking about, Dave?" Mark demanded, his voice rising in panic. "What structural notes? Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because there wasn't anything to tell!" David defended himself, his voice sharp and defensive over the line. "It was just a basic architectural addendum from the original builder back in nineteen-seventy-eight. It said the hallway partition had a variable load adjustment. I thought it meant extra insulation or a reinforced firebreak. I didn't think it meant... whatever you're looking at right now."
"An addendum doesn't just build a hidden room out of thin air!" Mark argued, his eyes darting toward the dark hallway where Buster was still growling softly. "Someone put a door there, Dave. A real, heavy wooden door with a modern brass lock. And it wasn't there when I went to sleep four hours ago."
"Are you hearing yourself?" David's voice echoed with rising disbelief. "Doors don't just appear in hallways overnight, Mark. You either sleepwalked and forgot a DIY project you started during one of your manic weekend phases, or you're losing your grip."
"I didn't build a damn door!" Mark shouted, his temper finally snapping under the crushing weight of the impossible situation. "Come over here right now and see for yourself! Bring your tools!"
"I'm two hours away in the city, Mark. I can't just—"
"Then stay on the phone with me!" Mark interrupted, his breath coming in shallow gasps. "Don't hang up. I'm going to find out what's behind this."
Mark dropped the landline receiver onto the counter, letting it dangle by its curly cord. He walked back into the hallway, his smartphone flashlight cutting through the gloom. Buster flattened his ears, retreating a few steps as Mark approached the white door once more.
The scratching sound had stopped, replaced by an even more unsettling silence. Mark reached out a trembling hand, his fingers hovering just an inch away from the cold brass doorknob. He took a deep breath, wrapped his palm around the metal, and turned it.
May you like
It didn't budge. The deadbolt was fully engaged.
Mark pressed his ear against the white wood paneling, straining to hear anything. Faintly, from deep within the unseen space, came the unmistakable sound of a vinyl record beginning to skip on a turntable.
