Chapter 9 - The Final Boundary
The blood drained entirely from Arthur’s face. He took a half-step forward, his body blocking the direct path between the deputy and the weathered outbuilding.
“There’s nothing in that shed, Vance,” Arthur said, his voice dropping its polite facade, turning hard and metallic. “It’s just old farming equipment and rusted iron scrap from the previous owners. It’s unsafe to go poking around in there.”
Deputy Vance stopped walking. He crossed his arms over his heavy canvas jacket, a faint, cynical smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He had known Arthur since they were boys in the county school system; he knew when Arthur was lying, and right now, Arthur was vibrating like a coiled spring.
“Unsafe?” Vance repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Since when did you care about rusty scrap metal, Arthur? Last time I checked, you kept this whole property locked up tighter than a federal vault.”
Clara stepped up beside Arthur, her hands trembling violently as she twisted the fabric of her beige top. “Please, Vance. It’s getting late, and the boy is upset. Let’s go inside the kitchen like Arthur said. I can make some fresh pie.”
Vance glanced at Clara, noting the pale sweat beading on her forehead and the frantic darting of her eyes toward the treeline. The deputy’s easygoing demeanor evaporated, replaced by the sharp, calculating focus of a law enforcement officer who smelled blood in the water.
“I didn't come out here for pie, Clara,” Vance said coldly. He dropped his arms to his sides, his right hand hovering instinctively near the leather holster on his hip. “I came out here because three different neighbors called the station this week reporting strange noises coming from this property after dark. Sounds like someone crying out for help.”
Leo watched the exchange with wide, terrified eyes. He slowly reached behind his back, his fingers brushing against the heavy brass key hidden in the pocket of his khaki shorts—the key he had managed to slip out of the kitchen drawer while the adults were distracted.
“Nobody is crying out here,” Arthur said, taking another deliberate step toward the deputy, forcing Vance to back up slightly. “It’s just the old windpipes in the well house whistling through the tin vents. You know how these old structures settle in the autumn.”
“Step aside, Arthur,” Vance ordered, his voice ringing with absolute authority. He unclipped the retention strap on his holster. “I’m going to inspect that shed right now.”
Before Arthur could lunge or Vance could draw his weapon, a sudden, violent thud echoed from the dark interior of the shed. It sounded as though a heavy body had thrown itself directly against the wooden door. The rusted latch rattled violently, and a sharp, agonized scream pierced the evening quiet.
“Let me out of here! He’s going to kill us all!”
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The voice was ragged, bruised, and unmistakably human.
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