Chapter 5 - The Unlatched Door
The sound of the latch turning filled the freezing night air with a heavy, ominous resonance. Leo froze, his hand still clamped around his smartphone as his grandmother continued to call out his name anxiously through the speaker.
"Leo? Leo, are you still there? What's happening?" Margaret's voice was a frantic lifeline he barely registered over the pounding of his own heart.
The sliding glass door, which Clara had locked with such finality only minutes ago, drifted open an inch. A thin stream of warm air escaped from the luxurious living room, carrying with it a strange, metallic scent that Leo couldn't quite identify. It smelled sharp, almost like copper.
"Grandma... the door just opened," Leo whispered, his bare feet glued to the cold concrete as he stared at the dark crack between the door and the frame. "Nobody is standing there. It just... clicked."
"Do not go inside, Leo! Do you hear me?" Margaret’s voice rose to an alarmed pitch, the sound of her car engine roaring in the background as she sped closer to the tower. "Stay right where you are. Do not step foot in that apartment!"
Leo nodded mutely, though he knew she couldn't see him. He took a hesitant step backward, his light blue pajama pants swishing softly in the wind. The temptation to run inside toward the warmth was overwhelming, but the terrifying image of the muddy work boots and Clara being yanked backward into the shadows kept him paralyzed.
From inside the dark apartment, a soft, rhythmic tapping sound began. Tap... tap... tap...
It sounded like water dripping onto the hardwood floor, slow and deliberate. But Leo remembered the orange juice had already spilled and settled. This was something else.
"Leo? Answer me!" Margaret pleaded.
"I'm here," Leo whimpered, his eyes fixed on the slightly ajar glass door. "Something is dripping inside. I can hear it."
"The police are in the lobby now, baby. They're taking the elevator up. Just hold on for two more minutes."
Suddenly, a shadow fell across the opening of the glass door. A hand—pale, trembling, and stained with a dark, wet substance—reached out from the darkness and gripped the edge of the aluminum frame, pulling the door wider open.
Leo screamed, dropping his phone as terror completely overtook him. The phone clattered onto the concrete balcony floor, the speaker still broadcasting Margaret's frantic voice into the empty night air.
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Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the dim interior light, was Clara. But her sparkly gown was no longer just stained; it was completely soaked in dark crimson blood.
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