Chapter 1
The autumn sun beat down mercilessly on the manicured front lawn of the suburban house, casting long, sharp shadows across the fading Kentucky bluegrass. Mark wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his calloused hand, the steady, rhythmic roar of the lawnmower vibrating through his forearms. He was a tall, broad-shouldered Caucasian man, usually comforted by the mindless routine of weekend yard work. Today, however, a heavy, suffocating dread had been pressing against his chest since early morning. He glanced toward the second-story bedroom window, curtains fluttering slightly in the gentle breeze. Something felt fundamentally wrong inside the quiet house.
He cut the engine, the sudden silence ringing sharply in his ears, and dropped the handle of the mower onto the grass. Without a second thought, he broke into a sprint across the turf, his heavy work boots thudding heavily against the soil. He leaped onto the front porch steps, pushed open the unlocked front door, and vaulted up the carpeted staircase two steps at a time. The air in the second-floor hallway was stale and unnaturally cold, carrying a faint, metallic scent that made his stomach churn.
Outside the master bedroom, his mother-in-law, Martha, knelt on the floor alongside his six-year-old daughter, Lily. Martha’s grey hair was pulled back into a tight bun, her patterned blouse slightly wrinkled at the shoulders. Lily wore her favorite purple unicorn t-shirt, her face stained with fresh tears, her small body trembling uncontrollably. Martha’s hand was clamped firmly over the little girl’s mouth, her fingers pressing just hard enough to silence any sound.
"If you tell daddy," Martha whispered with a chilling, deadpan calm, her voice barely a breath against the quiet air, "your mother won't wake up next time."
Mark burst through the doorway, his momentum carrying him hard against the wooden frame. The shouting tore from his throat before he could filter the sheer terror and rage boiling in his veins. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, his voice cracking with panic.
Lily scrambled backward across the hardwood floor, pointing a trembling, dirt-smudged finger directly toward a leather bag sitting near Martha’s knees. "Dad, check her first!" the little girl cried out, gasping for breath as she sought refuge against the wall.
Mark lunged forward, ignoring Martha’s placid, unblinking stare, and dropped to his knees beside the black leather purse. His fingers fumbled with the brass zipper, tearing it open with frantic desperation. He plunged his hand inside the dark fabric lining, his fingertips brushing against smooth paper. He pulled out a single, folded piece of lined notebook paper, the edges slightly frayed and worn from handling.
May you like
He unfolded the paper with shaking hands, his eyes scanning the neat, precise handwriting in the center of the page. The words hit him like a physical blow, draining every ounce of color from his face. His breath hitched in his throat, a deep, primal horror freezing him in place while Martha stood quietly in the background, watching him with an eerie, detached patience. "What did you do?" Mark whispered, the horror sinking deep into his bones.
***
