Chapter 5 - The Deadbolts
The heavy thud of the deadbolts sliding home echoed through the house like gunshots. Arthur sprang to his feet, leaving Elena and Lily on the floor, and sprinted down the short corridor toward the front entryway. He grabbed the brass handle of the front door and threw his weight against it, but it didn’t budge. The locks were internal, controlled by the smart hub that now seemed to possess a malicious life of its own.
“Arthur! The windows!” Elena shouted from the kitchen, her voice tight with panic as she scooped Lily into her arms.
Arthur turned back, racing to the large bay window that looked out onto the front lawn. He slammed his palms against the glass, but it felt as solid as a concrete foundation. It didn’t even vibrate under his weight. Outside, the neighborhood looked completely normal; a mail carrier was walking down the sidewalk across the street, casually dropping letters into a box, completely oblivious to the nightmare trapped inside the brick walls.
“Help!” Arthur screamed, pounding his fist against the glass. “Hey! Call the police!”
The mail carrier didn’t even turn his head. He just kept walking, swallowed by a sudden, unnatural fog that rolled off the pavement and obscured the street in a matter of seconds.
“They can’t hear us, Daddy,” Lily said quietly from where Elena held her. The little girl was stroking the pink rabbit’s ear, staring blankly at the front door. “The house is sleeping. We have to wake it up.”
“Don’t say that, Lily,” Elena snapped, her composure finally cracking as a jagged sob broke through her restraint. She clutched the child tighter, backing away from the windows as if the light itself was turning against them. “Arthur, do something. Smash the glass. Use a chair.”
Arthur grabbed a heavy wooden barstool from the kitchen island and hefted it over his shoulder. With a guttural cry of frustration, he hurled it directly at the bay window.
The stool hit the glass with a sickening, wet thud, as if striking flesh rather than pane. There was no shattering sound, no flying shards. Instead, the wood of the stool simply dissolved upon impact, turning into fine gray ash that drifted harmlessly down to the floorboards.
Arthur stared at his empty hands, his chest heaving. The realization settled over him like a lead blanket: they weren’t locked in a house. They were trapped inside a closed circuit, a digital tomb built of pixels and plaster.
The security monitor in the kitchen chimed softly, a pleasant, cheerful chime designed to signal a welcomed guest at the front door.
Arthur slowly walked back to the kitchen, Elena trailing closely behind him, her eyes darting frantically at every shadow. They stared up at the screen together.
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The camera angle had shifted again. It was now showing the front porch from the outside. Standing right on their welcome mat, staring directly into the camera lens with dead, pale eyes, was Arthur himself.
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