Chapter 6 - The Emergency Broadcast
The television in the living room flickered to life on its own, casting a pale, bluish glow across the drawn curtains. Arthur stood in the center of the room with the polaroid still clutched in his hand, while Miller examined the broken lock on the bedroom safe. The local news anchor’s voice cut through the static, high-pitched and urgent.
"We interrupt this broadcast for a severe weather and public safety alert," the anchor announced, her face pale under the studio lights. "The Washington County Sheriff’s Department has issued an emergency bulletin for residents in the Oakridge district following the escape of a psychiatric patient from the state facility twenty miles north."
Arthur’s eyes drifted to the screen. A black-and-white mugshot flashed on the monitor. The man in the photo had hollow cheeks, dark, sunken eyes, and a jagged scar running from his left ear down to his collarbone.
"The fugitive, identified as forty-five-year-old Samuel Vance, is considered armed and extremely dangerous," the voice continued. "Authorities warn that Vance may be heading toward his childhood home, a property recently subdivided and sold near the county line."
Miller dropped his pen on the coffee table. The sound was deafening in the quiet room. "Samuel Vance," the deputy murmured. "Thomas Vance’s younger brother. Everyone thought he went off the deep end after Thomas disappeared. They locked him away twenty years ago for arson and assault."
Arthur stared at the television screen, then down at the polaroid in his hand. The face in the mugshot matched the features of the man whose driver’s license was sitting in the canvas bag down in the basement.
"He’s not just heading here, Miller," Arthur said, his voice dropping to a dry, raspy whisper. "He was in this house ten minutes ago. He took our papers. He’s been living underneath us the entire time."
Before Miller could reach for his radio, the lights in the entire house flickered once, twice, and then died completely, plunging the living room into pitch blackness save for the flickering blue light of the television.
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From the dark hallway leading to the back bedrooms, a soft, rhythmic scratching sound began—like fingernails dragging slowly across wallpaper.
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