Chapter 2 - The Empty Room
The metallic click of the latch turning inside the empty room sent a jolt of pure adrenaline straight through my veins. I threw my hand out, grabbing Sarah by the wrist and yanking her back behind me before she could take another step toward the barrier. Buster scrambled to his paws, his hackles raised in a stiff ridge along his spine, emitting a low, guttural warning growl that I had never heard from him in all his seven years. The flashlight in my hand shook violently, projecting a frantic dance of light and shadow across the deadbolt and the chipped white paint of the doorframe.
"Mark, stop it, you're hurting my arm!" Sarah whispered fiercely, wrenching her wrist free and rubbing the spot where my fingers had gripped her skin. "There's just a draft in this old house. The foundation settles at night, the latches are loose—you know what the inspector said about the wind patterns through the upper hallway."
"A draft doesn't breathe, Sarah," I muttered, my eyes locked on the tiny sliver of darkness beneath the door. "And a draft doesn't wait for us to stop talking before it turns the handle."
The handle clicked again, returning to its horizontal position with a dull, heavy thud that resonated through the floorboards. The sudden silence that followed was far more terrifying than the noise had been. It felt intentional, as if whatever was standing inches from us on the other side was holding its breath, listening to every beat of our racing hearts, calculating our next move.
Slowly, deliberately, I reached out with my free hand, my fingers trembling as they brushed against the cool metal of the doorknob. The brass felt freezing, coated in a layer of unnatural chill that seemed to seep straight into my bones.
"Don't," Sarah breathed, her anger entirely evaporating, replaced by a sudden, stark pallor in the moonlight filtering through the hall window. "Mark, don't open it."
"We have to," I whispered, the absurdity of our situation washing over me. We owned this house. We bought it three weeks ago. There was supposed to be nothing here. "We need to know what's making that noise."
With a sudden surge of reckless courage, I twisted the knob all the way and shoved the door inward.
The heavy white door swung open smoothly, silent on its newly oiled hinges, revealing the interior of the spare bedroom. I swept the smartphone flashlight across the space, my breath catching in my throat as the beam cut through the darkness. The room was completely, utterly empty. Dust motes drifted in the beam, settling on bare hardwood floors. There were no boxes, no furniture, no blankets—just pale yellow walls and an open window at the far end letting in the cool night breeze.
I stepped inside, my boots clicking loudly on the bare wood, and swept the light along the corners, checking behind the door, peering out the open window into the dark backyard two stories below. Nothing. Absolutely nothing was there.
"See?" Sarah said from the doorway, her voice trembling slightly as she leaned against the frame. "I told you. Just an old house playing tricks on your tired brain."
I lowered the flashlight, wiping a cold sweat from my forehead, feeling foolish and deeply unsettled. "That's impossible," I muttered. "We both heard it."
May you like
Buster trotted into the center of the empty room, sniffing the floor furiously. Suddenly, the golden retriever stopped dead, lifted his muzzle toward the center of the empty space, and began to whimper softly.
---
