Chapter 2 - Shadows in the Hallway
The brass doorknob turned an inch, rattled against the latch, and then stopped.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. Lily was heavy in my arms, her small frame radiating fever through her cotton pajamas. The dispatcher was shouting through the speaker of my phone, asking if I was still there, asking if I needed police or paramedics.
"Both," I croaked, my voice sounding like gravel scraped across iron. "Send both. Now."
I shifted Lily to my left arm, keeping her pinned against my chest, and reached out with my right hand toward the closet door. My fingertips hovered over the cold metal handle. Lily whimpered, burying her wet, hot face into the crook of my neck. "Grandpa, no," she breathed. "It’s not Mason."
Her words sent a shiver straight down my spine. Not Mason? Then who was in the closet?
"Mason?" I called out, taking a step back instead of pulling the door open. "Mason, is that you?"
Silence. Then another soft, rhythmic scrape against the inside of the hollow wood door. It sounded like fingernails dragging down the paint.
"Sir, the paramedics are six minutes out," the 911 dispatcher said, her voice a stark contrast to the oppressive quiet of the hallway. "I need you to step outside with the child. Do not engage with anyone else in the house."
She was right. I was sixty-two years old, holding an intoxicated, dangerously feverish eight-year-old child, and whatever was behind that door wasn't acting like a panicked ten-year-old boy.
I turned on my heel and moved toward the front door, but as soon as my foot hit the entryway rug, a muffled voice came from behind the closet door.
"Grandpa..."
It was Mason. His voice was thin, muffled by coats and drywall, but unmistakably his. "Grandpa, help me... it’s dark."
I froze. I couldn't leave him. I couldn't walk out that front door with one grandchild and leave the other locked in a dark pantry like an unwanted toy.
"I'm here, buddy," I shouted back, stepping back into the hallway. "Hang on. I'm opening the door."
"Don't!" Lily gasped, her small hand suddenly clutching my collar with surprising strength. Her pupils were dilated, black pools in her glassy eyes. "He... he isn't alone in there."
My stomach lurched. "What do you mean?"
"The dark man," she slurred, her eyelids fluttering as the heavy sedative pulled her back down into unconsciousness. "Mommy put him in there to watch us."
Before I could process her terrifying statement, I grabbed the closet handle, twisted it hard, and yanked the door open.
The hallway light spilled into the cramped, windowless space.
Mason was sitting on the floor, curled between a vacuum cleaner and a stack of winter coats. His eyes were wide, red-rimmed, and filled with sheer terror. Duct tape was hanging loosely from his left wrist—he had managed to work himself free. But he wasn't alone.
Sitting in the shadowy back corner, jammed behind a row of heavy parkas, was a man. He was tall, thin, wearing a dirt-stained blue mechanic's jumpsuit. His wrists were loosely ziptied, but his eyes—sharp, dark, and wide awake—snapped directly up to meet mine.
He didn't look like a burglar. He looked terrified.
"Get them out of here, Arthur," the stranger whispered, his voice hoarse and raw.
I recoiled, pulling Mason out of the closet by his shirt collar with my free hand. "Who the hell are you? How do you know my name?"
"Your son..." the man rasped, lifting his bound hands slightly. "Brian... he didn't go to Florida. He's not on vacation. You need to get these kids out of the house right now before Marissa comes back."
"Marissa?" I echoed, my brain struggling to assemble the pieces of this nightmare. "Marissa left for Florida with Brian!"
"No," Mason sobbed, clinging to my belt as I retreated toward the front door with both children in tow. "Mom and Dad were fighting, Grandpa! Dad tried to call you, but Mom gave him the cup. She gave him the same juice she gave Lily!"
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Red and blue light suddenly burst through the blinds of the living room windows. The wail of sirens cut through the quiet night air, signaling the arrival of the paramedics and the police.
The stranger in the closet closed his eyes and let his head drop back against the wall. "Thank God," he muttered. "Now ask the cops to check the trunk of the car in the garage."
