Page 192 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

Crunch.

Not close but not far. A single boot pressed into gravel.

Another.

Then another.

Slow. Measured. Never hurried.

Someone wasn't walking toward the house. They were walking around it.

My pulse didn't race. It narrowed. Every instinct inside me became painfully focused, reducing the entire world into tiny observations. The footsteps weren't random. They paused beneath the windows.

Moved.

Paused again.

Continued.

They weren't searching. They were learning. Mapping. Measuring. Like someone running their fingers along the edge of a coffin before deciding whether it would fit.

My throat tightened.

The front door suddenly felt impossible. Too much glass. Too much open space. Too visible from the driveway. The back door. The birch grove. The old game trail that disappeared behind the creek.

If I reached it...

Maybe.

I didn't finish the thought. Thinking ahead makes you careless. Surviving requires thinking one movement at a time. I crouched slowly, placing Frank carefully onto the floorboards so I could free one hand. Frank stood beside the back door. He wasn't looking at me. He was staring through the narrow strip of glass beside the frame.

The brass handle felt ice cold. My fingertips hesitated. Gerald leaned against my shoulder.

"...Slowly."

Barely a whisper and barely breathing I nodded. One finger then another. The latch turned...

Click.

The sound exploded through the cottage. It wasn't loud. It simply sounded enormous. Like dropping a spoon inside a cathedral. Gerald squeezed his painted eyes shut. Frank physically flinched.

"...Couldn't you have announced us with fireworks?" Gerald muttered.

"I barely touched it," I whispered.

The hinges answered anyway. A long...Slow...Whine. The sound crawled through the air like something alive. Cold mountain air slipped inside immediately, carrying damp earth, pine needles, moss...and something else. Wintergreen. Faint, almost gone.

Almost...

I pushed the door open another inch then another. Every movement felt impossibly loud. The world outside waited in complete silence. The vegetable garden stood untouched. Rows of tomatoes. The herb boxes. The old, rusted washing line swaying gently despite there being almost no wind.

Nothing.

No movement, no boots, no person. The clearing looked exactly as it always had. Which somehow made it worse because forests don't become this quiet naturally. Not unless something has frightened everything else away.

I leaned forward, stepping just enough into the doorway that I could see the side of the cottage. Empty…

I looked toward the shed. Nothing. Toward the trees. Nothing. The hair along my arms slowly settled. Perhaps.