Chapter 13
The storm hit just after sunset. Rain lashed against the windows like handfuls of gravel. Thunder rattled the floorboards. The wind howled through the trees, drowning out the sound of the police cruiser idling at the end of the street. Inside the house, all the curtains were drawn tight. Ryan had moved the children into the old reading room. The nursery. It was the most secure room in the house, with a solid oak door and reinforced locks he had installed years ago. Emily sat on the rug, playing a board game with Ethan, Oliver, and Olivia. She was projecting total calmness. She smiled when Oliver rolled the dice. She laughed when Olivia made a silly face. But her eyes kept darting toward the door. Ryan paced the hallway with Marcus. "The perimeter alarms are active," Marcus said, checking his tablet. "If he steps on the grass, we'll know." Ryan held a heavy steel flashlight in his hand. "The police are still out front?" "Yes." "But visibility is zero." "They won't see him approach from the woods." Suddenly, the lights flickered. Once. Twice. Then, with a loud pop, the entire house plunged into absolute darkness. The hum of the refrigerator stopped. The security monitors on Marcus's tablet went completely black. "He cut the power," Marcus said softly. "The backup generator should kick in." They waited ten seconds. Twenty seconds. Nothing happened. "He disabled the generator," Ryan realized, his heart pounding. "He's been on the property before." "He knew exactly where to look." From inside the reading room, Olivia let out a small cry. Ryan opened the door immediately. "It's okay," he said, shining his flashlight onto the ceiling to illuminate the room. "Just a power outage from the storm." Emily looked at him. She knew the truth. Her face was pale, but she nodded calmly. "Kids, we're going to play a new game," Emily said. "It's called camping." "We stay in this room, and we don't make a sound." Ethan pulled his younger siblings close to him. "I'll protect them, Mom." Ryan closed the door and locked it from the outside. He turned to Marcus. "He's inside." "I can feel it." Before Marcus could respond, they heard a sound. A slow, deliberate sound. The sound of wet footsteps walking across the hardwood floor in the kitchen downstairs. Arthur had bypassed the alarm. He was in the house. Marcus drew his weapon. "Stay here," he whispered to Ryan. "Guard the door." "I'm going down." Marcus moved silently down the hallway, disappearing into the shadows of the staircase. Ryan stood in front of the reading room, his grip on the flashlight tight enough to turn his knuckles white. Minutes passed. The storm raged outside. Inside, the silence was deafening. Then, Ryan heard a loud crash from the kitchen. Followed by a grunt of pain. Then, absolute silence again. "Marcus?" Ryan called out in a harsh whisper. No answer. Ryan's blood ran cold. He couldn't leave the door. But he couldn't just stand there waiting. Suddenly, a voice echoed from the bottom of the stairs. "Your friend was careless, Ryan." It was Arthur. His voice was eerily calm, cutting through the sound of the rain. "He tripped." Ryan raised the flashlight, shining the beam down the staircase. Arthur stood at the bottom, holding a large hunting knife. His clothes were soaked, his hair plastered to his forehead. His eyes were wild, filled with a manic, terrifying energy. "It's just you and me now, Ryan." Arthur began to climb the stairs. Slowly. One step at a time. "Let's see if you can protect them this time."
