Chapter 19 - The Tap on the Glass
A sudden, paralyzing chill washed over my skin.
Look behind you.
Every instinct in my body screamed, telling me not to move, telling me it was just a sick psychological trick left behind in a automated mail queue. But my neck refused to listen. Slowly, rigidly, I turned my head away from the kitchen table and looked toward the large, sliding glass door that led out to the back deck overlooking the dark, whispering ocean.
At first, there was nothing out there except the inky blackness of the night and the faint reflection of my own terrified face in the glass.
Then, the ocean wind shifted.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Three slow, deliberate knocks echoed softly against the exterior glass of the sliding door, right where the dark shadows of the coastal pines met the edge of the deck.
My breath hitched in my throat. I stood up so fast my chair tipped backward, crashing loudly against the hardwood floor.
"Mark?"
Clara’s sleepy voice drifted down from the upstairs hallway landing. I heard the soft squeak of floorboards as she padded down the steps in her slippers. "Mark, what was that crash? Are you okay?"
"Clara, stay upstairs!" I yelled, my voice cracking with panic as I grabbed a heavy iron candlestick off the kitchen counter.
I kept my eyes locked on the glass door. Outside, pressed against the pane in the darkness, was the faint, ghostly outline of a hand—its fingers spread wide against the glass, leaving a smudge of cold condensation in the shape of a palm.
"Mark, what's wrong? What's at the door?" Clara asked, reaching the bottom of the stairs and stepping into the kitchen, her eyes widening as she saw the terror frozen on my face and the open letter on the table.
Before either of us could move, a soft, mechanical whirring sound echoed from beneath the floorboards of the coastal cottage—a low, rhythmic mechanical hum that we hadn't noticed when we signed the lease.
May you like
The sound of pistons activating.
The sound of a hidden sub-level waking up beneath our feet.
