Crunch.
A scream. The woman’s voice.
Just keep going, Andy.
Continuing down the sidewalk, I see something just a few paces in front of me. It’s visible under one of the streetlights, and I can see a mix of white fur and red-stained concrete. It’s a dog. A fucking dog. Jesus Christ.
I can see my street now. The sign, slightly off-axis as always, reads ‘Acorn Court’. I take a hard right, and my house comes into view. It sits at the end of the cul-de-sac, an all-brick, two-story home — far too much space for just two of us, but just right when there were four of us. If anything has happened to Emma, I know that Jules will be looking down on me with nothing but disappointment. The same guilt will fill my bones from when I pulled out into that intersection, failing to see the drunk driver that side-swiped us.
I seem to catch another gear, chugging my legs like a freight train.
My Honda is still parked in the driveway — that’s good. I’ll be able to grab Emma and get the hell out of here.
I arrive at the door and grab the handle. The door is locked.
My keys. I reach into my pocket and scramble for my keys. I find nothing but lint and the matchbox. Whoever left me in that graveyard must’ve taken my keys.
I bang on the door and yell, “Emma? Emma, honey, let me in!”
No response.
Since I can’t get inside through the front door, I decide to check the back.
I jump off the porch and head around to the side of the house.
“Emma!” I call out again.
“Daddy,” she says from inside, finally responding. “Daddy, come in and help me!”
I race around the back of the house, thankful that I haven’t yet built that privacy fence I’ve talked about. Our maple tree has lost most of its leaves, and the wind blows them around the yard in a frantic whirl.
Another scream, perhaps from somewhere behind our house, draws my attention. In the open air, it’s so hard to tell. More creatures are close. No time.
I refocus my attention on the house and notice that the back door is wide open.
“Daddy!”
I race inside.
No lights are on, and I reach over to the nearest switch, hoping that the kitchen will come to life. No such luck, as I flip the switch multiple times to no avail.
“Emma, honey, where are you?”
“We’re upstairs,” she says.
We?
I dart through the dining room toward the staircase.
The front door is open. Not ajar, but wide open, just like the back door was. Has someone else entered the house? My God.
Grabbing onto the banister, I swing myself around and take the stairs two at a time until I reach the top. I head right toward Emma’s room, ignoring the family photos on the walls as I always do; these are the ones that Emma insisted on keeping up after the accident, not wanting to lose the memory of her little brother and her mother.
Emma’s door is cracked, and I barrel through it with my shoulder, stopping just on the other side of the doorway when I see two familiar faces.
“Bradley?”
My neighbor, Bradley, is standing in front of Emma, shielding her, apparently in case something got into the house.
I open my arms and take a step toward my sweet Emma, and say, “Sweetie, I’m so glad you’re okay.”
Bradley draws a gun, and it clicks as he loads a bullet into the chamber.
“Daddy,” Emma says, but Bradley is holding her back with his free hand.
I raise my hands and chuckle. “Bradley, what the hell are you doing?”
“Stay back, Andy,” Bradley says.
“I appreciate you looking after my daughter,” I say. “But the joke’s over, put down the gun.”
He fires a round, hitting the wall behind me. Emma screams.
“Be quiet,” Bradley says. “You’ll draw the others.”
“Others?” I say. My eyes widen. “Did you have something to do with me waking up inside a mausoleum?”
Bradley’s hand trembles. “You just stay back, Andy. You hear? Stay away from us. She should have never invited you inside.”
“You son of a bitch,” I say. “You had something to do with it.”
Do it, Andy. Kill him. What is that? It’s a voice in my head that is not my own.
“Daddy, I love you,” Emma says.
Kill him.
I take a step forward, looking around the room.
“Stay back,” Bradley says. “I’m warning you!”
“Who the hell is that talking to me?”
The gun goes off.
***
Blink.
Blink.
I awaken, once again, lying on yet another hard surface. The air hauls a cool breeze, and dawn appears as if it’s ready to break. This calms me, as if the night has been nothing but a horrid illusion. Those monsters, surely of the night, must be gone by now. I shake my head and try to sit up, but I can’t.
“What the hell?”
I look over and gasp.
Not only are my wrists bound, but the palms of my hands have been pierced with nails, driven through the board which I am lying on. I raise my head and look down to my feet at much the same. My ankles are bound, and a thick, metal spike has been driven through both my feet. Just like the Lord, I’m being crucified. But why?
“I didn’t know what else to do.”
I look up to see Bradley standing behind me. He moves around to my side and my eyes follow him. Nerve endings in my hands and feet must be shot, because I don’t feel an ounce of pain.
“What do you mean you ‘didn’t know what else to do’?” I ask. “Let me go.”
Bradley sighs. “I can’t do that, Andy.”
“Let me go, you son of a bitch!” I yell. “Where’s Emma?”
“Emma is safe and sound,” he says. “You don’t worry about her. I’m going to take care of her. This is what’s best for you. I couldn’t bring myself to take you down in front of her.”
“You sick bastard! You
