Stepping to the right, I angle myself so I can see through the front window at the porch that we never use. The lamp is reflecting off the glass so I click it off.
I see the shadow of a person crouching on the porch, just under the bird feeder. At least I think that’s what it is. It could be some sort of animal. My hand is gripping the trophy so hard that the figure’s little gold arm is digging into my palm.
The thing freezes. Maybe it senses that I’m watching it. The head swivels up and the eyes fix on me. Even though there’s little light falling on it, I can see the eyes. They’re reminiscent of eyes that I’ve seen before. I hold my breath and shuffle forward another step. I want to know—are they the same eyes I saw in the freezer?
Before I can be sure, the thing is sliding away, melting into the dark.
I let out my breath with a shudder.
“It had to be a person,” I whisper. “Animals don’t knock.”
I back slowly towards the kitchen. Before I cross through the doorway, I reach around the wall and flip on the lights. Now, nearly every light on the first floor is on. I rush to the side door and flip on the side porch light as I look down through the window. I’m expecting to see another hunched figure, but the side porch is bare.
After rechecking the lock, I grab the cordless phone.
It won’t dial.
At first, I suspect the battery. The cordless phone is old enough that if I leave it off the charger for a few hours, it will die. But it’s beeping when I hit the button and the base station clicks on when I press the intercom. There’s just no connection to the outside world.
My cellphone is upstairs.
Before retreating, I check the locks. Everything is locked tight—side door, front door, and even the door at the back of the pantry. I leave all the lights on and I peer through every window before I climb the stairs. I have no bars in the house. It’s not surprising. The signal is terrible out here and there’s a metal roof. Sometimes I can get a signal up on the deck on top of the barn, but not always.
I have wifi though—I can text for help.
My message doesn’t go through.
Of course. If the landline is out, that means that my cable connection is down. I have a wifi connection to the router, but the router can’t talk to the outside world.
What was I thinking?
(What other choice do I have?)
What other choice do I have?
This isn’t a rhetorical question. I’m asking myself as I stand in the pantry, eyeing the door that leads through the shed to the barn. Everything is locked up. I made sure of that last night. All the doors to the outside are locked. I even locked the bulkhead from the inside. All the windows on the first floor are shut and locked and I shut all the upstairs windows when I grabbed my phone.
I’m realizing how silly locks are. You can break a pane of glass accidentally with a baseball—am I really trusting the windows to keep out whatever was knocking on my door?
“No,” I whisper. “Trusting the windows is not an option.”
The pantry might be a good bet though. It has a solid lock on the door to the shed and I can wedge the door shut from the kitchen. It’s an interior room with no windows. Maybe I could barricade myself in here, wait until morning, and then make a run for it.
“Then what?” I ask myself.
Then what… Leave town? Never come back to this place?
Maybe I could stay at the Super 8 and just come back during the day to finish cleaning out the house and then put it on the market. I could live off a credit card for a while, I suppose. It will be a stretch. I might have to list Uncle Walt’s house for less than it’s worth so I won’t get too far into debt, but it’s a possible solution.
“All because someone was crouching on the porch?” I whisper.
No. I shake my head. If it was just the knocking and the person crouching, I wouldn’t be thinking like this. It’s everything. It’s Mr. Engel and the freezer. It’s the police and the investigation. It’s all of that and the knocking.
I’m a firm believer in taking the damn hint. It was stupid of me to stay in this house tonight and I’m not going to make that mistake again.
So, what choice do I have?
I’m not going to try to sprint across the dooryard to the truck. That would be stupid. Option one is to barricade myself in the pantry. Option two is to go up to the deck on top of the barn and see if I can get a signal on my phone. The cops will take me seriously this time—I’m sure of it.
I stand there, breathing slowly as I weigh the options. It’s such a good phrase—weigh one’s options. The two different options do have a distinct weight. The idea of huddling in the pantry weighs heavier on my heart than climbing up to the deck. I hate the idea of hiding here—pathetic and waiting for death to come.
If I’m honest, it’s not really a choice. I’m not dumb enough to try to sprint across the dooryard to the truck, and I’m not so timid that I can make myself hide in the pantry all night.
I take a breath and reach for the doorhandle.
“Shoes and keys,” I whisper to myself.
Keys—that’s a great idea. I’ll lock the door behind me so the pantry will still be a safe spot to retreat to. When I return to the kitchen, I swear I see something dart by
