Chapter 7: The Daylight Escape
I made a choice in that split second—a choice that still haunts me when I lie awake at night.
I chose my daughter.
If Buster was in the bedrooms—if he was in there with It—I couldn’t save him. Not without walking past the threshold. Not without engaging with whatever was sniffing my pillow.
“We’ll come back for him,” I lied. I grabbed Lily’s hand, snatching her pink sneakers from the mat by the door. I didn’t let her put them on. I just scooped her up, her drawings fluttering to the floor, and bolted.
I fumbled with the deadbolt, my fingers slippery with sweat. Click.
I threw the door open and burst out into the cool Oregon air. The world outside was infuriatingly normal. The mailman was turning his truck around at the end of the cul-de-sac. Mrs. Gable next door was watering her hydrangeas.
“Good morning, Sarah!” Mrs. Gable called out, waving a garden trowel. “Running late?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I threw Lily into the backseat of my SUV, not even bothering with the booster seat straps properly, just clicking the main belt. I jumped into the driver’s seat, jammed the key in the ignition, and reversed out of the driveway so fast the tires screeched.
As I shifted into drive, I looked back at the house.
The front window—the big bay window of the living room—was dark. But for a fleeting second, just before I hit the gas, I saw them.
Two of them.
Standing side by side in the window. One slightly shorter, one taller and jagged. They weren’t hiding anymore. They were watching us leave.
And I swear, even from fifty feet away, I could feel them smiling.
Chapter 8: Safe Harbor
I drove for an hour. I didn’t have a destination. I just drove west, toward the coast, putting miles of asphalt between us and the subdivision.
Lily fell asleep almost immediately, her head lolling against the window. How could she sleep? How could she be so calm?
I pulled into the parking lot of a Denny’s near Tillamook. It was public. It was crowded. It smelled like bacon and coffee—the opposite of the sterile, electric smell of my house.
We sat in a booth in the back. I ordered pancakes for Lily and black coffee for myself. My hands were shaking so bad I had to hold the mug with both hands to keep it from rattling against the saucer.
“Mommy, are we going on a vacation?” Lily asked, drowning her pancakes in syrup.
“Something like that, baby.”
I needed help. I couldn’t handle this alone. I was a rational woman. I had a Master’s degree. I paid taxes. I didn’t believe in ghosts. But I couldn’t deny the video footage.
I pulled out my phone. The screen was cracked, a spiderweb fracture running right through the center, but it still worked.
I called Dave.
Dave was my older brother. He was a contractor, a guy who built houses with his bare hands. He was the most grounded person I knew. He didn’t believe in anything he couldn’t hit with a hammer.
“Hey, Sis,” he answered on the second ring. “What’s up? You catch me on a lunch break.”
“Dave,” I choked out. “I need you. I need you right now.”
His tone changed instantly. “Sarah? You okay? You hurt?”
“I… I can’t explain it over the phone. But I can’t go home. I need you to meet me.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at the Denny’s on Highway 6. Please, Dave. Bring… bring your gun.”
There was a pause. A long, heavy silence. Dave had a concealed carry permit, but he never talked about it, never flaunted it.
“I’m on my way,” he said. “Give me forty minutes.”
Chapter 9: The Skeptic and the Screen
When Dave walked into the diner, he looked like a lifeline. Flannel shirt, work boots, eyes scanning the room for threats. He slid into the booth opposite me, ruffling Lily’s hair.
“Hey, munchkin,” he said to her, before turning his hard gaze to me. “Talk.”
I didn’t say anything. I just unlocked my phone, opened the Wyze app, and went to the ‘Events’ tab.
I played the clip from 2:12 a.m. The one of Lily’s room.
Dave watched it in silence. He squinted at the small screen. He watched the mattress depress. He watched the shadow loom.
“Okay,” he said slowly. “Someone broke in. A squatter? Some creep?”
“Keep watching,” I whispered.
I played the clip from this morning. My bedroom. The flickering, tall entity. The sniffing sound.
Dave’s face went pale. He replayed the sound three times. Sniff. Sniff.
“That’s not… that’s not a person, Sarah,” he muttered. “That movement. The way the arm… stretches. It looks like a special effect.”
“It’s not an effect, Dave. It’s live. It’s in my house.”
He sat back, running a hand through his short, graying hair. He looked out the window at the gray sky.
“And you left Buster?” he asked quietly.
The guilt hit me like a physical punch. tears welled up in my eyes. “I panicked. I just grabbed Lily. Dave, the dog hasn’t made a sound all morning. If he was okay, he would have barked.”
Dave nodded grimly. He was a dog lover. This bothered him almost as much as the shadow monster.
“Okay,” he said, slamming his hand on the table. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You and Lily are staying at my place tonight. My wife will watch her. You and I? We’re going back.”
“No,” I shook my head violently. “No way.”
“Sarah, we have to. We need clothes. We need your laptop. And we need to find the dog. If Buster is hurt, we can’t leave him there to die. And if there is some… thing… in your house, we need to know what we’re dealing with.”
He leaned in closer. “And if it’s a person playing a sick joke with a projector or something? I’m going to put them in the hospital.”
See more on the next page
