As she turned to leave, a floorboard creaked overhead. They both froze, their eyes snapping toward the ceiling. The sound was faint but unmistakable—the familiar groan of the old board near the upstairs linen closet. Mark’s face went pale. “Sabrina?” he called out, his voice
The silence stretched, strained. No answer.
“I thought she was out,” Kayla murmured.
“So did I.” He was already moving toward the staircase. “Wait here.” But Kayla didn’t wait. She followed a few steps behind, her heart hammering against her ribs. Mark took the stairs two at a time, his earlier fatigue gone, replaced by a sharp, alarmed energy.
He called Sabrina’s name again upon reaching the top. The hallway was empty, sunlight streaming through the far window to illuminate dancing dust motes. He checked their bedroom, the bathroom, the vacant guest room—all were still. Finally, he stopped before the linen closet, its door slightly ajar. Inside, towels and sheets sat neatly on shelves, nothing out of place.
But beside it, the small wooden door to the attic crawlspace was closed. The broken hasp lay on the floor, screws still embedded in the splintered wood. Mark stared, then gently pulled the crawlspace open.
Darkness yawned back, smelling of old wood and insulation. Mark’s phone flashlight cut through the dust, revealing a low, cramped space filled with pink insulation batts and scattered boxes. It was empty.
“Must have been the house settling,” Mark said, but his voice lacked conviction. He was staring at the crawlspace floor. Kayla peered around him. The dust on the plywood was disturbed, scuffed with marks that looked like footprints.
He was already moving, the sound of a car door slamming shut coming through the phone. “The motion sensor in the attic,” he said, the words rushing out. “The one I showed you how to check on the app. It just triggered. Thirty seconds ago.”
The world seemed to tilt. That sensor was a tiny, battery-powered unit meant to catch mice or a fallen branch, not footsteps. A sob caught in Kayla’s throat. “But that’s impossible. The attic door is locked from the outside. The padlock—”
“I know,” Mark interrupted, his engine roaring to life. “I’m on my way. Don’t hang up. Get Tommy and go into the bathroom, the one with the lock. Do it now, Kayla. Quietly.”