Chapter 10 - The Midnight Knock
Back downstairs, Sarah was frantically trying to comfort Sophie, who had come running down from her bedroom, clutching her blanket and shivering violently.
“Aunt Sarah, something is inside the walls,” Sophie cried, burying her face in Sarah’s apron. “It was whispering my name.”
Before Sarah could answer, a sharp, violent rapping shook the front door of the Victorian house.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
It wasn't a polite knock. It was the frantic, pounding assault of someone desperate to break the wood apart.
Sarah rushed to the entryway, peering through the small brass peephole into the dark porch outside. The porch light flickered, illuminating a figure standing on the welcome mat.
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It was a man in a sodden, dark trench coat, his face obscured by the brim of a fedora, holding a black leather briefcase identical to the one Clara had carried the night she died.
The man didn't speak. He simply raised his hand and pressed his palm flat against the glass of the front door, leaving a stark, bloody handprint on the pane.
