He moved quickly through the back hallway—the one no one used since the house had been remodeled. Every step creaked. Every shadow felt heavier. As he passed the dining room, he saw the table laid out with coffee, pastries, plates meant for grieving guests.
It made his stomach turn.
But he didn’t stop.
He reached the laundry room—and froze.
His cell phone was upstairs.
Panic surged… until he spotted the old landline mounted on the wall.
He set Camila down on a pile of blankets, touched her burning forehead, and dialed 911.
He didn’t shout.
He didn’t cry.
He just waited.
Then—
Footsteps.
Coming down the hallway.
The air turned heavy.
Part 2
The footsteps weren’t rushed.
They were steady.
Certain.
Like whoever was walking already knew exactly where they were.
Ernest tightened his grip on the phone. Camila curled closer to him, trembling at the sound—the same sound that had taught her to stay silent.
A second passed before the operator answered.
And that second felt endless.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
Ernest lowered his voice to a whisper.
“My granddaughter… she’s alive. They were going to… they were going to bury her alive. We’re at 214 Ridgeway Drive. Please—hurry.”