Edward's footsteps grew louder as the distance between him and Sam's home shortened. The silence around him felt suffocating, the shadows pressing down on him with each step, stretching over the streets. He struggled to breathe, each inhale sharp and ragged, the mist lingering for a moment in the cold before dissolving into the night. His mind raced, every figure on the sidewalk appearing too large, every gust of wind seeming to carry an unseen danger just beyond hearing.
Sam's house loomed ahead, its shape a ghostly silhouette behind the haze of distant streetlamps. He could make out the outline of her porch and the trees swaying in the wind, their dark forms casting long shadows along the house. It was supposed to be a place of safety. But all Edward could feel was the familiar, tight knot in his chest, choking him again.
The house was dark. No lights, no warm glow from the windows. It looked empty, but Edward refused to believe that. Sam was here. She had to be.
He stood there for a moment, his finger hovering over the doorbell. The space between him and the house felt both too far and not near enough. He pushed the button. It rang twice, but nobody answered. The seconds ticked by, each one slower than the last. He rang again. There was nothing.
"Sam?" he called softly, his own voice sounding unnervingly loud in the darkness. "Sam, are you there?"
A shiver ran down his spine. It wasn't like Sam to be so distant, not when he had taken all the threats in veiled terms in advance. He lifted his hand and knocked once, hard, the sound echoing through the stillness. He counted the seconds, but no one answered. He pushed against the door, and it creaked open easily under his touch.
The door creaked open, an inviting darkness spilling out. Edward hesitated in the doorway for a moment, torn between stepping inside or turning back. But Sam's face, her strange behavior earlier, urged him in. He entered.
The air in the house felt stale, as though weeks or days had passed without ventilation. His eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light inside, and he noticed that everything seemed in order: furniture arranged, the sofas in the living room still neatly placed. A soft hum came from the refrigerator in the kitchen, and the faint glow of the hallway light illuminated the shadows. Everything appeared... fine. Too fine.
But something wasn't right.
"Sam?" Edward shouted again, his voice louder now, but still trembling.
Silence.
Silence inside the house felt more oppressive than it had outside. Not just silent—it was suffocating. He ventured deeper into the house, his boots creaking on the wooden floor as he made his way down the corridor. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end with each step. The dim gloom of the hallway barely allowed him to make out the rooms on either side, their shadows lurking just beyond his sight.
He headed toward the living room, but as he passed the door, something caught his eye on the floor—a crumpled piece of paper. Edward crouched and flattened it out, squinting to read the messy scribbles. He was sure it was Sam's handwriting.
They're coming. You have to leave.
His breath caught in his throat, the words hitting him like a punch. He read it again, trembling as he turned the paper over. There was nothing—no date, no signature. Just that cryptic warning.
And then, without warning, he heard it:
A creak. The unmistakable thud of steps, slow and deliberate, coming up from above.
Edward's heart stopped.
He gazed upward at the stairs. The stairs creaked again, the sound growing louder, as though someone—someone gigantic—was moving from floor to floor. There was no doubt of it: someone was upstairs.
"Sam?" Edward yelled again, his voice shaking. But the steps didn't stop. They just grew louder.
He stumbled blindly toward the stairs, his ears ringing in his head. His mind whirled, crashing thoughts together in a frantic whirlpool. What was going on? Why wouldn't she respond to him?
He climbed the stairs cautiously, step by step, each one creaking noisily under his weight. At the top, the thudding of the steps stopped. The stillness returned, heavy and oppressive.
Edward stood at the top of the stairs, gazing down the hallway, half-hoping to see someone—or something—at the far end. But nothing appeared. Only the shadows on the walls, the emptiness of hanging dust. He drew a breath and concentrated.
"Sam?" His voice cracked.
Down the hallway, a door was open—a crack; her bedroom. A slice of light cut across the room. Edward approached quietly, carefully. He grasped the door and pushed it open.
Everything was in order inside. Her bed was neat, clothing scattered across the floor, the soft light from the bedside lamp casting a golden glow in the corner. But no Sam.
He stepped into the room, scanning it quickly. His heart raced as he spotted something—a small form in the shadows against the wall.
"Sam?" He whispered, trying to make the words come out.
The figure didn't move. Didn't say anything. Edward's throat tightened, his breath catching in his chest as he took a step closer. When he did, the figure shifted, stepping into the light.
It wasn't Sam.
A man—rumpled, sunken-eyed, with a vacant, bemused expression—met his gaze. His lips were drawn into an uneven, half-formed smile.
Edward stepped back, his breath freezing in his throat. "What the hell—"
Before he could move, the man raised his hand, his trembling finger pointing at the door. "You have no business here," he rasped in a gruff, half-whimpering voice. "It's too late."
The words echoed in Edward's mind as the door slammed shut behind him with a deafening boom.