Morning light filtered through the bedroom curtains with indifferent normalcy. Cassian blinked awake to find Selene already stirring beside him, her hair splayed across the pillow. For just a brief moment, yesterday felt like a cruel fever dream instead.
But Cassian knew it wasn't.
Selene's hand found his beneath the covers, squeezed once, then released. No words. What was there to say that they hadn't already exhausted in the small hours of the night?
She rose first, padding to the bathroom while Cassian lay still, listening to the sounds of their morning routine reassemble itself: water running, the medicine cabinet clicking open and shut, the soft shuffle of her getting dressed. Everything exactly as it should be.
He found her in the kitchen, coffee already brewing, scrolling through her phone with the practiced detachment of someone deliberately not thinking too hard about anything. She'd chosen her navy work blazer, the one that made her look competent and untouchable. Cassian figured she needed that confidence to help tackle the day.
"Since Tommy gave me some time off, I'm obviously not going in," Cassian said, settling at the kitchen table with his laptop and the list they'd compiled together the night before. Bullet points, model numbers, and quantities of what they need to purchase to properly secure their little ranch.
"I know." She poured two mugs, set one beside him. "Call me if anything".
"I will, after I buy a new phone that is."
She kissed the top of his head, lingering just a second longer than usual, then gathered her things. The garage door closed with its familiar click, and Cassian was alone.
He stared at the list for a long moment before standing.
The living room waited, unchanged and unremarkable in the morning light. Cassian moved slowly along the wall where he'd fired...
No, where he'd dreamed he'd fired... tracing his fingers across the paint and floor boards.
Smooth and Pristine.
He checked behind the picture frames, ran his palm over the drywall, even got down on his hands and knees to examine the baseboards.
Nothing.
Of course nothing.
He didn't know whether to feel relieved or more unsettled. The certainty of his memory warred with the evidence of his eyes, and neither would yield. Finally, he pushed himself up, brushed off his knees, and went to get ready.
The phone store had been his first stop, a sterile retail space filled with gleaming displays and overly cheerful employees. Cassian had kept it simple: same model as before, same color, transferred what little data he could from the cloud. The employee, a kid who couldn't have been more than twenty, made small talk about protection plans and insurance while Cassian signed digital forms with a poke there and a touch there.
Now, driving toward the home improvement store, he kept glancing at the phone sitting in the cup holder. Factory-fresh, no scratches, no fingerprint smudges on the screen. It felt like holding someone else's device. He'd already spent ten minutes in the parking lot setting it up. Biometrics, passwords, two-factor authentication. The works.
The morning traffic was light, most people already at their desks or job sites. Cassian took the back roads, avoiding the highway. Less out of preference and more from a sudden aversion to being boxed in by semi-trucks and merge lanes. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel at each red light. Twice, he checked the rearview mirror for no particular reason. Nothing there. Just cars full of strangers living their normal Tuesday mornings.
The home improvement store finally appeared ahead, its orange sign blazing against the overcast sky. The parking lot sprawled before him, half-empty this early. Cassian chose a spot near the entrance, grabbed his new phone and the list, and headed inside.
He grabbed a flat cart. The cameras would be bulky. He started navigating the aisles. The store was a maze of the mundane: garden supplies, lumber, plumbing fixtures. He passed a young couple debating paint colors, an older man studying drill bits with the intensity of a jeweler examining diamonds.
The security section occupied a corner of the electrical department. Cassian found himself standing before a wall of options: doorbell cameras, indoor cameras, outdoor cameras, floodlight combinations. Different brands, different price points, different promises of keeping the chaos at bay.
He pulled out his phone, checking the model numbers of the list against the displays. The store's lighting cast a slight glare on his new screen, and he tilted it, adjusting the angle. Everything felt slightly off. The phone's weight distribution, the way his thumb had to reach for the apps, the missing chips and character of a device that had lived in his pocket for two years.
And the nagging feeling of someone watching him.
Focus, he told himself.
Four wireless cameras. Three camera floodlights. He found them one by one, checking specs on his phone, reading reviews he'd bookmarked that morning. Local recording. Cloud backup. Night vision. Motion detection. Solar panels. Two-way audio, even for the floodlight cameras. He loaded them onto the cart, each box adding weight and a strange sense of purpose.
An employee in an orange apron approached, offering help, but Cassian waved him off with a polite smile. He knew what he needed. He and Selene spent half the night researching.
At checkout, the total flashed on the screen. Higher than he'd hoped. Much higher actually, Cassian didn't like spending money, but lower than he'd feared. He paid with a card, declined the extended warranty, and pushed his cart toward the exit. The automatic doors opened again, and he stepped back into the morning.
The home improvement store squatted on the edge of a vast parking lot, its orange sign blazing against the overcast morning sky as he drove away. Cassian pulled his car into the garage at home, the back seat loaded with boxes. Four wireless cameras. Three camera floodlights. All with local recording and cloud backup. All with solar panels. No wiring required, just mount and activate.
He was reaching for the garage door button when something flickered in his peripheral vision.
Cassian's head snapped toward the side yard. Trees, fence, the garbage bins. Nothing moved. Nothing there. Just shadows playing tricks, the same way they always have been. He stared until his eyes watered, but the yard remained still.
"Get it together," he muttered, and hit the button.
He made two trips from the garage to the kitchen, boxes stacked in his arms. The instructions claimed the cameras were "easy to install" with "simple mounting." He'd believe it when he saw it. Still, the battery power was a godsend. Thank god for the modern era, Cassian thought as he'd been dreading the thought of drilling through siding and running cables.
Cassian was crouched by the porch, unpacking the first camera, when a voice called out.
"Project day, huh?"
He looked up. His neighbor from across the street, Derek something, they'd exchanged maybe a dozen words in the time Cassian had lived here, was standing at the end of his driveway, coffee mug in hand, curiosity plain on his weathered face.
"Something like that," Cassian said, straightening. "Just adding some security cameras."
Derek nodded slowly, glancing at the pile of boxes. "That's smart. Can't be too careful these days." He took a sip of coffee, his eyes drifting down the street. "Say, you notice anything weird with the Pattersons this morning?"
Cassian's hands went still on the camera mounting bracket. "The Pattersons?"
"Yeah, next door to you." Derek gestured vaguely. "They're always out doing their walk by seven-thirty. Like clockwork. Barbara's got her pink tracksuit, Jim's always wearing that ratty Phillies cap." He shrugged. "But this morning? Nothing. Blinds are still drawn. Just struck me as odd."
The bracket felt suddenly heavy in Cassian's hands. "Maybe they slept in."
"Maybe." Derek didn't sound convinced. "Or maybe they went out of town. Just seemed weird not to mention it, you know? We usually wave to each other." He raised his mug in a half-salute. "Anyway, I'll let you get back to it. Those cameras will be good. Neighborhood could use more eyes, especially with all these townhomes they keep putting up."
Cassian looked toward the Patterson house. The windows stared back, dark and indifferent. Then something moved behind the blinds. Just a flicker, a shadow shifting in the gap between slats.
"Derek!" Cassian called out.
The neighbor stopped at the edge of his driveway and turned back. "It's David, actually."
"Right, sorry." Cassian gestured him over. "Can you come here for a second?"
David walked back across the street, coffee mug still in hand, curiosity sharpening his expression. When he reached Cassian's lawn, Cassian nodded toward the Patterson house.
"You see that?" Cassian kept his voice low. "Movement. Behind the blinds."
David followed his gaze, squinting at the darkened windows. They both stood there for a moment, watching. Another shift of shadow, barely perceptible.
"Something's weird there," Cassian said.
David was quiet for a moment, his eyes still fixed on the windows. "Yeah. I see it."
Cassian shifted his weight. "The Patterson's are be nosy. They're usually the first ones out here if there's anything happening on the street. Secrecy is not like them, I thought I'd see them bugging me, not you."
"Yeah nah, I agree," David said. "It felt weird since I missed my morning hello to them. That never happens. The Patterson's always have to share what they're up too." He took a sip of his coffee, though it had to be getting cold by now. "Should we... I don't know, check on them?"
Cassian glanced at the boxes of cameras still scattered on his lawn, then back at the house. "Yeah. Let's go knock."
They crossed the lawn together, stepping onto the Patterson's driveway. The closer they got, the more the house seemed to withdraw into itself. The drawn blinds, the absence of morning sounds, even the plants on the porch looked somehow neglected, even though Mrs. Patterson was watering them yesterday.
Cassian rang the doorbell. The chime echoed somewhere inside, too loud in the morning quiet. They waited. Nothing.
He knocked this time, three solid raps. "Mr. Patterson? Mrs. Patterson? It's Cassian from next door."
Silence stretched between them. David shifted beside him, the coffee mug hanging loose in his hand.
Then a crash. Something heavy hitting the floor inside, followed by a scraping sound.
"Must be their dog," David said, relief creeping into his voice. "Or cat. Knocked something over."
"They don't have pets," Cassian said. "They're allergic."
David's expression changed. The relief drained away, replaced by something harder to read. They stood there, neither moving, both listening. The house had gone silent again.
"Should we..." David started, then stopped. "Should we call for a wellness check? I mean, if something's wrong..."
Cassian nodded, already pulling out his new phone. "Yeah. We should call 9-1-1..."
The lock clicked.
Both men took an instinctive step back as the door swung inward. Cassian's heart hammered against his ribs. David's coffee mug slipped from his fingers, shattering on the concrete.
The door opened slowly, groaning on its hinges, revealing only darkness beyond. No one stood in the doorway. Just an empty threshold and the yawning black of the interior.
"Hello?" Cassian's voice came out rougher than he intended.
No answer. The door hung open, swaying slightly as if caught by a breeze, though the morning air was still.
David took a half step forward, squinting into the darkness. "Mr. Patterson? Mrs. Patterson?"
Silence. Then, slowly, their eyes began to adjust. The interior of the house revealed itself in fragments. A dusty entryway. Cobwebs stretching across the corners of the doorframe, gossamer threads catching what little light filtered through. The air that drifted out smelled wrong. Stale. Old. Like a house that had been sealed for years.
"What the hell?" David whispered.
Cassian's mouth had gone dry. He could see into the living room now, see the furniture covered in a thick layer of dust. A coffee table with objects on it, indistinct shapes beneath gray powder. Picture frames on the wall, their glass clouded and dim. The carpet looked faded, as if sun-bleached over decades of neglect.
But he'd seen Barbara Peterson three days ago. She'd waved to him from her garden, pruning roses in the late afternoon light. Her hands had been clean, her smile warm. The house had been alive then. She'd even called him over, asked if he could help Harold fix a loose cabinet door in the kitchen. Cassian had spent twenty minutes inside that house, breathing its air, touching its walls. The kitchen had smelled like lemon cleaner. The carpet had been vacuumed, the furniture polished. Harold had offered him a beer afterward.
"This doesn't..." David's voice cracked. He took a step back. "This doesn't make sense."
A floorboard creaked somewhere in the depths of the house. Both men froze. The sound came again, slow and deliberate. Footsteps. Something moving through those dusty rooms.
Cassian grabbed David's arm. "We need to go."
"But—"
"Now."
They backed away from the door, neither willing to turn their backs on that dark opening. The footsteps inside grew closer. Cassian could see a shape forming in the hallway beyond, a silhouette against deeper shadow. Tall. Moving wrong. Jerky, like a puppet on tangled strings.
They hit the driveway and both men broke into a run, heading for Cassian's house. Their feet pounded against pavement, breath coming in ragged gasps. Cassian didn't stop until they reached his front lawn, both of them spinning around to look back.
The Peterson's door slammed shut with a sound that echoed down the quiet street like a thunderclap.
Cassian pulled out his phone with shaking hands, dialing 9-1-1. His finger slipped twice before he got it right.
David stood beside him, bent over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. "Well," he said between gasps, "I guess we're going to be close trauma-bonded friends now."
Cassian stared at him, the phone pressed to his ear. The joke fell flat, inappropriate. Wrong. The operator's voice crackled through: "9-1-1, what's your emergency?"
But then the irony of it hit him. Two neighbors who barely knew each other, now bound together by whatever the hell they'd just witnessed. The absurdity of trying to make light of something so deeply, fundamentally wrong. A laugh escaped him, sharp and slightly unhinged.
David looked up, and despite the fear still written across his face, he managed a weak smile.
"9-1-1, are you there?" the operator repeated.
Cassian swallowed, forcing himself to focus. "Yes. Yes, I'm here. I need to report... I need officers to do a wellness check. My neighbors, Harold and Barbara Peterson..."
The line went dead.
Cassian stared at the phone, watching the call timer freeze at seven seconds before the screen went dark. He pressed redial. Nothing. The phone showed full bars, full battery, but the call wouldn't connect. Just a hollow silence where the dial tone should be.
"I... I can't get through." He shoved the phone into his pocket. "Try yours. Call 9-1-1."
David fumbled for his own phone, his fingers still trembling. Cassian didn't wait to see if it worked. He turned to the scattered boxes on his lawn and grabbed the nearest camera, tearing through the packaging with desperate fingers. Styrofoam and plastic wrap scattered across the grass.
"It's not working," David said behind him. "The call won't go through. It's just... nothing."
Cassian pulled the camera free, found the mounting bracket, the screws. His hands moved with frantic purpose. "Keep trying. Try a text. Try anything."
He grabbed the drill, checked the battery charge. Full. Good. He moved to the front corner of his house, holding the bracket up to the siding, marking where the screws would go. His hands had stopped shaking. The fear was still there, coiled tight in his chest, but it had transformed into something sharper. Something useful.
David paced behind him, phone pressed to his ear. "Still nothing. This doesn't make sense. We're in the middle of a neighborhood, not a dead zone."
The drill bit into the siding with a high whine. Once. Twice. Three times. Cassian mounted the bracket, his movements efficient despite the adrenaline coursing through him. Luckily the fixer-upper that this house was gave him the experience needed to power through this.
"I'm going to try walking down the street," David said. "See if I can get a signal."
"Don't." Cassian didn't look up from the camera he was attaching to the bracket. "Stay where I can see you."
"Cassian—"
"Please." He finally met David's eyes. "Just... stay here. Please. You saw that creature."
David hesitated, then nodded. He looked back at the Peterson house, its windows still dark, still watching. "What the hell is happening?"
Cassian clipped the camera into place and pulled out his new phone, opening the app. The camera powered on, its indicator light blinking green. The feed appeared on his screen: a clear view of his front yard, the street, and the Peterson house directly across.
"I don't know," he said quietly. "But I'm going to find out."
He grabbed the second camera and moved to the next corner of his house. Six more to go. The solar panels gleamed in the morning light, promising power, promising surveillance, promising answers.
Behind him, David tried his phone again. Still nothing. No cars passing. No neighbors emerging for work. Just the two of them and that house with its drawn blinds and impossible interior.
The backyard cameras were the most important, Cassian decided. Anyone could approach from the rear, hidden from street view by the fence line. He moved around the side of the house, David trailing behind him, both men casting wary glances at the Peterson house as they went.
Cassian's backyard was modest. A small patio, some overgrown grass he kept meaning to mow, and the wooden privacy fence that separated his property from the Petersons'. He was already pulling out the third camera when David made a sound. Not quite a word. More like air being forced from lungs.
Cassian looked up.
The heads were mounted on the fence posts. Just the heads. Barbara's blonde hair hung limp, matted with something dark. Her eyes were open, wide and pleading, her mouth frozen in a silent scream. The terror on her face was so raw, so visceral, that Cassian felt it like a physical blow.
Harold's head sat three posts down. His eyes were open too, but there was nothing pleading in them. They stared with cold menace, fixed directly on Cassian. His mouth was set in a grimace, lips pulled back from his teeth.
David screamed. The sound shattered the morning quiet, high and ragged.
Cassian's legs gave out. He hit the ground hard, the camera tumbling from his hands. His vision tunneled, everything narrowing to those two faces, those accusing eyes. Barbara's fear. Harold's rage.
He blinked.
Blinked again.
The fence posts were empty. Just weathered wood, slightly warped from last winter's rain. No heads. No blood. No evidence that anything had ever been there.
David had stopped screaming, his hand clamped over his mouth. His whole body was shaking. "Did you," His voice came out strangled. "Tell me you saw that."
Cassian couldn't speak. He stared at the fence, at the empty posts, at the space where Barbara's terrified face had been. He blinked again, harder this time, like he could force reality to stabilize.
The posts remained empty.
"Cassian." David's voice was breaking. "Tell me you saw that."
"I saw it," Cassian whispered.
The camera lay in the grass beside him, its lens pointing up at the empty sky. The drill sat useless in his other hand.
And the fence, that ordinary fence that he'd looked at a thousand times, now seemed like a border to something else entirely.