Chapter Two – DING!!!
"Serena?"
Sam's voice was low and uncertain. He touched her shoulder, but she didn't react.
Her body trembled, eyes fixed on the static-filled screen. The pale television light painted her face in a ghostly hue.
"Serena, what happened? Talk to me."
Slowly, her lips parted. Her hand rose, unsteady, and pointed toward the flickering display. "T-that… I just saw…"
The words stuck in her throat, but the terror etched on her face froze Sam where he stood.
When she finally spoke again, her voice cracked. "I-it came out… and ripped the woman in two. T-there was blood everywhere…"
The color drained from Sam's face. His unease returned like a flood, washing through his chest until his pulse thundered in his ears.
"Tell me," he said, his voice trembling despite him. "What came out?"
Serena didn't answer. She kept staring, as if expecting the thing to crawl right out of the screen. He shook her gently, desperate to snap her out of it.
And then, at last, she turned to him.
In her brown eyes—usually warm, playful—there was nothing but dread. When she spoke, it was barely a whisper.
"A demon."
Sam blinked. "A… demon?"
She nodded quickly, as if even speaking of it might draw it closer.
Outside, two distant explosions rumbled through the night—booming echoes that seemed to confirm her words.
Sam's mind spun. Demons? The word sounded ridiculous, impossible, yet nothing today had made sense. And if Serena's reaction was any indication… it wasn't a joke.
"It was huge. Its skin was red. Two large horns on its head. It came out of the rift and grabbed the reporter, it was fast. then—her voice trembled with fear as she tried to describe it—tore her in two, blood spattering everywhere."
Imagining the scene she painted, Sam was shocked.
Pulling himself together, he scanned the room. The air felt heavy, suffocating, as if the world itself was holding its breath. He exhaled, forced his thoughts into order, and hurried to the kitchen.
If what Serena saw was real, then sitting still would only make them victims.
He reached for the counter and grabbed the first weapon he could find—a steel kitchen knife. Three inches long, sharp enough to cut through bone. On second thought, he snagged two more—one of them a hefty meat cleaver.
When he returned, Serena had calmed somewhat, though her hands still shook.
"Here," Sam said, handing her one of the knives.
She took it hesitantly, glancing from the blade to him, confusion flickering in her gaze.
"I don't think it's safe outside right now," he said quietly, locking the doors and drawing the curtains tight. "So, for now, we stay put."
He checked the windows again and even went to the rooms above—every instinct on edge. The air felt wrong, thick with a strange charge.
Serena's voice finally broke the silence. "But… what about Mother? And Father?"
Sam's fingers tightened around the knife's handle. The image of his stepmother's frantic call flashed in his mind—the panic in her tone, the gunfire, that roar.
He steadied his expression before answering. "I don't know, Serena. But right now, we must take care of ourselves and hope they're okay."
Serena's lips quivered. "But what if they're not?"
"They'll be fine," he said, the firmness in his tone at odds with the flicker of fear in his eyes.
"But—"
"No buts, Serena. They'll be fine." He exhaled slowly, gaze dropping for a brief moment. Then, barely audible, he whispered to himself, 'They have to be.'
The house fell into a tense silence. Every tick of the clock felt louder than it should.
Then came the tremor.
The first wave struck like a deep growl from beneath the earth, shaking the floorboards and rattling the furniture. Sam grabbed Serena and pulled her down with him, covering her as dust drifted from the ceiling.
Another tremor hit—harder.
And another.
By the fifth, picture frames crashed to the ground and a hairline crack ran along the wall. The entire house groaned as if it might buckle.
Sam tightened his hold on Serena, pressing her head into his chest. His heartbeat thundered against her ear, steady despite the chaos around them.
"Hold on," he muttered.
The sixth tremor hit like a hammer.
Then the seventh.
By the eighth, Sam was sure the house wouldn't survive another. But it did. Barely.
At the tenth, the earth stilled. The vibration faded, leaving behind a hollow silence that was somehow worse than the noise before.
Sam lifted his head, straining to listen. Even the wind seemed to have stopped.
The world had gone quiet.
Too quiet.
Then, from somewhere distant—but impossibly clear—came a sound.
DING.
A single, sharp chime.
It wasn't mechanical, nor unnatural. It resonated in the air like something alive.
Sam's pulse spiked.
Serena raised her head slightly, eyes wide and searching. "What… was that?"
He didn't answer. Because even as the echo faded, a faint shimmer of light passed through the room—like invisible dust catching sunlight.