The knocking stopped.
But the silence that followed was worse—heavy, suffocating, like the whole world was holding its breath.
Katie's fingers dug into Mark's arm.
"Mark… she can't be here. She can't."
Mark swallowed hard. "We both saw Jennifer get taken by the cops. There's no way she's standing on this porch."
Another knock.
Soft.
Too gentle to belong to a stranger.
"Sweetheart… open the door," the voice said again. "It's cold out here."
Katie's legs locked in place.
Mark shook his head. "Don't move. Don't talk. Don't go near that door."
Katie could barely breathe. "What if… what if she escaped? What if Steve let her go?"
Mark stepped in front of her, like a shield. "Steve wouldn't do that. And she wouldn't know this address."
They backed away slowly, step by step.
The house felt smaller with every breath—like the walls were closing in.
A shadow shifted under the doorframe.
Whoever was out there was standing very close.
Too close.
Katie whispered, shaking, "Should I call Steve?"
Mark nodded. "Do it quietly."
She reached for Steve's phone—the one he left her for emergencies. Her thumb trembled over the screen.
Before she could dial—
The doorknob rattled.
Softly.
Testing.
"Katie…" the voice said, suddenly lower, colder, stripped of the sweetness. "Open the door."
Katie nearly dropped the phone.
"That's not her," Mark muttered. "It sounds like her—but it's not."
The voice outside exhaled, annoyed.
Then—
The doorknob jerked violently.
Once.
Twice.
Mark grabbed Katie's wrist. "Go. Upstairs. Now."
They ran.
Katie could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears as they reached the top step.
The voice outside the door changed—warped almost.
"Katie… sweetheart… I said open the door."
It didn't sound like Jennifer anymore.
It sounded almost mechanical—like someone trying to imitate her.
Like a recording blended with a real voice.
Katie whispered, terrified, "Who is that…?"
Mark grabbed her shoulder. "We can't stay by the door. We go to your room and lock it."
They hurried down the hallway, but before they reached her door—
The first window downstairs SHATTERED.
Glass rained across the living room.
Katie screamed.
Mark shoved her into the nearest bedroom—Courtney's—and slammed the door.
"Katie, get the dresser," he ordered.
She snapped out of her shock enough to help him shove the heavy dresser in front of the door.
Her whole body trembled. "Mark… oh my god… someone's in the house… someone's in the house…"
Mark pushed her against the wall, face inches from hers, forcing her to look at him.
"Katie. Listen to me."
He took her shaking hands in his.
"We are going to get through this. We are staying alive until Steve gets here. Do you hear me?"
Katie nodded rapidly, tears streaming. "Okay… okay…"
Downstairs, heavy footsteps moved across the broken glass.
Slow.
Purposeful.
Searching.
A voice drifted up the stairs—low, singsong, like a predator calling prey:
"Kaaaaaatie… I know you're home… Come out, sweetheart…"
Katie covered her mouth to muffle a sob.
Mark grabbed the baseball bat Courtney kept in her closet. "If that door opens, I swing."
Katie squeezed her eyes shut. "Why is this happening… Why won't they leave us alone…"
Mark didn't answer. He couldn't.
Because the footsteps were getting louder—climbing the stairs now.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Mark tightened his grip on the bat.
Katie's whole body locked up, trembling.
The shadow reached the top step.
And then—
Steve's phone buzzed in her shaking hand.
She looked at the screen.
Unknown number.
Mark's voice cracked. "DON'T answer it."
The footsteps stopped right outside the bedroom door.
A long silence.
Then—
The person on the other side spoke in a calm whisper:
"Sweetheart… answering the phone won't save you."
Katie dropped the phone.
Mark lifted the bat over his shoulder.
The doorknob slowly started to turn.