She left me alone in the kitchen with a full glass of wine and an empty list of excuses.
I sat there for a long time, thinking about doors. The one in our basement that led to hell. The one Stuart had walked through this morning. The one three doors down from my bedroom that I’d been too afraid to knock on.
Some doors, once opened, changed everything.
Maybe it was time to stop being afraid of that.
Maybe.
I hadn’t decided yet. But at least I’d decided to decide.
Timmy’s roomsmelled like baby shampoo and the lavender sachets Fran tucked into his dresser drawers. I stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him arrange Boo Bear against his pillow with the kind of intense concentration only small children can muster.
“Mommy.” He looked up, and his whole face brightened. “You came.”
“Of course I came.” I crossed to his bed and sat on the edge, brushing the hair back from his forehead. It needed cutting again. It always needed cutting. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“Fran said you were busy.”
“Never too busy for you, baby.”
He scooted over to make room, and I stretched out beside him, Boo Bear wedged between us. The ceiling above his bed had glow-in-the-dark stars that Stuart had put up when we’d first moved into the mansion. Back when everything had felt like a fresh start.
“Mommy?”
“Hmm?”
“Is the house sick?”
I turned my head to look at him. His eyes were wide and serious in the dim glow of his nightlight. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”
“It feels wrong.” He clutched Boo Bear tighter. “Like when my tummy hurts but I can’t find where.”
My chest constricted, terrified that my little boy was tuned in to this horror.
“The house is fine,” I said, and the lie tasted sour on my tongue. “It’s old, that’s all. Old houses make funny noises.”
“It’s not the noises.” He was quiet for a moment, his small fingers working at Boo Bear’s matted fur. “It’s the Knocking Man. He’s louder now.”
The room seemed to get colder.Louder?That had to mean the portal was getting stronger.
“He’s still knocking?” I kept my voice light, casual, even as my heart hammered against my ribs.
Timmy nodded. “He wants to come in. He’s been knocking for a long time. But the door’s locked.” He yawned, his eyelids drooping. “He says the lock is almost broken.”
Almost broken.
Ice cold fear cut through me.
How much time did we actually have?
“Timmy.” My voice came out steadier than I expected. “Has the knocking man talked to you? More than before?”
“No, Mommy.” His eyes were closing now, sleep pulling him under despite the horror show playing out in my head. “But he thinks louder now.”
I shivered. “What does he think about?”
“Coming home.” Timmy’s voice was barely a whisper now. “He wants to come home. And he thinks about the girl. The one with the bright light inside.”
