Her nerves were on fire. Her body had grown tense, until the fibers of her being ached, and Margot was incapable of relaxing. She could only lie there, pantomiming sleep, as she waited and listened.

Then, a scrape.

The noise registered in Margot’s head before her ears even had time to process it. She knew that noise. She’d heard it a dozen times a day as a child. No other memories of her earliest years existed, but she knew this.

Back then, it had been a good noise. She’d associated it with something she loved.

Now, it spread pure dread through her limbs.

The scrape came from the dog door as it swung open.

Far in the distance, a hand slapped onto the kitchen tiles.

She pictured an emaciated body writhing through the hatch, hands and legs spread out like an insect.

Another slap. A scrape as something heavy dragged itself through the narrow opening.

Then the soft whoosh-clack-clack as the flap swung closed again.

Margot’s mouth gaped open but she didn’t dare make any noise. She felt frozen, locked in place, her body turned to lead as the terror tore through her—

The downstairs floorboards creaked.

Margot rolled over the side of her bed, grasping for her phone. Now that the presence was inside the house, the light was the most dangerous thing in her room. She fought with the button, switching it off, and silently prayed the creature that had paced outside her window didn’t remember where her room was.

I could move somewhere else, run into one of the other bedrooms before it gets to the stairs…

That was foolish. She didn’t know the house or what she might find elsewhere. At least in this room, she had a weapon and something to barricade the door. They were slim advantages, but they were more than nothing.

She hunched on the floor, phone pressed to her chest, eyes staring blindly at the opposite wall.

The presence didn’t keep her waiting. A heavy, dull footfall thumped on the lowest stair. Margot grit her teeth, fear flowing through her veins. It was coming upstairs already. It had to know where she was.

Stay calm. Clear your head. Think!

The stairs groaned under the intruder’s weight. It had to be large. Weighty.

Physical. Not a ghost. Not something I can put my hand through.

Each step was slow and ponderous, but they came unrelentingly, each one moving it closer. It was more than halfway up the stairs.

The axe.

She was on her feet before the thought had fully registered. The axe’s handle, roughed by age, ached in her sore hands. She raised it. Her legs were unsteady, and she had to stagger to hold her balance.