The other two moved more freely, running along the house’s side, questing fingers probing at every door and every window.

Maybe they won’t be able to get in after all. I sealed the dog door. All the other main entrances and windows are locked. What if that’s enough?

The slow, pacing footsteps kept coming in waves. Moving closer. Stopping. Moving past her. She didn’t dare lower her guard. With the phone’s light covered, she was as good as blind, except for a whisper-thin line of light that came in beneath the curtains at her back. Her eyes began to grow unsteady as they stared into the chasm of gloom surrounding her. Robbed of stimulus, her brain began to create its own phantoms: ethereal shapes that danced through the dark, teasing her vision, promising movement where there was none.

She couldn’t close her eyes, though. The hour was late. She’d been sitting still for so long that her limbs began to feel heavy. Tired. If she let her eyes close, even for a minute, she was afraid they might not open again on her command.

The footsteps wouldn’t stop. They weren’t fast, but they were dogged. Floorboards creaked under them. Each pace was measured so that Margot could count three heartbeats between footfalls.

When the dead ones grew close, Margot’s skin would prickle and her muscles would tense in preparation. But the figures always kept moving, never lingering outside her window for more than a second, and she would relax again, the tension draining from her limbs.

The more often they passed her by, the less pronounced her reactions became. Her mind was growing tired. Not just from the desire to sleep, but from the exhaustion of tracing each of the bodies as they looped the outside of her house. She didn’t know how long she’d sat there already. Her feet were numb. Even with the jacket, the cold was starting to set in, seeping into her back where it was pressed against the wall. Each time she blinked, her eyelids felt heavier. Her mind started to drift.

And then, it happened. Footsteps began trailing toward her once more, and she was halfway to dismissing the sound before it registered.

The footsteps were coming from the wrong direction. No longer circling the house or at her back, these sounds moved toward her from the kitchen.

One of them was inside the house.

34

Margot’s mouth turned dry. The heavy tiredness evaporated. Adrenaline ran through to replace it, pulsing fast, setting her body on fire.

Keep still! Don’t panic. Don’t run.

Bare feet slapped against the wooden floor. Margot stared toward the sound. In her mind’s eye she could picture the open archway no more than eight feet away. She visualized the body approaching it, arms limp, feet dragging with every step.