The key turned in the lock with a rusty click, and I pushed open the front door of 414 Elm Street.
My neighbor, Marcus, had texted me two hours earlier asking if I could feed his Golden Retriever, Buster, while he was stuck out of town on a last-minute business trip. I’d lived next door to Marcus for three years. He was a quiet guy who worked in tech, kept his lawn immaculate, and left his spare key under the fake rock by the porch. Standard suburban setup.
“Buster?” I called out, stepping into the dim foyer.
The house was stiflingly quiet, smelling faintly of citrus cleaner and stale dog food. I walked into the kitchen, grabbed the bag of kibble off the counter, and dumped a scoop into the stainless-steel bowl. The loud clatter of the food echoed through the empty ground floor.
Usually, Buster would come barreling down the stairs at the sound of food. Today, nothing.
Then, I heard it.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Heavy, deliberate footsteps were moving across the hardwood floor directly above my head—moving from the master bedroom toward the top of the stairs.
“Marcus?” I called, my voice tightening. “Is someone up there?”
The footsteps stopped immediately.
A wave of cold unease settled over me. I figured maybe Marcus’s wife had come home early, or a house sitter was staying upstairs. But when I texted Marcus—Hey, is someone else in the house?—his reply was instant:
No, house should be empty. Buster is locked in the master bedroom. Did you find him?
My chest tightened. If Buster was locked in the bedroom, what was walking around?
I backed up toward the kitchen island, where Marcus kept his smart-home hub—an iPad mounted to the wall that cycled through live feeds from four security cameras around the property. I tapped the screen to check the interior hallway camera, hoping to see a burglar or a stray cat.
Instead, I saw the front door feed. The timestamp in the top right corner read 6:12 PM.
I pulled out my phone. My own clock read 6:17 PM.
Curious, I scrubbed the video timeline back five minutes to 6:12 PM to see if the door had been opened before I got there.
On the screen, the front door unlocked. A man in a blue faded hoodie, black jeans, and muddy sneakers pushed the door open, stepped inside, and paused in the entryway.
I stared at the screen, my breath catching in my throat.
