They walked through the space, took a few notes, and exchanged glances that said more than their words. “Nothing here suggests a break-in, ma’am,” one of them said gently. Rose didn’t argue. She just watched them leave, her jaw tight.
Sleep didn’t come easily to her that night. Her eyes kept flicking toward the shadows in her room. Every gust of wind outside made her flinch. Hours passed. She must have drifted off eventually—but then it came. A shrill metallic screech, far away but unmistakable, tore her from sleep.
She sat upright, heart racing. It sounded like metal on metal—drawn slowly. She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just clutched her blanket and prayed it had been a dream. But minutes later, there was another sound—the low, aching groan of floorboards shifting under weight.
It came from the hallway. She froze. Not even daring to blink. There were no footsteps. Just the creaking. Then silence again. Nothing but her pulse pounding in her ears. Her fingers gripped the edges of the blanket until her knuckles turned white. She didn’t get up. She couldn’t.