For a moment, neither of us moved. The rain kept crashing against the windows like it wanted to force its way inside, thunder rolling across Centralia like the sky itself was carrying secrets too heavy to hold. I looked from Helen to the figure standing across the street and back again, trying to understand why the air suddenly felt too heavy to breathe. Helen stood frozen near the couch, her eyes locked onto him in a way I had never seen before. It wasn't fear exactly. It wasn't confusion either. It looked more like recognition, like she already knew something terrible was about to happen.
"Helen," I said quietly, trying to steady my voice. "Who is that?"
She blinked slowly, almost like she had forgotten I was standing there. "You need to lock the door," she whispered.
"I already did."
"No," she said quickly, standing so suddenly the chair scraped against the floor. "Check it again."
Something about the way she said it made my stomach tighten. I walked toward the door anyway, my hands colder than they should've been. The lock clicked under my fingers, still secure, but when I turned back toward the window, the figure had moved.
He was walking toward the house.
Slowly.
Calmly.
Like he had nowhere else to be.
Every step felt wrong. Too relaxed. Too certain. Rain soaked through his dark hoodie as he stepped beneath the weak glow of the streetlight, and for the first time, I could make out parts of his face. He looked around our age, maybe a little older. Pale skin. Dark circles resting under tired eyes, like sleep had forgotten him a long time ago. But what unsettled me the most was the smile spreading slowly across his face. It wasn't normal. It felt wrong somehow, the kind of smile people wear when they already know something everyone else doesn't.
Then came the knock.
Three slow knocks echoed through the house.
Nobody moved.
The sound came again.
Three more.
Helen stepped backward.
"No…" she whispered so quietly I almost didn't hear it.
I turned toward her. "You know him?"
Her hands had started shaking now. Whatever calm she had walked in with was gone. She looked smaller somehow, like fear had finally remembered where to find her.
Before she could answer, the knocking stopped.
Silence swallowed the room.
Then my phone buzzed.
I pulled it out immediately.
Unknown Number.
One new message.
Don't let him inside.
My chest tightened.
Another message appeared almost instantly.
Ask Helen what she buried.
For a second, I just stared at the screen, rereading the words like they might suddenly mean something else. Slowly, I looked back at Helen.
"Helen…" My voice barely came out. "What did you bury?"
Something changed in her face.
Not confusion.
Not surprise.
Something heavier.
Guilt.
Her lips parted like she wanted to explain, but no words came out. She looked toward the door again, panic flickering across her face for the first time all night.
Then—
A voice came from outside.
Quiet.
Soft.
Almost playful.
"Helen," the boy said through the door, his voice calm enough to feel dangerous. "You should tell him the truth."
The house became unbearably silent.
I looked at Helen.
She looked like she had stopped breathing.
Then the boy laughed softly from the other side of the door.
Cold.
Patient.
Like he already knew something I didn't. 🌧️