Page 5 of Forever Dead

The back door stood open, but a second glance told her what had happened.

It had been broken in.

The lower panel had split around the lock. A jagged strip of timber hung inward. The door rested crooked against the wall, shifting slightly whenever the wind entered.

Eleanor could not move.

Someone had broken into her house.

Someone was inside. The horror of it slithered up her spine.

The farmhouse that had sheltered her for nearly forty years suddenly seemed full of places a person could hide: the pantry, the dining room, the narrow stairs, the front parlor she rarely used.

She backed into the kitchen. “Please.”

Her voice cracked. Eleanor swallowed and tried again.

“Please leave me alone. I’m just an old woman.”

No response.

“I’ve called the police.”

The lie sounded weak in the quiet room.

She lowered her gaze to the phone. The home screen had appeared. At the top, beside the battery symbol, small letters read:

Searching...

“No, no, no.”

She moved toward the window. One bar appeared, vanished, then returned. The farmhouse had always had terrible reception. Another reason she had never trusted the phone.

Eleanor pressed the emergency call button, and a keypad filled the screen. Her thumb trembled as she entered the number.

911.

All she had to do was press the call symbol.

Then the phone switched off. A battery symbol flashed with a line through it.

"Dear God…" she whispered. She almost cursed herself for having let the thing's battery run out, tucked away in a drawer as if it wasn't a lifeline, when it was.

A floorboard creaked in front of her. Not behind. In front.

Eleanor lifted her head.

The doorway opposite the sink led to the dining room. No light burned there. She could see the pale edge of the table and nothing beyond it.

For a second, the room remained empty.

Then a hand came out of the darkness.

It caught the front of her cardigan and pulled her through the doorway. The knife fell from her fingers as Eleanor opened her mouth to scream.

A second hand closed around her throat. Her shoulders struck the darkness beyond the frame, and her feet left the floor.

The phone slipped from her grasp and struck the tile. Eleanor pulled at the wrists holding her, then reached higher. Her nails caught in a rough covering over his cheek and dragged across it.