Chapter 7 - The House With the Porch Light On
At exactly 1:58 a.m., my phone rang.
I almost let it go.
At my age, a phone ringing that late is rarely anything kind.
Then I saw the name on the screen.
Lily.
My eight-year-old granddaughter.
I answered before the second ring finished.
For a moment, all I heard was breathing. Thin. Shaky. Small.
“Grandpa…” she whispered.
I sat up so fast my knee hit the nightstand.
“Lily? Baby, what’s wrong?”
“I feel so hot.”
Every part of me went awake.
“Where are you?”
“At home.”
I stared into the dark room.
Lily was not supposed to be home.
My son Brian and his wife, Marissa, had told everyone they were taking Lily’s ten-year-old brother Mason to Florida for his birthday. They said Lily had a cold and would be staying with Marissa’s sister.
“Where’s your mom?” I asked. “Where’s your dad?”
There was a pause.
Then Lily whispered, “They left.”
I was already pulling on my jeans.
“Are you alone?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, sweetheart?”
“The kitchen light is on. My head hurts. I’m scared.”
I grabbed my keys.
“Stay on the phone with me. I’m coming.”
The drive to Brian’s house usually took fourteen minutes.
That night, I made it in seven.
The porch light was off.
May you like
The driveway was empty.
And the house looked like it was holding its breath.
