The floorboard snapped again.
This time it wasn't the wind, and it wasn't the house settling.
It was deliberate.
Slow.
Heavy.
My breath hitched in my throat as I spun around, flashlight trembling in my hand. The beam cut across peeling wallpaper, cracked furniture, shadows dancing on the walls like living things. But there was no shape, no footsteps, no figure just the suffocating silence of the old house swallowing everything.
My heart thudded against my ribs, loud enough I was afraid someone would hear it.
I backed away slowly, envelope clutched tight in my hand.
Every instinct screamed that I needed to get out now.
I moved down the hallway on shaky legs, stepping over debris and shattered glass, careful not to make noise. The old wooden stairs groaned under my weight as I descended. With each step, I felt exposed, vulnerable, like unseen eyes followed me from the shadows.
When I finally reached the main room, I could breathe again.
Barely.
The night outside welcomed me with cold air and darkness. It wasn't safety just a different kind of fear.
Still, I pulled out my phone and dialed 991 with trembling fingers.
This time it rang only once.
"991 Emergency. State your situation."
My voice cracked. "I there's a dead body inside an abandoned house on St. Louis… Road 7. Please send someone immediately. I think the killers were still here."
"Stay where you are," the operator said. "A patrol is already on the way."
Already?
The call ended before I could ask how they knew.
I stepped away from the house, hugging myself as the night wind brushed against my skin. The road was dim, the streetlights flickering like they were struggling to stay alive. The abandoned buildings around me cast long shadows across the ground.
I felt watched.
Every rustle of leaves made me jump.
Thensirens.
Red and blue lights flashed through the trees, reflecting off broken windows and puddles on the ground.
A patrol car swerved around the corner and stopped abruptly in front of me.
Relief flooded me so fast I almost cried.
Finally real help.
The engine was still running when two officers stepped out. Their movements were quick, sharp, too rehearsed. At first, I didn't notice anything strange not until they got closer.
Their uniforms were spotless.
Too spotless.
No dust.
No wear.
No creases from long shifts.
Their badges gleamed unnaturally as if they had been polished seconds ago.
The taller officer approached me with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Evening, miss. You the one who called?"
"Yes," I breathed, finally feeling a hint of relief. "Inside the housethere's a body, and two men were"
"We know."
I blinked, confusion tightening in my chest.
"You… know?"
"Of course," he said, the smirk lingering. "We got the report."
The second officer stepped closer, studying me with eerie interest. His eyes moved slowly from my face… to my hands… to the envelope I was still clutching.
When he saw it, his expression shifted recognition, then something darker.
Fear gripped my spine.
I hid the envelope behind me instinctively.
The tall officer noticed. His jaw tightened.
"We'll take it from here," he said, voice suddenly firm. His smile was gone now. Only a cold stare remained.
Something felt wrong.
Very wrong.
I forced a shaky breath.
"Can I… give a statement?"
"No need," the second officer replied too quickly, stepping closer. Much too close. He smelled of cologne strong, artificial, mixed with something metallic.
His gaze locked onto mine with chilling intensity.
"Next time," he whispered, leaning forward so only I could hear him, "don't answer unknown numbers."
My stomach dropped.
He knew.
He knew I had answered the call from the dying person.
He knew I had come here.
He knew about the envelope.
Blood roared in my ears as realization crashed over me
These weren't officers these weren't rescuers.
They were connected to the killers.
The taller one shifted, moving behind me, blocking the road like he was preventing my escape. The second officer's hand hovered near his belt. Not for a gun.
For something else.
"Now," he said softly, smile returning but eyes dead, "hand over the envelope."
My breath came in harsh, shallow gasps.
I took one step back.
The taller officer mirrored me, stepping forward.
Trapping me.
"Ma'am," he said with forced calm, "don't make this difficult."
My fingers tightened painfully around the envelope. Everything inside screamed run. I didn't know where or how, but I knew I couldn't let them take it.
I took a deep breath.
Then I turned and ran.
"Hey!" the tall officer shouted. "Stop!"
I sprinted down the cracked sidewalk, my boots slamming against the cold pavement. The night air burned my lungs as I pushed myself harder.
Behind me, footsteps thundered.
They were chasing me.
A sharp whistle cut through the night.
"Get her!"
My heart raced faster than ever before. I didn't dare look back. I dodged between trees, leaped over fallen branches, and cut across the overgrown yard of another abandoned house.
The flashlight beam bounced in my hand, shaky and wild.
The envelope slapped against my chest with every step.
"Stop running!" the second officer yelled.
He was closer than before.
I dashed behind a large rusted dumpster and pressed myself against it, chest heaving. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it.
Footsteps approached.
Slow.
Deliberate.
They were searching.
My breathing stopped.
A flashlight skimmed the ground near my hiding spot.
Just a little closer and it would expose me.
I held the envelope against my chest, as if protecting it could protect me.
Then aloud crash echoed from down the street a
bottle breaking a trash can falling.
The footsteps hurried away from me, running toward the noise.
Someone had distracted them.
Or something.
I didn't waste time questioning it.
I slipped out from behind the dumpster and sprinted deeper into the night, holding the envelope as if my life depended on itbecause now, it did.