Creepy - The Lake in the Woods & Do Not Let Her Inside

Episode Date: February 12, 2018

This week is a double feature episode with two stories from NoSleep forum, as requested by listeners. Both containing voices in the dark that want more than we are willing to provide...***Please consider supporting the podcast at Patreon.com/Creepypod or creepypod.com/support*** The Lake in the Woods was written by Taylor Putorti and Do Not Let Her Inside was written by M. Coward***Guest narration by (The Lake in the Woods) Nichole Goodnight and (Do Not Let Her Inside) Owen McCuen, Rhiannon McAfee and Mary Miller. ***Produced by Steve Blizin***Photo credit to Cody Smith***Title music by Alex Aldea***Intro/Outro Narration by Joe Stofko Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

This double episode of creepy is presented by Patreon donors Chris Gearing, Matt Bertuzi, Carolyn Morty, Drew Nichols, Michael Arms, Scott Roche, Cheryl Bear, and Quentin Johnson. All patrons get early commercial-free access to our Sunday episodes as well as shoutouts on the podcast. For just $5 a month, patrons also get access to no less than three additional stories each and every week. Patreon support makes this show possible. like to see how you can help support the podcast, please visit patreon.com slash creepypot. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepypastas and urban

legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic. Fictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy presents a bit of a creature double feature, as it were, with two exceptional stories requested by listeners from the Reddit No Sleep Forum. First, creepy presents, The Lake in the Woods,

written by Taylor Portorty, and featuring the guest narration by Nicole Goodnight. This is a story about my sisters, Juniper and Marigold. June and Mary. Twins born on the first day of September, two and a half years older than me. We lived in rural Wisconsin.

Our father was a long-haul trucker and our mother waited tables at the Denny's. Mary June and I were great explorers, charting the woods behind our modest home with construction paper and dull crayons. We spent most of our time playing outside. sun, rain, or snow. There were safety in numbers.

We're always back in time for dinner. In retrospect, I'm not even certain our mother knew just how far away from home we strayed. This is a story about a lake we found, a couple of miles into the wilderness. It was a Saturday in early February. We were bundled up in puffy jackets and snow pants. When we first came across the clearing,

it was striking. The most beautiful thing my young eyes had ever seen. Crisp white snow sprawling flat as far as the eye could see. There wasn't so much as a twig or a paw print to interrupt a pristine blanket of powder.

It was Mary who realized there was water beneath. She pointed out the reed stalks that speckled the perimeter. Even approach what must have been the edge, crouched down and brushed away the snow to reveal ice. She was always very science-minded.

Even with her mere 12 years of experience on the planet, she was one of the smartest people I knew. So, of course, she was the first to ask why we'd never seen this like before. In all our years of wandering, we must have come this way at least a dozen times. I had no answers. I simply shrugged and pulled my hat down tighter around my ears that stave off the cold. June was silent, staring into the vast expanse of white. Other people had trouble telling my sisters apart, but I never did.

They had the same wavy chestnut hair, gray eyes, and angular jaws. They had the bones of birds, thin and fragile. But June was softer. quieter. She had more freckles sprinkled across her cheeks. Mary questioned and June listened.

That was the way it always been. Do you hear that? She almost whispered, gaze glued to the horizon. What? I asked, somehow feeling I should be just as quiet. The crying.

Someone is crying. June, what are you talking about? Mary straightened up dusting the snow off her gloves. June raised a finger to her lips requesting silence. I didn't hear anything. No birds, no rustling trees. I'm not sure I've ever experienced a deeper, more unsettling quiet. If there's one skill Mary never quite developed, it was keeping her mouth shut.

It only added to the grusel. gravity the situation when her eyes widened in sudden comprehension and a full minute passed before she said anything. Where is it coming from? She wheeled around, staring at the frozen lake, just like June was. June took a few steps closer to the edge of the lake. There was an odd look in her eye. What I've never seen before or since.

She looked empty. Like an upright shell with nothing inside. Her face was devoid of any expression. Mary, on the other hand, was growing more agitated by the moment. We have to look for help. She blubbered. There was a hunting cabin a little ways back, wasn't there? The Derby boys have a hut out there.

We'll go get them. June didn't give any indication of agreement or descent. Mary grabbed my shoulder and squeezed it. Ryan, you and June stay put. Stay right here and I'll be back. I nodded, confused, more than a little afraid. I still didn't hear anything. I accepted it at all.

Because the prospect of both of my sisters going insane at the same time seemed less plausible than just mind not being able to pick up on what they were hearing. Mary bounded off, leaving boot prints in the snow. I watched her run until she disappeared between the trees. When I turned around, June was already a few feet out onto the lake. I called to her, asking what she was doing. No response. I yelled that it could be dangerous and she should turn around.

She ignored me. I started crying. At first they were crocodiles. tears. The kind of little brother can usually muster when he's trying to get paid to your attention from his older sisters. But it turned all too real when the resounding crack echoed through the air. June sunk below the ice instantly. My cowardice is probably the thing that saved me. I was paralyzed, shocked and terrified. There's a gaping hole where my sister had been. No matter how much I wanted to move, to run to her, to save her, I couldn't do it. I just stood there as the seconds

ticked by into minutes and she was surely dead. Time's a funny thing to pin down. I couldn't honestly tell you how long it was before Mary showed up with two of the Derby Boys in tow, and I tearfully choked out what had happened. The Derby Boys looked at me in utter bewilderment. Mary frowned with concern. Rye, June is right over there. Mary pointed, I turned to look. There was no hole in the ice. June was standing a ways off next to the edge of the pond,

still staring at some undefined point in the distance. Apparently whatever some Mary heard had stopped, the Derby Boys rolled their eyes and grumbled about what wild imaginations my sisters had, but they walked us back towards a more clearly marked trail and said we shouldn't wander off so far. June didn't say a word the whole walk home. The hairs in the back of my neck kept prickling like somebody was staring at me. But any time I glanced over, June was looking straight ahead. Maybe I imagined it.

But I could have sworn there were droplets of water clinging to her eyelashes. This is a story about how my sister's. started to change. I was still a little young to understand the finer points of puberty, but June's came early. We were sitting on the couch together when she bled through her soft pink sweat pants. She didn't stand up right away. In fact, she probably noticed long before I did. Huh, guess I'm a woman now.

Fucking fantastic. She started shaving her legs and wearing tighter clothes. She'd put on makeup in the girl's bathroom at school. She used to have lunch with Mary and I, but with the change in appearance, people started to notice her. It wasn't long before she sat at the same table as the girls who had money. Girls who lived in big houses, carried her on real leather purses, drank pilford, strawberry vodka when they had sleepovers.

It wasn't long before June started talking to boys and twirling locks of hair around her index. fingers she giggled at jokes that weren't funny. June used to come into my room late at night and sit on the edge of the bed. Sometimes she talked to me. Sometimes she would just stare. Either way it seemed threatening in a manner that was hard to place. I'd pretend to be asleep if it was late enough, but we both knew I wasn't.

Sometimes I would cry. You watched me die, Brian. She would say in a soft, eerie, calm voice. You didn't even try to save me. I'm sorry. Pressing my face into the pillow didn't hide the tears. But I didn't know what else to do. You don't love me.

I do, June. I'm sorry. I was scared. You have no idea what it's like to drown. All that stuff about it being peaceful is bullshit. It hurts, Ryan. It feels like barbed wire wrapping around your lungs. It's like being trapped in a tiny box that keeps getting smaller and smaller until you're completely crushed. She would lean down to whisper right in my ear. Her hand on the back of my neck, squeezing me.

just a little too hard, was as icy as the first snow. During the day she'd carry around those little chemical hand-warmerers that skiers put in their gloves. But she wanted me to feel the cold, because it was my fault. Say you love me, Ryan. I love you, June. Good boy. Frank Darby went missing. I was probably the last person to see him a lot. I was probably the last person to see him alive, or, well, the second to last. I saw him climbing out of June's bedroom window a little after sunset while I was raking leaves. It wasn't a secret what they'd been doing. I'd gone outside because I could hear the slick sounds and creaking mattress springing through the thin

walls. June climbed out after him, smiling much too wide. Her hair was messy and her face was flushed. The two of them got into the branches of the tall maple tree that grew beside our house and shimmied down it. They walked towards the woods holding hands. Just as they were about to disappear into the trees, June looked over a shoulder and winked at me. The park rangers found Frank about a week later. I didn't see the body.

Only heard stories. It's hard to say what was embellished and warped in the game of telephone that spread through town. But the most common details are that Frank's throat was ripped out and his ribs had been cracked open. Whatever killed him took his heart. My mother fell ill. Stage three breast cancer. I was 12.

June and Mary had recently turned 15. Mary cried a lot. June spent most of her time at the hospital, stroking mom's hair and feeding her soup. sometimes I wonder if her hands were cold. I wonder what my mother thought about that in the fading twilight. Mom died in the middle of the night in early spring. June was the only one in the room with her. Joe Darby met a similar fate to his older brother,

for a slightly different reason. Joe asked Mary to the homecoming dance. At that point Mary was wearing glasses. We didn't have much money, so her dress was from the thrift store. several decades out of fashion. She and Joe swayed back and forth at arm's length, smiling awkwardly. Why, that's how I imagine it happened. I wasn't there.

I was there for the shouting match in our backyard. When June called Mary a cunt and they pulled at each other's hair and fingernails broke skin as they tumbled on the ground together. Joe went missing shortly after that. Mary spent a lot of time searching the woods for him. After June apologized, they went together. They disappeared into the trees, holding hands, and a pile of brick settled at the pit of my stomach.

Mary came back with damp hair and stopped wearing her glasses. A few days later, the police found the shredded remains of Joe Darby. Once again, missing his heart. This is a story about a lake in the middle of the woods, and how my sisters tried to drown me in it. It was a foggy winter morning. My sisters kept throwing each other meaningful looks across a breakfast table, communicating in that way twins will.

Having a conversation I could never hope to understand. I was 14 and afraid of them both. When they asked if I wanted to go on a hike, I said no. They didn't insist. They didn't have to. Mary had made breakfast. The sleeping pills were already in my system. When the drowsiness had, I tried to make myself throw up, but it was too late.

They put me on a sled and dragged me out into the forest. I was unconscious for most of it. Just little flashes of trees and sky. They waited for me to wake up. They were standing over me, completely naked, smiling wider than a human mouth should be able to stretch. They didn't seem uncomfortable, despite the frigid wind whipping through their hair, the snow between their bare toes. Can you hear it yet, Ryan?

I'm sure you will soon. You'll join them. All of them at the bottom of the lakes. Screaming for help, begging for mercy. It's a little pathetic, really. I wanted to believe I was dreaming, but I knew I wasn't. In a dream, my sisters would have shifted into something monstrous. Their hands would have become talons. Their teeth would have morphed into fangs around a forked tongue,

but they looked the same as they ever had. Identical except for the freckles. They each grabbed one of my arms and lifted me to my feet with surprise. strength. They stepped in tandem slowly towards the edge of the lake in a grim procession. I was the star of at all. My survival instincts must have kicked in about halfway to the ice. I began to struggle and scream, sure that nobody was listening. What is there to do one face with eminent death but shriek at the heavens for mercy? As I screamed, there was a swelling chorus of torture cries.

It sounded as if the ground had opened up beneath me and unleashed the anguish of the damned. The deafening noise echoed all around us, centering on the lake. The lake that was no longer frozen over, but frothing and steaming like the surface of a cauldron. My sisters held my shoulders firmly and lowered me into the water. Feet first.

It was blistering. Painful beyond the point where I could distinguish heat or cold. It burned. That was all I knew. Perhaps it's poetic that a Darby saved me. Perhaps it was divine intervention. I tend to think it was nothing but dumb luck. It's hard for me to believe in God anymore.

Or at least, I can't believe in a God that is fair and merciful. The only thing I know for sure is that evil exists. Something dark and twisted claimed both of my sisters and will never give them back. But a gunshot rang through the air, just when the water was lapping in my knees. Drew released her grip on me suddenly. My center of gravity shifted backwards. It was enough time for me to wrench out of Mary's grasp and claw back up the snowy bank of the lake. I couldn't stand. I kept pulling myself along further and further away from the water.

Two more gunshots and rapid succession cracked through the air above me. I saw the 80-year-old grandmother Helen Darby with a floral handkerchief tied around her head holding a double-barrel shotgun, aiming it at the lake. I didn't turn around until long after she rushed past me. June's naked body laying prone on the lake shore, bullet wound and her back leaking blood into the ground, steam floating into the air from her torn flesh. Mary was nowhere to be seen. I didn't hear any more gunshots.

Helen Derby circled around after a while. She put me back on the sled and dragged me to the hunting hut where the rangers came to get me. I lost three of my toes to frostbite. I consider myself lucky. After my sisters disappeared, Helen Derby effectively adopted me. Whatever my father wasn't home, she'd make a point to stop by. She'd teach me how to cook, help me to figure out how to run the washing machine,

knit while I did my homework or watch TV. Most importantly, she'd sit in the living room with the shotgun long into the night, making sure whatever had gotten a taste of me didn't come back. for another bite. When I was old enough, or rather on my 15th birthday, Helen gave me a gun of my own and taught me how to use it. Part of me knew it was all a little bizarre, but I could pretend it was about the grandsons she lost. She was just treating me as their replacement.

We only talked about what happened at the lake once, and never again after that. It was a cold night in December. we were sitting by the fireplace listening to a radio broadcast of a Christmas carol. Helen had been drinking gin straight from the bottle for a couple of hours. She often got sad when she drank. Her baggie wrinkled eyes shone with a hint of tears in the corners of her mouth dig downwards. There's something wrong in the woods, she said suddenly, unspoken contacts looming over us. It takes the little girls and kills the men.

It's been there longer than this town. Folks just stopped believing in it. I had so many questions, but I couldn't voice any of them. I just stared at her wide eyes. It still talks to me. Always talks to me. It tries to make me kill my brother, my husband, my sons. But I'm too old for it now.

It can't do much besides talk. I've tried avoiding that boat. Look what that did. Somebody has to stay out there. She took another long swig from her bottle. You know, I'm not going to live forever, Ryan. I nodded solemnly. Life already a tangled mess of grief.

What better cause could I pursue this? wardenship. You know what has to be done when I'm gone. It wasn't a question. It was a statement. A sigh of relief. This is a story about how I moved into a small cabin in the middle of the woods. I hunt and fish, sell lumber to whoever needs it.

I don't hear the voices or the screams, but some moonlight nights there's a wrapping on my window. I see the silhouette of a shriveled naked woman with matted chestnut hair. One day, she will probably finish what she started. Until then, I will keep watch. I do my best to pass along the story. The worst things happen when we try to forget the warnings of a different time. Don't wander in the woods. Don't stray off the path.

something even might get you just like it got me and for a second story of the week creepy presents whatever you do do not let her inside written by user m coward and featuring guest narration by Owen McCune

Rianan McAfee and Mary Miller I walked through death on my way to Cam's house above me Skeletal trees lined the road, reaching their crooked branches towards the dark, wet sky. Their green leaves had already turned red, then yellow, before falling about the street in piles. It was almost winter. Whatever the wind hadn't blown away rotted on the sidewalk, squishing under my sneakers.

I pulled my jacket over my hat. We had some nasty weather recently, but this was by far the worst. The kind of night that caused accidents, flooded rivers, and threw trees onto telephone wires. There was no doubt in my mind. Bad things happened on nights like these. Thankfully, Kim only lived seven houses down from mine. I knocked on his front door. A few seconds later, I heard his muffled voice on the other side.

Who is it? It's Matt, I said. Open the door. It's freezing out here. The lock clicked and the door swung wide, revealing Kim's apologetic face. Sorry. I guess our neighbor saw somebody prowling around the neighborhood. My mom's freaked. She's making me ask who is it every time somebody comes to the door. So annoying. How do you guys have a mail slot, but not a spy hole?

I don't know. It's stupid. Come on. I'm almost done setting up. Inside, a Monopoly board lay open on the dining room table. Stacks of multicolored banknotes stuffed into the edges. I could smell melted cheese coming from the steaming pizza box on the counter. Rain pitter-pattered on the kitchen skylight. Kim's mom hurried around the house late for work function. Between fixing earrings and stumbling indoor shoes, she thanked me for coming over and told us not to do anything stupid.

And make sure the doors and windows are locked. You know, Dolores saw a strange person standing in her front yard last week. Yeah, well, Mrs. Dolores believes. in mermaids, mom. Cam shouted towards a back door. He waited for the mechanic home of the garage door shutting. I think my mom's been watching too much

criminal minds. She even tried calling my sister's friend to come babysit. Katie? I asked hopefully. Really? Cam rolled his eyes. One, she's way older than you, and two, she didn't answer anyways.

We sat down at the table. I mean, we're 13. Not like you protecting, right? I shrugged. I'm okay with it, especially if it's Katie. Oh, gross, dude. Dolores is actually crazy, though.

I bring in her garbage can every week once she told me that her grandma's a blood-sucking alien. He chuckled and dumped out a bunch of silver tokens on the table. Let me guess. You're going to be the thimble. Got me, I said, grabbing the piece and placing it on the board. This cam sifted through the pile of tokens. I looked around the kitchen walls.

Several huge Alaskan crabs were pinned up on plaques. Arms outstretched like giant armored spiders. I said it was kind of bizarre. But Cam's dad was a career fisherman and liked his trophies. My attention returned to the table as Cam slammed down the silver Scotty Dog token on the board. He crossed his eyes. Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore. He said in a month.

mock Dorothy voice. It was about an hour after we started playing and the game was heating up. Camma just landed in jail when someone knocked on the front door. It wasn't the normal knock. More like heavy pounding. Slow. Calculated. From where I was sitting at the dining room table, I could see the door.

The knock came again. Me and Cam looked at each other with wide eyes. We thought it was the cops. but after a few seconds and still nobody called police. We got up hesitantly and tiptoed towards the door. He can't put his ear against the wood and listened. He must not have heard much of anything, because a moment later he asked,

Who is it? Pause. It's me. Came the eerie voice from the other side. If our eyes were wide before, now there were dinner plates. Me and Cam just looked at each other and sure what to do. Who?

Cam asked again, shakily. It is. The voice was strange and halting. Like the body it belonged to hadn't breathed enough air to speak, but still tore the air from their lungs. I couldn't even tell if it was actually a woman. For that matter, I couldn't even tell if it was human. Whoever was on the other side of the door, it wasn't Kim's mom. Kim backed away from the door.

You're not my mom. Yes. Yes, I am. Open up. The door handle wiggled. I put a hand in my chest. My heart was thumping a million miles a minute. By the sound of Kim's voice, so was his.

He spoke loudly, trying to hide the tremble in his words. Go away. You better leave now. We're calling the cops. We stood there. Still as statues. Silence. Check the window. Kim hissed after a few minutes. I looked at him bug-eyed. You go check the window. I can't hear anything. I think she's gone. Go check. Kim gave me a little shove.

Go. Don't be a pussy. I slapped away his hand and gave him a scathing look, but still got down on my hands and knees, crawling towards the bay window. The wooden floor felt cold on my palms. As I neared the window, camp flicked off the lights. Reaching up, I pulled aside a corner of the pale muslin curtain and peeked outside. At first, I didn't notice anything, but then, there at the corner of the driveway, a figure, barely illuminated by the yellow glow of the light above the barrage.

It stood so still that I almost mistook it for a shadow. I squinted, but the harder I looked, the more its shape seemed to waver in the rain. I couldn't see a face, but I could just make out a mess of long black hair. All of a sudden, it turned around and walked away. See anyone? Kim whispered. He crept up to the window. Somebody at the end of your driveway.

They walked down that way. Freaking weirdos in this neighborhood, I swear. We should call the cops. I said. I was honestly shaken. Camp protested immediately. No way. Now, it was probably nothing.

He said, trying to brush it off. The cops would come, ask a bunch of questions, call my mom. Can you imagine? She wouldn't let me leave the house. house for the rest of the year. Besides, it was just a joke. Did you hear that voice? Think about it. Nobody talks like that. Yeah, exactly. You were scared too. What do you think it was? A zombie? A phantom? Kim stretched his arms and pretended to be a ghost. Let me in, child, I must suck on your brain. He laughed.

Don't be dumb. Let's just finish the game. I just bought Boardwalk. I bet you don't want to play because you know you're going to lose. Well, he was partially right. I really hated losing. Soon enough, we were back into Monopoly and had nearly forgotten about the whole incident. Still, I kept peeking at the door, half expecting to hear the loud knocks at any minute. But they never came again. Towards the end of the game, I was pretty much convinced that the person I saw was just another

neighborhood prankster. As it turned out, I ended up winning. Cam was livid. The entire time we spent putting the game back into the box, he couldn't stop talking about how cheap and unfair it was. I just laughed. We were just about to fold up the board when I happened to glance at the front door again, and dropped everything I was holding.

I stumbled back to the table. I heard Cam ask urgently. What is it? He sounded far away. A set of scrawny fingers had opened the mail slot in Cam's front door. They rested on the inside holding the jar of the small brass cover. Through the tiny rectangular slot, a face looked into the house. It was smiling.

It was looking straight at me. I tried to scream, but the sound caught deep in my throat. I flailed a pointing finger towards the door. Cam rushed over just in time to see the face and fingers retreat out of the mail slot. He ran over to the window and peeked outside. I crawled into the kitchen and hid behind the countertop. A moment later, it came crouched next to me. Okay, that was really creepy.

I didn't see anyone out there. I'm calling the police, Cam. Yeah, all right. Yeah. Okay, good idea. You call. My phone made it into the laundry, remember? I pulled out my phone and put it on speaker.

It rang twice before the operator picked up. I talked as fast as I could. Hi, we're thinking someone's trying to break into the house. We're alone. Can you send somebody quick? It's just me and my friend Cam. It's his house. We're both 13. His parents are out working. Can you hurry, please?

I looked at Cam. Yeah, that's it. He said out loud. Very carefully. Are the doors and all the windows locked? Yes, we think so. I locked a front door. I hesitated. This seemed like an eye.

Odd request. Cam gave me a quizzical look. Um, what? I locked a front door. What? No way. I don't see any cop lights out there yet. We're not going to do that. Do it. Open the door.

Who is this? Cam demanded. We called 911. Who is this? It's me. It's your. Open up. I smashed my phone against the floor and threw it over the cone.

I'm not ashamed to say I felt like crying. What was going on? I was sure I dialed 911. How is this possible? Camer rubbed his face in his hands. He was just as rattled. Okay, okay, okay, what do we do? What do we do? He said to himself.

When is your mom supposed to get back? I don't know. I don't know. She said, late. What is happening? I'm seriously freaked out right now. What about your dad's gun cabinet? It's locked. I don't know where the key is. We could look for it in this room. Came wrinkled his brow and looked around.

Hey, do you hear that? Huh? I held my breath and listened. The wind blowing, creaking the beams of the house. The throbbing, heavy rain, and something else. Slightly louder. A slow tapping, sharp like a fingernail against glass. It came from the ceiling.

Above us, a woman crouched over the skylight face against the glass. At least, I think it was a woman. Her black hair lay splayed out, writhing across the window. Her cheeks gond, eye sunken far back into her skull. Her fingers tapped on the window. She smiled. She licked the glass. She didn't look real.

I thought I was hallucinating. But Cam saw her too. He screamed. The next thing I knew, we were running down Cam's hallway. We burst into his room slamming and locking the door behind us. I was trying to calm my breath. I could feel my asthma acting up and I didn't bring my inhaler. Cam started pacing back and forth.

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. He sat over and over again. Oh my God, oh my God. We barely had time to catch our breath before we heard the tapping again. Closer this time on Cam's bedroom window. The blinds were closed, but somehow she knew we were in there. Tap, lightning flashed outside. For a second, her grotesque silhouette spread across the window.

Here. Kim was pushing something into my hands. A bat. We need to get away from the windows. He was holding a knife, the blade gleaming red in the light of his oozing lava lamp. Hurry! Kim ran into the hallway. I followed him into the bathroom at the end of the hall.

Didn't have any windows. He turned off the light and locked the door. We both crouched in the long tub hiding behind the curtain. The baseball bat shook in my grasp. I don't think she can get inside unless we let her, right? Otherwise, she would have already broken through the window, right? I nodded in numbly. I couldn't say anything.

I was too scared, but I hoped he was right. At least we couldn't hear the tapping anymore. For a long while we crouched there. I don't know exactly how long. It's hard to get a sense of time when you're terrified, and all you have to count is your brain. It could have been minutes or hours. But at some point we heard the front door creak open and swing shut.

Slowly. Footsteps throughout the house. Cam and I tried to be quiet, tried to slow our breathing. The footsteps came closer and closer until they stopped right outside the bathroom. The door jiggled. A moment later, the lock clicked. I held the baseball bat as tight as I could. Light flicked on.

Cameron? I got ready to swing. My muscles tense. Cam raised his knife. A hand pulled aside the shower curtain. It was Katie. We almost beat up Katie. Jesus!

She shouted, taking a step back. Holy shit, are you guys okay? What's going on? Kay! Cam said Fran. How did you get in? Did you lock the door? Please tell me you locked the door. Calm down. I locked the door. I used the key your mom gave me. Sorry, she left a voicemail asking me to keep an eye on you tonight. I just got it and came over to check.

What's the matter? Your neighbor said she heard screaming. Oh my God, somebody's been trying to break in and we called the cops. Cam began to say it before pausing. Wait, our neighbor heard a screaming? Which neighbor? Your new neighbor. She was standing outside when I pulled up. She came over to check on you too. Wait, Katie, wait. Our new neighbor?

We've had the same neighbor since I was six. Oh, really? You should ask her yourself then. Katie opened the bathroom door completely and looked out into the hallway. She seemed confused. Hmm. That's strange. She was just behind me.

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