Chapter 5

Scanning Main both ways, Jennifer Kriss ran across the blacktop to her vehicle. The town from Halloween to Thanksgiving and right through the holidays was filled with people. The town where she’d spent her childhood was vastly different from the Black Rock Falls of today. Most times she wouldn’t worry about vehicles following her, but over the last week she had the distinct feeling someone was following her home. Living some ways out of town had been a fun idea when she’d purchased the house from a large sum of money her uncle had left her. The old home, built eighty years ago, had a large footprint with room to move. Five bedrooms, each with their own bathroom, made it perfect for her and her two college friends to move into. They’d had fun living together, but one by one they’d married and moved out, leaving her all on her lonesome. She didn’t mind so much during the summer, but in fall and winter the sleeping trees and dead vegetation all around her made the house creepy.

The upkeep of the house was getting expensive. An old house needed constant repairs and she’d posted a flyer in the window of the market asking for housemates. Although it was some distance from the local college, the bus ran past the end of her road. She’d gladly live with up to three female students, but couldn’t put that on her flyer—although, it might be useful having a strong young man around to help with the maintenance. She’d even reduce his rent for some assistance. Jennifer climbed behind the wheel of her old Nissan truck and headed along Main. She glanced in her rearview mirror and swallowed hard. A familiar white truck fell in behind her and her stomach clenched. Convinced it was the same truck that had followed her home and driven past her driveway for the last couple of days, she slowed and took a left, and drove to the end of the road. Sure enough, the white truck followed. Fear knotted her stomach. Should she drive to the sheriff’s office and say she believed a white truck was following her? There would be hundreds of white trucks in town. Heck, her vehicle was a white truck.

The truck turned into a driveway, and relieved, she turned her Nissan around and headed back to Main. As Main turned into Stanton and the surrounding forest darkened the road, her heart raced at the sight of the white truck, following her again. Was it the same vehicle? It was way past the sheriff’s office now and she’d already driven past the Triple Z Roadhouse. That was the last possibly safe place to stop. Panic gripped her and she accelerated, driving faster than comfortable. She always drove within her limits and overtaking slower-going delivery vans and fuel tankers wasn’t her style. She bit down hard on her lip as the latter came into view. She moved out into the oncoming lane, and pressing the gas pedal hard to the floor, hoped her old vehicle would make it past before another eighteen-wheeler came hurtling along the highway. White-knuckling the steering wheel, she gasped in terror as the white truck merged in behind her. There was no doubt in her mind someone was following her. What could she do? She didn’t have a fancy phone that connected to her radio and taking her hands off the wheel at this speed would be suicide. One more mile and her turn would come up. Could she make it along her road and into her driveway? If she made a fast turn, maybe he’d sail right on past and she could make it home and dash inside?

It was her only chance. She accelerated at high speed, passed a gray van, and then slammed on the brakes, leaving a trail of rubber across the blacktop as she slid into the road leading to her home. Tearing off at breakneck speed, she bounced into her driveway, the driver’s-side door brushing against the gatepost with a sickening grind of metal. The back wheels spun, showering the tall blackened trees lining the driveway with gravel. Driving recklessly, she made it to the front porch, leapt from the truck, and dashed up the steps. With her hands trembling, she found the key and after four attempts managed to get it inside the lock. Panting, she fell inside the door and turned the deadbolt. She leaned against the front door, trying to suck air into her lungs. Petrified at the sound of a vehicle moving along the gravel driveway, she froze.

A door slammed and footsteps, unfaltering and determined, crunched toward the house. Too afraid to move, Jennifer pressed her back against the door. She needed help. Terrified, she plunged her hands into the pockets of her jacket and then realized in horror that she’d left her purse and phone on the front seat of the truck. There was no landline and now she had no way to call for help. Footsteps came on the stoop, making a loud tapping sound. Trembling all over, she waited. Where could she go? Dread paralyzed her. Had she locked the back door this morning? Unsure what to do next, she waited for a knock on the door, but nothing happened. At the sound of the tumblers falling, she jumped away from the door and gaped at the lock in disbelief. In her rush to get inside, she’d left the keys in the lock. The brass handle turned slowly and she tried to scream as the door swung open, but the sound was little more than a moan. Frozen with dread she stared at a smiling man standing in the doorway. Her gaze fixed on the muzzle of the gun in his hand. The gray round hole was pointed at her chest. She took a few steps back, unable to speak as fear gripped her by the throat.

“Hello, Jennifer.”