Chapter Three

Mallory

Sharp rapping at my door cuts through the haze and bolts me awake. Shit, I must have fallen asleep after the call to the police station. Is it him? What time is it? Grabbing my phone and checking the screen, I see I was only out for about thirty minutes. That ’ s just enough time to hit the outskirts of town from here, much less get to the police station.

“ Ma ’ am? Hello? This is the police. You called for help?”

Oh, thank shit, it ’ s not him. “ Yes, that was me, just a second.” Fuck, I need pants. Bolting down the hall, I grab a pair of leggings that are half hanging out of my dresser drawer. Trying to pull them on and get back to the front door is no easy task but I manage, albeit clumsily. Approaching the door, I can hear his impatient huffing. Anxiety swells within me, I don ’ t want someone in my house, but I ’ m sure a full sweep of the premises is protocol. If it ’ s not, I ’ m sure it would become of the utmost importance to check the house to ensure my safety. Everyone wants to see the house where an entire family was annihilated.

Gathering my composure, I take a deep breath and open the door. He ’ s just standing there with his back to me, staring out at the woods. What is he doing? Didn ’ t he hear me open the door? I hear him take a deep breath as he turns back around, seemingly shocked that I’m standing there.

“ Good evening ma ’ am, Mrs. Carla said there was an intruder on the premises and sent me out to conduct a sweep of the house and property.” A black windbreaker hangs unzipped on his body and the tight grey shirt underneath leaves nothing to the imagination where his physique is concerned.

“ Mrs. Carla?” I inquire, my eyes snagging on the hand cuffs tucked into the belt around his waist. The radio on his hip crackles to life and he quickly moves to shut it off. Keys jingle and his nightstick sways with his swift movements as I realize I’m staring. My face heats as I lift my gaze back to his.

“ Mrs. Carla Willows. She works the phones and administration desk at the town precinct, ma ’ am,” he replies flatly, like it ’ s a nuisance to have to have this customary introductory exchange. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, leaving muddy boot prints on my doorstep.

“ Oh, yes, I called about an hour ago. Thank you for responding so quickly, Officer…”

“ Graves.” He all but growls his name at me and it sends a shiver down my spine. His stare is intense, I ’ m fighting the urge to squirm my way out from under his scrutiny. He ’ s making me sweat behind the knees. What is happening to me? Why do I feel like this?

Gathering my composure, I continue , “ Officer Graves. Okay, well someone, a man I assume, was outside, on the edge of the woods watching me, wearing a creepy white mask.” This guy smirks and laughs to himself. The sound sends another jolt of electricity through my body.

Raising a Ghostface mask in his gloved hand, he says, “ Is this the mask you saw?” Shocked, I nod my head. “ I found it hooked onto a branch over there.” He points towards the direction of the woods that are across from my bedroom window. “ It was likely just some resident teens trying to give you a fright. You ’ ve moved into their parent-free hang out space and they're probably grumpy about it. Also, with the history of the property I would expect nothing less from the delinquents. I did a preliminary search around the outside of the house to ensure there was no imminent danger. I ’ d like to give the tree line a more thorough inspection though, do you have any outside lighting that could brighten up your yard?”

Shaking my head, “ No, nothing more than the lights by the front and back doors. There ’ s a light outside the storage shed I could turn on for you. It ’ s always off because I never go out there,” I say.

“ That would be great, thanks. Do you have any security cameras or an alarm system?” he asks.

“ No,” I say. God, I want to crawl under a rock. I ’ m so unsafe and unprotected out here. I know I should have these things, but I didn ’ t think I ’ d need them. It ’ s a small town, one of those ones where everyone knows everyone. I understand how motion lights and cameras can deter children and teens, but I swear that was a man. Maybe I should look into a security camera at the least. I ’ ll put one right above my bedroom window. That would scare him off, hopefully.

“ I ’ ll come check on you and the house when I ’ m done out here. You can head back inside if you want, I won ’ t be gone too long.” I can ’ t help but notice that he didn ’ t say " I ’ ll be right back" as I return to my spot on the couch, and that gives me the smallest speck of hope that he will be back.

I pull out my phone, no new messages or calls. Damn, I ’ m tired. It's almost midnight now. I hope that him checking my house out won ’ t take too long since I have no concerns about that. Not that I ’ d know, but I don ’ t feel like my space has been invaded.

I ’ m lost in a video about funny cats when he finally knocks on the door. 12:17 am, hopefully this is over soon. Unlocking the door and allowing him into my safe space unnerves me. “ Was everything okay outside?” I ask. He nods. I already don ’ t like this, please hurry up and get out of my house.

“ Did you need any- ” I ’ m cut off mid sentence by his gruff voice.

“ Where did you see the trespasser?” He ’ s looking over my head and inspecting the open concept area of my house. Couch and TV are to the left and behind them is the dining and kitchen area. There ’ s a large entryway closet to the right and the exit to the back door is a straight shot across the house down a set of stairs. Then, turning right from the back door landing is the stairs leading to the basement. To the right of the entrance way is the hallway that leads to the bathroom and the master bedroom. Then, two more small rooms that were once children ’ s bedrooms but now sit empty and unused.

“ I saw him through my bedroom window,” I quietly reply.

“ And where is that?” he snaps. What the fuck? Did this cop get a stick stuck up his ass while out walking the tree line?

“ It ’ s down that hall, second door on your left,” I respond, gesturing to my right. “ Are you going to check every room in the house?” I meekly ask. When did I become such a washed out version of myself? I can ’ t even talk with confidence anymore. I ’ m shrinking in front of him.

“ Yes,” is all he says as he takes off towards the back of the house. I hear his heavy booted footsteps descend the stairs into the basement.

“ Alright, guess I ’ ll wait here then,” I mumble to myself. Making my way over to the large sectional couch, I drape the throw blanket over my shoulders and sit down, wiggling in to get comfortable. It ’ s got sheet covered ghosts making funny faces on it and it makes me smile. My step father, Dennis, didn ’ t want me to have it, saying it was a dumb and unnecessary purchase. Crestfallen, I put it back on the department store shelf. Dennis and my mother, Barbra, went missing shortly after that and this blanket was the first thing I bought myself before moving into this house. I used to live in town with my parents, but throughout the missing persons investigation it was brought to my attention that Dennis owned this house too. It was a possible other location they could have been without telling me. It was searched but nothing turned up.

Being 25 and living with your mom and stepdad is sad, but working yourself to the bone to support them while they run the streets is down right pathetic. I wasn ’ t really surprised when they didn ’ t come home for a few days; sometimes their benders could last a week. What raised the red flag was when they didn ’ t show up after I ’ d gotten paid. They always came back long enough to drain me of almost every penny. Claiming mortgage payments, bills, and this and that. If I, god forbid, had to buy groceries so I didn ’ t starve to death, one of them was always with me. Making sure I never bought anything that wasn ’ t needed. I had brought up the idea of moving out many times, always to be shot down by the guilt of my mother saying I ’ d be no better than my father who abandoned us if I left.

One night, I ’ d had enough, there was nothing left to eat in the house and no money left in my account to get anything. Asking them for money proved pointless. I tried to leave, I wanted to get out. I guess I underestimated how inebriated they were. I had just made it down the front steps, only to be ripped back inside of the house by my hair. Dennis snarled in my ear that if I made a sound he would bury my body out where no one dares to go. I assume now that he meant this place. Ironic how the place that would have held my ghost has made me feel the most alive I have in years.

I ended up with a few bruises and a broken wrist from trying to leave them that night. I had never been beaten as an adult before; it was like a part of my soul had died that evening. Nothing mattered anymore. Whatever I had, they would take it. I started self harming, praying for death, but always being too cowardly to drag the blade deep enough. Terrified that my mother’s final words over my casket would be those of disappointment instead of sorrow. Some nights I thought of trying to leave again, only hoping this time they would kill me. At least then I would finally be free.