It wasn’t the quiet of a calm night. It was a silence that felt heavy, pressing. Even the refrigerator hum seemed to vanish. The parents froze. Olivia clutched her teddy so tightly its stuffing seemed ready to burst.
The officer slowly straightened, scanning the room. His eyes darted not to the bed again but to the window.
“Sir,” he said to his partner softly, “check the locks.”
The second officer moved, testing the latch. Secure. He then looked toward the closet door, slightly ajar. He stepped forward and nudged it open with his flashlight beam. Only coats, shoes, and a box of board games.
“Maybe it was just—” the father began, but his words trailed off when the officer raised a finger.
The sound came again, faint but undeniable. A creak, as if someone had shifted their weight across the old wooden floorboards of the hallway. But everyone was already in the room.
The officers shared a glance that said more than words.
“Ma’am, sir,” the older officer said quietly but firmly. “I need you both to take Olivia into the living room. Please stay there.”
The parents hesitated, confusion written across their faces.
“Now,” he repeated.
