I called Wyatt before I even tried touching the lock.
\n\u201cAgain?\u201d he asked.
\n\u201cAgain.\u201d
\nThere was silence on the line for maybe two seconds.
\nThen his voice changed.
\n\u201cDon\u2019t go inside.\u201d
\nI looked automatically toward the dark windows of my house.
\n\u201cWhy?\u201d
\n\u201cBecause whoever\u2019s doing this knows when you\u2019re gone. And if they know when you\u2019re gone, we don\u2019t know what else they know.\u201d
\nThat thought hadn\u2019t fully occurred to me until he said it.
\nSuddenly, my little house didn\u2019t look warm or familiar anymore.
\nIt looked like a sealed box.
\nAnd I had no idea what might be waiting inside.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Wyatt arrived twelve minutes later, but this time he wasn\u2019t carrying only his tool bag.
\nUnder one arm was a small black security camera.
\n\u201cI took it off my garage,\u201d he said. \u201cBattery-powered. Motion activated. Records to a memory card and sends alerts to my phone.\u201d
\n\u201cYou\u2019re putting that on my porch?\u201d
\n\u201cNo.\u201d
\nHe pointed toward the maple tree near the edge of my yard.
\n\u201cI\u2019m putting it where whoever\u2019s doing this won\u2019t see it.\u201d
\nFirst, he cleared the toothpick from the lock.
\nThen we walked through the entire house together.
\nEvery room.
\nEvery closet.
\nEvery window.
\nNothing appeared disturbed.
\nNo drawers were open.
\nNo valuables were missing.
\nThe back door was still locked.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The windows were latched from the inside.
\nThere were no footprints beneath them.
\nStill, I couldn\u2019t shake the feeling that something had changed.
\nIt wasn\u2019t the house.
\nIt was me.
\nFor the first time since I bought that place seven years earlier, I kept looking over my shoulder inside my own hallway.
\nWyatt noticed.
\n\u201cYou want to stay at my place tonight?\u201d
\n\u201cNo.\u201d
\n\u201cYou sure?\u201d
\n\u201cIf somebody wants to scare me out of my own house, I\u2019m not making it that easy.\u201d
\nHe gave me the look older brothers give when they know arguing won\u2019t accomplish anything.
\n\u201cFine. But call me if you hear anything.\u201d
\nThen he went outside and installed the camera.
\nHe chose a thick branch about eight feet above the ground, tucked behind a knot of dead leaves that had somehow survived the autumn winds. From the porch, I couldn\u2019t see the camera at all.
\nBut when Wyatt showed me the live feed on his phone, the view was perfect.
\nMy front steps.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
My door.
\nPart of the driveway.
\nAnd anyone approaching from the road.
\n\u201cTomorrow,\u201d he said, handing me the phone, \u201cwe find out who your little carpenter is.\u201d
\nI barely slept.
\nEvery creak of the heating pipes sounded like footsteps.
\nAt 1:17 in the morning, I got out of bed because I thought I heard gravel crunching outside.
\nNothing.
\nAt 2:40, I checked the front door.
\nStill locked.
\nAt 4:05, I finally fell asleep.
\nMy alarm went off fifty minutes later.
\nBy the time I arrived at the clinic, I felt like I\u2019d been awake for three days.
\nThe morning was chaos.
\nTwo nurses had called out sick, the waiting room was full before nine, and one of our elderly patients fainted near reception because he hadn\u2019t eaten before having blood drawn.
\nFor several hours, I almost forgot about the toothpicks.
\nAlmost.
\nThen, shortly after lunch, my phone buzzed inside my scrub pocket.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I pulled it out.
\nUNKNOWN NUMBER.
\nSame area code as the call from the night before.
\nI stared at it until it stopped ringing.
\nA minute later, a voicemail notification appeared.
\nI didn\u2019t listen to it.
\nI told myself I would later.
\nThen another patient needed me, and the phone disappeared back into my pocket.
\nAt 6:53 that evening, Wyatt texted.
\nCamera\u2019s working. No movement yet.
\nI replied with a thumbs-up and finished my paperwork.
\nWhen I finally left the clinic, rain had begun falling.
\nNot hard.
\nJust a cold, misty drizzle that turned every streetlight into a blurry yellow halo.
\nI drove home slower than usual.
\nThe entire way, I kept thinking about that camera.
\nMaybe nobody would come.
\nMaybe whoever had been doing it had gotten bored.
\nMaybe Wyatt had been right the first night and it really was just some stupid teenager.
\nThen I turned onto my street.
\nMy headlights swept across the porch.
\nMy stomach sank.
\nSomething pale was sticking from the lock.
\nI parked so quickly that one tire rolled halfway onto the grass.
\nI didn\u2019t even get out.
\nI called Wyatt.
\n\u201cIt happened again.\u201d
\n\u201cI know.\u201d
\nHis voice sounded strange.
\nNot frightened.
\nNot angry.
\nJust\u2026 stunned.
\n\u201cWhat do you mean, you know?\u201d
\n\u201cThe camera caught it.\u201d
\nMy hand tightened around the phone.
\n\u201cWho?\u201d
\nAnother pause.
\n\u201cI think you need to watch it yourself.\u201d
\n\u201cWyatt, just tell me.\u201d
\n\u201cI\u2019m coming over.\u201d
\n\u201cTell me who it was.\u201d
\n\u201cI\u2019m five minutes away.\u201d
\nHe hung up.
\nI sat in my car with the engine running, staring at my front door through the windshield while rain ticked softly against the glass.
\nFive minutes later, Wyatt\u2019s truck came around the corner.
\nHe parked beside me and climbed into my passenger seat instead of going toward the house.
\nHis face was pale.
\nThat scared me more than anything.
\nWyatt was the sort of man who could slice his palm open on sheet metal, wrap it in a shop rag, and finish whatever he was working on before driving himself to urgent care.
\nBut now his hands were trembling slightly as he unlocked his phone.
\n\u201cYou recognize everybody around here better than I do,\u201d he said.
\n\u201cWhat does that mean?\u201d
\n\u201cJust watch.\u201d
\nHe opened the recording.
\nThe timestamp read 5:18 P.M.
\nFor several seconds, nothing happened.
\nMy porch sat empty beneath the gray afternoon sky.
\nThen movement appeared near the right edge of the frame.
\nA person stepped through the bushes separating my property from the road.
\nNot a teenager.
\nNot some drunk.
\nA woman.
\nShe wore a long beige coat and a dark scarf wrapped around her head.
\nShe moved slowly, almost cautiously, stopping twice to look behind her.
\nThen she approached my porch.
\nMy skin prickled.
\n\u201cZoom in.\u201d
\n\u201cI already did.\u201d
\nWyatt touched the screen.
\nThe image enlarged.
\nThe woman climbed the steps.
\nShe reached into her coat pocket.
\nPulled out a toothpick.
\nAnd pushed it carefully into my lock.
\nShe didn\u2019t do it angrily.
\nThat was what disturbed me.
\nShe did it methodically.
\nShe pushed it deep.
\nSnapped it.
\nChecked that the broken end couldn\u2019t be reached.
\nThen she stepped backward.
\nFor one second, she looked directly toward the hidden camera.
\nI stopped breathing.
\n\u201cPause it.\u201d
\nWyatt froze the frame.
\nI stared at her face.
\nOlder woman.
\nMaybe late sixties.
\nThin.
\nGray hair visible beneath the scarf.
\nDeep lines around her mouth.
\nThere was something vaguely familiar about her, but I couldn\u2019t place it.
\n\u201cI don\u2019t know her,\u201d I whispered.
\n\u201cYou sure?\u201d
\n\u201cI\u2019ve never seen her in my life.\u201d
\nWyatt stared at me.
\n\u201cShe seems to know you.\u201d
\nHe resumed the video.
\nThe woman didn\u2019t leave.
\nInstead, she walked toward my front window.
\nShe cupped both hands around her eyes and looked inside.
\nMy stomach twisted.
\nThen she did something even stranger.
\nShe knocked.
\nThree times.
\nWaited.
\nKnocked again.
\nThen she leaned close to the glass and said something.
\nThe camera didn\u2019t have good enough audio to pick it up clearly.
\nWyatt increased the volume.
\nStatic.
\nRain.
\nA distant car.
\nThen the woman\u2019s voice.
\nBarely audible.
\n\u201c\u2026please\u2026\u201d
\nI leaned closer.
\nWyatt replayed it.
\nThis time I caught more.
\n\u201cPlease don\u2019t come home.\u201d
\nEvery hair on my arms stood up.
\n\u201cWhat did she say?\u201d
\nWyatt replayed it again.
\nThere was no mistake.
\n\u201cPlease don\u2019t come home.\u201d
\nThe woman backed away from the window.
\nBut instead of returning toward the road, she walked around the side of my house.
\nThe camera lost sight of her.
\n\u201cWhere did she go?\u201d
\n\u201cThat\u2019s all it recorded,\u201d Wyatt said.
\n\u201cNo. Keep going.\u201d
\n\u201cThere\u2019s nothing.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat do you mean, nothing?\u201d
\n\u201cThe camera caught movement again eleven minutes later.\u201d
\nHe dragged the video timeline forward.
\nThe porch appeared again.
\nEmpty.
\nThen the woman emerged from the side of my house.
\nBut something was different.
\nShe was running.
\nNot jogging.
\nRunning.
\nHer scarf had slipped from her head.
\nHer coat was open.
\nAnd she kept looking backward at my house.
\nShe stumbled near the porch steps, caught herself on the railing, then hurried toward the road.
\nJust before disappearing from view, she turned around.
\nAnd screamed something.
\nWyatt paused.
\n\u201cListen.\u201d
\nHe raised the volume.
\nThe woman\u2019s voice came through distorted by wind and rain.
\n\u201cYOU\u2019RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE!\u201d
\nMy mouth went dry.
\nShe wasn\u2019t looking toward the camera.
\nShe was looking at my house.
\nWyatt and I stared at each other.
\n\u201cIf you weren\u2019t home,\u201d he said slowly, \u201cwho was she talking to?\u201d
\nNeither of us moved.
\nThe rain continued tapping against the windshield.
\nThen Wyatt reached for the door handle.
\n\u201cWe\u2019re calling the police.\u201d
\nI caught his arm.
\n\u201cWait.\u201d
\nSomething had just clicked in my mind.
\nThe phone calls.
\nThe strange area code.
\nThe voicemail I hadn\u2019t listened to.
\nI pulled my phone from my pocket.
\n\u201cWhat?\u201d
\n\u201cI got another call today.\u201d
\n\u201cFrom who?\u201d
\n\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d
\nI opened my recent calls.
\nThere it was.
\nThe same unfamiliar number.
\nWyatt watched while I opened the voicemail.
\nThe message was nineteen seconds long.
\nI pressed play.
\nAt first, there was only breathing.
\nThen a woman spoke.
\nHer voice was weak and shaky.
\n\u201cI\u2019m sorry. I know you don\u2019t know me.\u201d
\nMy eyes lifted toward Wyatt.
\nIt was her.
\nThe woman from the video.
\n\u201cI tried calling yesterday. Please, listen carefully. I know what this sounds like, but you cannot go inside that house tonight.\u201d
\nMy chest tightened.
\nThe message continued.
\n\u201cI\u2019ve been trying to keep you out long enough to make him leave.\u201d
\nWyatt slowly turned toward my house.
\nThe porch was dark.
\nThe windows were black.
\nThe voicemail crackled.
\nThen the woman said something that made every bit of warmth leave my body.
\n\u201cHe knows what time you come home from the clinic.\u201d
\nA pause.
\n\u201cAnd he\u2019s been inside your house every night before you get there.\u201d
\nThe recording ended.
\nFor several seconds, neither Wyatt nor I spoke.
\nThen my phone buzzed.
\nNot a call.
\nA motion alert.
\nFROM THE CAMERA.
\nWyatt looked down at his phone at exactly the same moment.
\nHis face changed.
\n\u201cWhat?\u201d
\nHe didn\u2019t answer.
\n\u201cWyatt, what is it?\u201d
\nHe turned the screen toward me.
\nThe live camera feed showed my porch.
\nNothing moved.
\nThen I saw it.
\nBehind the front window.
\nThe curtain was shifting.
\nSlowly.
\nFrom inside.
\nSomeone was standing in my dark living room.
\nAnd as we watched from less than thirty feet away, a hand appeared between the curtains.
\nA man\u2019s hand.
\nIt pressed against the glass.
\nThen one finger rose.
\nAnd pointed directly toward my car.
\nHe knew we were watching.
\nAnd whoever was inside my house\u2026
\nhad been waiting for me to come home.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I called Wyatt before I even tried touching the lock. \u201cAgain?\u201d he asked. \u201cAgain.\u201d There was silence on the line for maybe two seconds. Then his voice changed. \u201cDon\u2019t go … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":5199,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-7035","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7035","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=7035"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7035\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":7037,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7035\/revisions\/7037"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/5199"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=7035"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=7035"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=7035"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}