It was coming from inside our hidden pantry.

It was coming from the pocket of my own coat.

The phone Julian had given me was lighting up, casting a bright blue glow over our faces.

And the caller ID showed an unknown number.

The footsteps on the stairs turned around.

I scrambled to press my thumb against the screen, desperate to silence the device.

The blue light died, but the silence that followed was heavy and sharp.

Above us, the floorboards of the cellar stairs creaked under a heavy weight.

“Who’s down there?” Davis’s voice boomed, echoing off the damp concrete walls.

My heart hammered against my ribs as I pulled Emma closer to my chest.

Margaret stood up, her silhouette blocking the narrow gap in the pantry door.

She reached for a heavy brass lantern on the shelf, her knuckles white as she gripped the metal handle.

The footsteps grew closer, dragging slowly against the stone steps.

“Show yourself,” Davis said, his voice tightening with suspicion.

A flashlight beam sliced through the darkness, catching the edge of our wooden door.