My brother Noah and I arrived at Mom’s house unannounced, birthday gifts in hand, expecting smiles and celebration. Instead, her husband Rick cracked open the front door and whispered, “You shouldn’t have come.” My heart froze. Something about him had always made me uneasy the double-checking of locks, his constant questions about our whereabouts, the way he always seemed to be listening when he shouldn’t. We’d shrugged it off for years, but today, everything felt off. So we pushed past him, determined to find Mom.
We found her in the kitchen, tired but happy to see us. She hugged us tightly, touched by the surprise. But Rick’s reaction lingered like a shadow cold, distant, tense. When we declined his abrupt offer to take us out for dinner, he insisted, nearly ordering us into the car. We drove in circles as he mumbled about figuring out the best route. Noah leaned in and whispered, “This is horror-movie weird.” And it was. Rick seemed panicked, checking his watch, muttering to himself. Then suddenly, he stopped the car at the edge of the woods and said, “This is the place.”
