​Silhouettes

Dawn sat alone on the edge of her bed, her frail hands trembling slightly as she held an old journal and a lighter. A single flickering candle cast long, dancing shadows across the room’s peeling wallpaper. The curtains were drawn tightly shut, but Dawn’s vacant gaze pierced through them, lost in distant thoughts.

The silence was oppressive, thick like the dust that coated every surface. She exhaled shakily and placed the lighter beside her on the bed, turning her attention to the journal. The scratch of her pen against the yellowed paper was the only sound as she began to write:

I still don’t understand what’s happening or how things have gotten to this point. If my tally marks here are correct, it’s now the 11th day that I’ve been trapped in this house. I keep going over it in my head, but I cannot seem to figure out how I got trapped here. I went to sleep one night and woke up the following day with all the windows and doors in the house boarded up and sealed tight.

Dawn paused, her eyes flickering toward the window. Beneath it sat a small table where a hammer and pry-bar rested—useless tools mocking her futile attempts at escape. She sighed and continued writing:

I found my husband’s old tool kit in the closet. I’ve tried several times to break through the window in my room, but I couldn’t get it to budge. None of the phones work, and the electricity has been out since this all started. But the oddest part of all is the front door. It’s been chained shut—from the inside.

Suddenly, a loud noise echoed from outside the room, making Dawn flinch. The candle flickered wildly before extinguishing altogether, plunging the room into darkness. Heart racing, she frantically groped for the lighter, her breathing shallow and rapid. Her fingers finally closed around it, but as she flicked it, she heard the unmistakable sound of creaking floorboards just beyond her door.

The creaking stopped, replaced by a deafening silence that pressed in from all sides. Dawn froze, her chest tightening as fear gripped her. Tears welled in her eyes, but she forced herself to listen. Slowly, the creaks resumed, growing fainter as whatever had been there moved away.

Relief washed over her in shaky waves. Clutching her chest, she gasped for breath, trying to steady her nerves. She closed her eyes, willing herself to calm down, to believe she was safe—at least for now.

But the reprieve was short-lived. The doorknob rattled softly, twisting one way, then the other. Dawn’s eyes snapped open, disbelief and terror mixing in her gaze. The door was locked, but the handle continued to turn violently, accompanied by loud bangs as though someone—or something—was trying to break it down. The light went out.

Panic surged through her. She flicked the lighter desperately, each failed spark amplifying her dread. Finally, a small flame caught, illuminating the room once more. She reached for a half-used candle and lit it. Dawn thrust it forward, its weak light trembling as much as her hand.

The banging stopped.

The door creaked open slowly, revealing nothing but impenetrable darkness beyond. The house fell eerily silent again, a void of sound that made her ears ring. Dawn stood motionless, every muscle tense, her instincts screaming at her to stay away from the threshold.

Then she heard it—a faint, distinct sound. Small objects clattering against the wooden floor just beyond the doorframe. Her breath hitched as she strained to see through the gloom.

Summoning every ounce of courage she had left, Dawn took a tentative step toward the doorway, the candle’s light casting flickering shadows along the walls. She bent down cautiously, shining the light near the floor. Her heart skipped a beat.

Little white pills lay scattered across the ground, glinting faintly in the candlelight. They formed a trail leading away from her room and down the hallway.

Confusion mingled with her fading fear. What did it mean? Where did they lead? Driven by a growing sense of curiosity that warred with her lingering terror, Dawn took a hesitant step forward, then another, following the strange trail deeper into the shadowy hall.

The house creaked and groaned around her, but she barely noticed. Her trembling steps echoed softly as she ventured further, the flickering candlelight guiding her into the unknown.

She remembered each face—the hollow, pleading eyes of the elderly she had once silenced with pills and promises of care. They haunted her dreams and now, it seemed, her waking world. The pills scattered across the floor were not just remnants of her past deeds—they were a reckoning.

As she followed the trail deeper, faint whispers echoed through the hallway—a cacophony of voices overlapping, each one tinged with sorrow and accusation. The air grew colder, and Dawn’s breath became visible in the candlelight.

“Please…” a voice whispered, barely audible. “Why?”

Dawn stumbled, her resolve faltering. Her lips trembled as she whispered back, “I didn’t mean to—I needed—”

The voices grew louder, swirling around her like a ghostly storm. The candle flickered violently, threatening to go out. Dawn clutched it tightly, tears streaming down her face.

“Forgive me,” she sobbed, falling to her knees.

But there was no forgiveness here—only the relentless pursuit of justice by those she had wronged.

The trail of pills led her to a familiar door at the end of the hallway—the bedroom she had once shared with her husband. Her breath hitched as dread curled in her stomach. The door stood slightly ajar, darkness yawning beyond its frame.

Dawn hesitated, fear and guilt warring within her. But she knew she had to see it through. The whispers grew fainter, fading into a thick, expectant silence. Clutching the candle, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The room smelled stale, untouched by time or life. Her trembling gaze swept to the bed—and froze.

There he was.

Her husband, the man who had been her first victim, lay still atop the bed as though he had never left. His eyes, once warm and kind, were now dull and clouded with death. But as Dawn stood rooted to the spot, those eyes blinked open.

He rose slowly, unnaturally, joints creaking like ancient wood. His voice, gravelly and cold, broke the silence. “I’ve come for you, Dawn.”

She staggered back, shaking her head in disbelief. “No… no…”

“We’ve all come for you,” he continued, his lips curling into a grim smile. “In the end, they always do.”

The candlelight flickered wildly as shadows danced around the room. Dawn’s heart pounded violently in her chest, each beat more erratic than the last. She clutched at her chest, gasping for breath, the weight of guilt and terror pressing down on her like an iron shroud.

Her husband took a step forward, and Dawn’s world tilted. Pain seared through her chest as her legs gave way beneath her. The candle slipped from her grasp, extinguishing as it hit the floor.

Darkness consumed the room.

Her last thought was a fleeting whisper of regret before the silence claimed her.

They had come for her—and now, it was over.