Page 3 of What the Shadows Hide
Lightning flashes again—and this time he takes another step forward, closing the distance by a few feet. Not rushing. Just… claiming the space between us like it already belongs to him.
My throat goes dry. Every instinct screams at me to run.
I force my voice to be steady. “You picked the wrong house.”
He tilts his head again, then lifts one gloved hand and presses a single finger to the mask where his mouth should be in a shushing motion.
My body goes rigid.
I stumble back, the flashlight slipping from my hand and hitting the porch with a sharp clatter that sounds too loud in the rain.
For a second, the beam rolls wildly across the ground, lighting up his boots, the edge of his coat, the pale gleam of the mask. Then it dies, the light snuffed out as if the storm swallowed it whole.
I fumble for the door handle, nearly tripping on the threshold before I shove my way inside and slam it shut. The deadbolt sticks—I twist it harder until it catches.
My breathing is heavy as I stand there in the dark, my heart hammering loud enough to feel in my teeth. Wind rattles the windows.
I flip on the generator light over the kitchen, and a weak yellow glow spills across the floor. I double-check every lock—front door, side entrance, mudroom, cellar. Each one clicks home, but it doesn’t make me feel any safer.
I close the curtains. Then open the ones in the kitchen again, just to check.
The mask is gone.
Only the storm stares back.
By the time I make it upstairs, I’m soaked and shaking. I peel off my clothes, pull on an oversized T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and sit on the edge of the bed, listening to the wind batter the vines outside.
This is insane. Probably some local kid playing a stupid prank.
Still, I can’t shake the image of him standing there—silent, faceless, patient.
When I finally crawl under the blankets, sleep doesn’t come easily.
Every time I close my eyes, I’m in the vineyard. The vines stretch endlessly under lightning. I’m running barefoot, mud sucking at my feet, pulling me into the earth. The mask glints ahead of me, then behind. No matter which way I turn, he’s there—tilting his head, his finger pressing against the mask where his mouth should be.
I wake with a gasp, my heart pounding, dawn light bleeding through the curtains. The storm has passed, leaving everything eerily still.
I throw on a hoodie and head outside. The air smells like wet earth and crushed grapes. Puddles glitter along the gravel path.
I search the porch, the yard, the vines, but find nothing.
The muddy footprints that trailed up the steps last night are gone—washed clean by the rain.
But the unease is still there.
I stand there, barefoot on the porch, staring at the empty road winding down toward the valley. The world feels too still, like the storm took the sound with it. Even the birds are silent.
My phone buzzes from inside the pocket of my sweatpants. The sudden noise makes me jump.
I pull it out, my breath still uneven when I see the name on the screen: Mr. Kettering.
I force my voice to be steady. “Morning, Mr. Kettering.”
“Good morning, Miss Voss. I wanted to check in, see how you’re settling in.”
“Fine,” I lie, glancing toward the window. “Just a little storm damage. Nothing I can’t handle.”
He chuckles softly. “That’s the spirit. Though I should warn you—word’s already spreading about your plans to reopen the vineyard. A few of the local suppliers have reached out with… concerns.”
