Thump.
Footsteps.
Down the hall.
My body locks up. Every muscle taut with dread.
I sit up in bed, barely breathing. The hall is a tunnel of black.
“Atticus?” My voice cracks. No answer. He should be in bed, anyway.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
It’s coming closer.
Oh god. Someone is here.
My sheets twist around my legs like seaweed. I wrestle them off and stumble to my feet.
Then —
An enormous, mud-streaked snout nudges around the corner.
“Oh my God!” I gasp, slapping a hand to my chest. “Wilbur!”
He grunts like he’s laughing, his floppy ears bouncing, enormous and sweet.
I sigh in relief and march toward him, barefoot, heart still pounding.
“Out,” I whisper, guiding him down the hall. But wrangling a 280-pound pig isn’t easy. He resists with the force of a small car, hooves clicking against the hardwood like drumbeats as we both blindly waddle down the hall.
The floor gives a little under his weight as I shove against his pig butt, muttering, “Come on, big guy. Outside.”
We finally reach the patio door. It’s open. I must’ve left it that way earlier when I fed this beast.
I push Wilbur through with both hands. Once I get him back outside, I slide the glass door firmly shut, locking it.
Oh no. He left thick muddy hoof prints all over the floor. I don’t want to clean right now!
Ugh.
But I do a double-take. Because the sliding glass door’s reflection just caught my eye, and isn’t only mine.
A man in a ski mask.
Right. Behind. Me.
I’m frozen.
I whirl around, too slow. A hand slams over my mouth.
A knife presses cold and sharp against the curve of my neck.
Hot breath brushes my ear. “Not gonna happen, sweetheart. Be good. Or this gets ugly.”
Another man appears in a grotesque rubber Halloween mask with bulging eyes and stretched teeth. My vision spins.
A third steps through the hallway, a clown mask grinning with blood-dripping lips.
