99 "I thought my seven-month-pregnant wife was hiding a betrayal from me because my own mother kept whispering poison into my ears.

The darkness was absolute. The faint hum of the refrigerator died, leaving a terrifying, heavy silence in its wake.

"David!" Rachel’s voice screamed from downstairs. "The power went out! Where are you?!"

"Rachel, stay where you are! Hold Lily!" I shouted, reaching into my pocket for my phone. I switched on the flashlight, the harsh blue beam cutting through the darkness of the hallway.

I grabbed Megan’s hand, her palm slick with sweat. "Stay behind me."

We descended the stairs slowly, the wooden steps creaking beneath our weight. My flashlight beam danced across the living room.

Rachel was huddled on the sofa, clutching Lily tightly to her chest. Lily was crying, confused by the sudden darkness and the panic in our voices.

"It’s okay, baby, it’s okay," Rachel whispered, though her own eyes were wide with terror as she looked at me. "David, I heard something in the backyard right before the lights went out. A heavy thud. Near the kitchen window."

I pointed my flashlight toward the kitchen. The yellow door, which led to the backyard porch, was closed. But the small glass pane at the top of the door was covered by a shadow.

A silhouette.

Someone was standing on our back porch, right outside the yellow door.

"Get in the closet," I whispered to Megan and Rachel. "Go. Now."

"David, no, don't go out there!" Megan begged, grabbing my arm.

"They are on our porch, Megan! If we try to run out the front, we might run right into them. I need to see who it is. Lock the utility closet door behind you."

I pulled my pocket knife from my pocket, unfolding the three-inch blade. It felt pitifully small against the unseen horror waiting in the dark.

I crept toward the kitchen, keeping the flashlight turned off, using only the ambient light filtering through the kitchen window from the neighbor's yard. My breath was shallow, hot, and loud in my ears.

The shadow on the glass didn't move. It stood perfectly still, a dark, tall shape silhouetted against the moonlight.

I reached the door. My hand gripped the cold brass doorknob.

I took a deep breath, unlocked the deadbolt with a sharp click, and threw the door open, raising my knife.

"Get the hell away from—"

I stopped.

There was no one standing on the porch.

Hanging from the porch light fixture, directly in front of the door, was a large, life-sized doll. It was dressed in a child’s yellow dress—the exact dress Lily had worn on her birthday. A crude wig of blonde hair was glued to its head.

And pinned to the doll’s chest was a small, battery-operated baby monitor.

As I stared at it in horror, the monitor crackled to life. A low, raspy breathing sound filled the cold night air.

Then, a voice came through the static. It was weak, wet, and interrupted by a rattling cough, but I recognized it instantly.

"Hello, David," my mother whispered from the speaker. "I told you I was coming home. I’m waiting for you at the address on the key. If you aren't here by midnight, Carol is going to use her key to the yellow door. And this time, she won't just leave a note."

The monitor clicked off, leaving only the sound of the autumn wind whistling through the dead leaves.

I looked down at my watch. The glowing dial read 11:15 PM.

We had forty-five minutes.