I nodded toward my uncle, letting him know I was fine; now was not the time to bring up the paperwork. Agent Williams stepped forward, scanning the room as if he were clearing a crime scene. He crouched beside a shattered vase, running his fingers over the floor as if expecting to find wires or magnets.
"This doesn't make sense," he muttered more to himself than either of us. It was almost so faint we didn't hear it. "Objects don't move like that. There's no force source, no trajectory, N-n-o-" he cut himself off, jaw tightening.
He stood abruptly, pacing once, twice, then stopping with his hands on his hips.
"Okay, someone explain to me what the hell that was." There was anger in his voice now – not at us – but the situation, at his own inability to categorize what he'd witnessed. When we didn't answer immediately, he turned towards us sharply, zeroing in on me.
"You said this happens regularly. How often? How long has this been going on? Has anyone ever been injured before?" His questions came rapid fire, the way they would during an interrogation, but underneath the professionalism of his voice was something rawer- fear she refused to name.
Donovan opened his mouth to respond, but Agent Williams didn't give him a chance to speak. He cut him off with a raised hand.
"No, I need straight answers. Because what I just saw..." he exhaled shakily. "I've been in the bureau for twelve years; I've walked into cartel torture houses. I've seen bomb labs rigged to blow if you breathe wrong. I've seen things that keep most agents up at night." He looked back at the wrecked office, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Never have I ever seen anything like this."
Something about this recent activity felt off. It was more intense, darker, and felt malicious. A low hum vibrated through the floorboards so faint at first that I thought it was my imagination. But Williams visibly stiffened, his head tilted slightly, listening – he had heard it too.
"Stay close," agent Williams murmured, stepping in front of me again. His gun was still drawn, his grip tightening, knuckles white. The hum grew louder, deepening into a rumble, as if something massive were hiding, shifting beneath the house. The lights around us flicker once, then twice. And stop.
"It's starting again," Donovan says after swallowing hard. Before any of us could respond, the temperature around us plummeted. It was so cold, our breath was visible in front of us. Williams seemed to notice it too; instantly, he was unsure of how to feel about it.
"Why is it so cold?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. He reached out a hand, and the air around his fingers shimmered – a distortion, like that of heat waves in reverse. Quickly, he pulls his hand back to his side, and the house sounds like it exhaled.
A violent gust of wind blasted down the hallway, slamming forcefully into all three of us. The papers strewn across the floor of the office flew up into a cyclone, spiraling out into the hallway around our heads. Agent Williams and Uncle Donovan glanced at either side of me, trying to be my protective bubble. Agent Williams grabs my arm, pulling me more behind him as he braces himself against the unknown force.
"Hold on," he shouted over the roar of the cyclone. The wind abruptly dies around us, but the papers haven't fallen. They hang suspended in the air. They were all around us, just frozen in mid-swirl. Donovan reaches out his hand to touch one, but it moves on its own volition away from him. Williams stares, his eyes wide and breath caught in his throat.
"n-n-no, no, no, that's just not possible." His once calm eyes and clear voice were shaken to their core.
One by one, the papers start to rotate until they are all facing our group, every scrap of them. Each one turning as if being commanded against their will. My stomach drops at the sight.
The room became quiet once more, almost too quiet. As we stare at the papers, not knowing what to expect, they snap forward, launching at us like a barrage of knives. Williams reacted on instinct, throwing his arms to shield his face as the paper sliced past him, sharp as razors. Donovan grabbed me by the shoulders, yanking me backwards, just in time as several sheets flew past, embedding in the wall behind us. They were deep as if they had been fired from a weapon.
"Oh, my Lanta, what does this thing want? Why are you being so violent?" I yelled the last part into the nothingness of the hallway, not expecting an answer, just venting my fury and frustration. Williams staggers, lowering his arms. Thin red lines marked his forearms where the paper had cut them. He slowly looked down at his wounds, stunned.
"Paper doesn't do this," he says hoarsely. "Paper just doesn't do this." Before he could recover, the hallway lights flickered again – then burst one after another in a chain reaction of popping and glass hitting the hardwood floors.
Darkness swallows the corridor—a single light at the far end towards the kitchen flickers on. Someone stood beneath it. A silhouette. It was human-shaped, unnaturally still, watching us. Williams noticed it too; he froze. His breath hitching.
"Who's there?" he demanded, his voice cracking despite his efforts to sound authoritative. The figure doesn't move, doesn't breathe, or blink. I watch as Agent Williams raises his gun, hands trembling, and steps toward the figure. He motions us with his other hand to stay back. "Identify yourself now!" he demanded.
The dark figure tilts its head, slowly, impossibly far, like there are no bones in its neck, making it look disfigured. Goosebumps break out all over my body.
"It's not a person," Donovan whispers the obvious. The light above the figure explodes, and the silhouette vanishes. We all jump, I scream.
"Get out!" A whisper brushes gently past my ear. It was so close, the hot breath startled me. Williams spun, gun raised, searching for a target. He must have heard it too.
"Roxanne, Donovan, get behind me," his voice was raw now, stripped of logic with no room for denial – he was running on pure instinct. The house groans, making the wall shudder as if something enormous is pressing down on it from all angles.
Then footsteps, dozens of them, running, stampeding, headed straight for us. I was so shocked and scared that my body froze. My mind was screaming to run, but I couldn't physically do anything. My brain had short-circuited.
"Roxanne, move," Donovan says as he grabs my hand, yanking me towards him. Agent Williams was standing in front of us now. The footsteps shook the walls as they thundered towards us.
"Stay behind me," Agent Williams yelled. "Don't let go of her, Donovan." The footsteps grew louder, closer, faster, and then they hit. A force slams into Agent Williams' chest, lifting him off his feet and hurling him backward, crashing into the wall with a sickening bang that knocks the air out of his lungs. His gun skitters across the floor, slamming into the wall across from him.
"Agent Williams," I screamed, my voice still raspy and sore. I scramble to my feet and start running to him when Uncle Donovan's hand shoots out.
"Roxanne, don't..!" he yells as he pulls me back to him. But it was already too late. A cold, invisible hand wraps around my wrist. The grip is icy enough to burn my skin, causing me to gasp from the pain. The pressure tightens, yanking me forward. My feet slid across the floor as if someone was dragging me, someone I couldn't see. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it would pop out of my chest. Never in my life had I experienced fear like this.
"Let her go!" Agent Williams shouted, reaching for me as he forced himself upright, staggering. The entity's grip tightened, causing me to whimper in pain. My hand felt so cold, I thought it was going to break off. It doesn't release me; instead, it starts to materialize.
Not fully, just enough to see the outline of a man. A shadow with edges that flicker like dying flames. A face that isn't a face, but the suggestion of one. It made my stomach twist. Beside me, Uncle Donovan's breath hitches sharply. He starts shaking his head as he backs away from the silhouette monster.
"No, no, not him?" he starts chanting repeatedly, for he has taken him completely over.
"Uncle Donovan," I say in a raspy voice. The fear and pain are still evident as I speak, "Do you know who this is?" He doesn't answer me, keeps staring in terror. The shadow figure leans in close to my ear, disgusted. I try to lean away, but his voice rasps of broken glass.
"You shouldn't be here, little Roxanne," he taunts. "You should have died along with your grandparents. Your mom should have died that night, too. Her pregnancy upset some people," his eerie voice sneers. My blood ran cold. I start twisting and yanking, trying to pull free of its grip. All I do is make more marks on my wrist and cause burns that bleed. Williams tries to position himself between me and the entity, even though it towers over him.
"Back away from her!" he yells in his authoritative voice. He was still swaying on his feet, but he didn't move. The entity's attention shifts towards him. Thickening the air, pressing down on us like a weight. Agent Williams' knees buckled, and he dropped to one knee, gasping for air right in front of me. I struggled more, but there was nothing I could do to help him.
"Stop," he choked out," You're … crushing .. me.." Williams' face was turning blue, and he was clawing at his neck trying to find the invisible force that was killing him.
Extending my hand out, I tried to reach Agent Williams, and tears were falling down my cheeks. The entity's grip tightens on my wrist, pulling me closer. I struggle trying to back away, but I can't budge. A voice once again slithers into my ear.
"What you don't want the truth," it asks. The question took a moment to sink in. It puzzled me. What truth don't I know, now?
"What are you talking about? What truth," my voice trembles.
"Oh, not yet, sweetheart. Uncle Donovan is going to do you the honor and tell you," the shadow says, recoiling as if my question burned it.
"Leave her alone; this is between you and me," Donovan yells as he suddenly steps towards us, his voice cracking with desperation.
I freeze as the shadow turns toward Donovan, anger radiating from it, and slowly release me. I hold my arms against my chest, both wrists throbbing. Agent Williams forces himself upright again, grabbing my arm and pulling me behind him.
"Donovan, what the hell is going on? Do you know what this thing is talking about/" He asks my uncle the question I wanted answered. "Start talking right now," Agent Williams demanded. Donovan's face crumpled. He looked at you – really looked – and something inside him broke.
"Roxanne … I never wanted you to know like this," he rasped.
"Know what?" I asked with desperation in my voice. I was so scared of what his next words would be and how they could tear my world apart.
"Tell her," The entity hissed, the sound vibrating through the walls.
"He murdered your grandparents, he left us kids to Ted, and you see how well that went. I knew who killed them, that's why I have been hiding. If it weren't for you surfacing and letting me know the possibility of everyone living, I would have taken it to my grave." His words were slow and methodical. Tears started to stream down my face, my world tilting.