The warm glow of the living room lights did little to ease the tension that had taken hold of Jack. He couldn't stop replaying what he had seen—or thought he had seen. A figure, lurking by the fence, watching them. His friends' laughter and chatter felt distant, muffled by the drumming of his heartbeat.
Sarah's voice broke through his thoughts. "I'm telling you, we should take this seriously."
Lisa groaned. "The police call was vague, Sarah. They didn't say the guy was even near here."
"They said he's dangerous," Sarah insisted, pacing by the window. "And Jack saw someone out there."
"Did you, though?" Mike asked, leaning back on the couch, a half-smile on his face. "Or are you spooked by all this talk of convicts and creepy shadows?"
Jack shot him a sharp look. "I know what I saw. Someone was out there, Mike."
The room fell into a brief silence, broken only by the ticking of the wall clock. Before anyone could respond, the house phone rang again. The shrill sound cut through the air like a knife, and everyone flinched.
"Seriously? Who even uses a landline anymore?" Mike muttered, sitting up.
Sarah's eyes darted to the phone on the side table. "It's probably nothing," she said, though her voice betrayed her unease. She hesitated before picking it up, her fingers trembling slightly.
"Hello?" she said cautiously.
Jack watched as her expression shifted. Her face, already pale, seemed to lose even more colour. She pressed the receiver closer to her ear. "Wait… what? Who is this?"
A muffled voice crackled on the other end, too quiet for anyone else to hear. Sarah's knuckles whitened as she gripped the phone. "What do you mean…? Okay, okay, I understand."
She hung up abruptly, turning to face the group. "It was the police again. They said the fugitive was spotted nearby. A few blocks from here."
"What?!" Lisa exclaimed, her disbelief quickly turning to panic. "What the hell are we still doing here?"
"They told us to stay inside," Sarah said. "Lock the doors, keep the lights on, and don't open the door for anyone."
Mike snorted. "Sounds like overkill. The guy's probably running for the hills, not snooping around random houses."
Jack stepped closer to Sarah. "Did they give any details about him? Anything we should watch for?"
Sarah nodded hesitantly. "They said he's about six feet tall, wearing dark clothing. They think he's armed."
Jack's stomach dropped. That description matched the figure he had seen by the fence. He didn't say anything, but his mind was already racing. Whoever it was, they weren't running away. They were watching. Waiting.
The group sat in tense silence for a while, the earlier jovial atmosphere completely shattered. Jack kept glancing at the windows, his eyes searching the darkness beyond the curtains. The occasional rustle of leaves or creak of the house made everyone flinch.
"This is ridiculous," Lisa said finally, standing up. "I won't sit here and wait for some phantom convict to show up. I'm leaving."
"Bad idea," Sarah said firmly, stepping in her path. "The police said to stay inside."
Lisa rolled her eyes. "Of course they did. They want us scared and obedient. But I'm not going to spend the night hiding like a coward."
Before anyone could stop her, she stormed toward the front door. Jack moved to follow, but a sudden noise froze him in place.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
It came from the back door, faint but deliberate. The sound sent a chill down Jack's spine. Everyone turned toward the kitchen, where the door to the backyard was barely visible from the living room.
"Did… did anyone else hear that?" Sarah whispered.
Jack nodded, his pulse quickening. "Stay here."
He grabbed a flashlight from the side table and slowly made his way toward the kitchen. The tap came again, louder this time. It was deliberate—someone was knocking, but lightly, almost mockingly.
The beam of the flashlight trembled slightly as Jack approached the back door. He reached for the curtain covering the window, hesitating. His mind screamed at him not to look, but his curiosity and fear pushed him forward.
With a swift motion, he pulled the curtain aside.
Nothing.
The backyard was empty, still bathed in the soft glow of the string lights. Jack exhaled shakily, feeling a small sense of relief. Maybe he was just imagining things. But as he lowered the flashlight, his eyes caught something that made his blood run cold.
A smudge, faint but visible, streaked across the glass—a handprint.
Jack stumbled back, his chest tightening. Whoever had been knocking wasn't there anymore, but they had been. And they were close enough to leave a mark.
"Jack?" Sarah's voice called from the living room. "What is it?"
He didn't respond immediately. Instead, he locked the back door and double-checked the bolt, his hands trembling. "Nothing," he said finally, forcing his voice to stay steady. "Just the wind."
He didn't believe it himself, but he couldn't bring himself to tell the others what he had seen. Not yet.
As Jack returned to the living room, he glanced back at the window one last time. The glass glinted in the light, but the handprint was gone.