Daddy's Here

 “We need to come up with a plan,” Sondra said. “If we’re going to protect the woman and her child from this devil. We can’t hide her here forever. It will find her.”

No one spoke. We looked at one another, waiting for someone else to have the answer.

The lights flickered once.

Just once.

“We don’t even know what we’re dealing with,” Deb said at last, her voice lower now. “How are we supposed to plan any kind of defense?”

“We can’t defend against this thing,” Sondra said. Her jaw tightened. “We have to go on the offensive. We strike first.”

A faint thud sounded somewhere in the walls. Not pipes. Not settling wood. Something heavier. Something deliberate.

“And how exactly do you propose we do that?” Hunter asked. Irritation edged his voice, but Francine could feel what lay beneath it. Fear. Not for himself. For her.

“I can talk to Grandmother,” Carl offered. “She may have heard something. A rumor about a demon that requires vampire blood.”

The air shifted. Colder.

Francine rubbed her arms, though she knew she did not truly feel cold anymore.

Grandmother had raised her. Carl had been raised by Aunt Penny, hidden away while everyone believed him dead. He had only known Grandmother for six months before she passed, yet somehow he still felt closer to her. Closer than Francine had ever managed to be.

And now he could speak to her.

Francine could not.

Ironic, since she was the one who was technically dead.

The overhead light buzzed softly, then steadied.

“I’ll start at the library,” Francine said, keeping her voice steady. “There has to be something in the occult section. Mrs. Roberts might be able to help.”

Sondra gave a single nod.

“It’s a start.”

As if in answer, something scratched lightly across the ceiling above them.

Slow.

Patient.

Listening.

“Daddy’s here,” Heidi said, shuddering.

The front door rattled.

Not violently.

Almost playfully.

Then there was a light scraping on the door. Slow. Deliberate.

“He’s taunting us,” Francine said. “But he can’t get in. I’ve put wards up around the apartment. They should hold. At least for now.”

The handle turned.

Once.

Carefully.

As if testing the truth of her words.

No one moved.

No one breathed.

Another scrape dragged down the length of the door.

Patient.

Unhurried.

Confident.

Francine held her ground, though something cold and ancient pressed against the barrier she had woven. The wards hummed faintly in her senses, like a wire pulled too tight.

For now, they were holding.

For now.

"He might not be able to get inside,” Deb said, her voice thin. “But we can’t leave either. We’re trapped.”

The words settled over the room like dust.

Outside, something dragged slowly across the length of the door again. Not trying to break it down. Just reminding them it was there.