Chapter 3 - THE HIDDEN ROOM
The hidden room changed everything.
Until that moment, I had believed someone had been spying on me.
After we discovered the room, I realized spying was only part of it.
Someone had been living inside my house.
Not visiting.
Not hiding for a night.
Living.
There were food containers stacked neatly against the wall.
Blankets.
A small heater.
A portable toilet.
Books.
Batteries.
Medical supplies.
And a shelf filled with photographs.
Owen photographed everything.
"Don't touch anything else," he warned.
Mark stood beside me.
He was staring at a photograph of Sarah.
"That's Mom."
"I know."
"When was this taken?"
I looked at the timestamp.
Seven years ago.
One year after her supposed death.
Sarah stood beside the lake.
Her hair was shorter.
Her face thinner.
But it was her.
There was no doubt.
I touched the edge of the photograph.
"Why?"
Mark shook his head.
"I don't know."
Owen moved toward the back wall.
"There."
A small metal door was hidden behind a shelf.
He opened it.
A narrow tunnel led toward the fireplace.
We followed it.
The tunnel was old.
Very old.
But the electrical wiring was recent.
At the end was another room.
This one contained monitors.
Six screens.
Three cameras were still active.
One showed the bedroom.
One showed the backyard.
One showed the garage.
I felt my stomach turn.
Someone could still be watching us.
Owen unplugged the equipment.
Then he stopped.
"Wait."
"What?"
He pointed toward a monitor.
The screen showed the hallway.
A figure stood there.
Someone was watching us from the house.
We ran upstairs.
The hallway was empty.
The front door was locked.
The back door was locked.
Every window was closed.
But a wet footprint appeared on the floor.
One.
Then another.
Leading toward the basement.
Mark whispered,
"He was here."
Owen shook his head.
"Maybe."
"Who else?"
Nobody answered.
We searched the entire house.
No one.
But the footprints ended at the basement wall.
The same wall behind which the hidden room had been built.
Owen crouched.
"There's another entrance."
He removed a piece of wood.
Behind it was a narrow passage leading outside.
The exit opened beneath the bushes behind the garage.
Whoever had been living inside my house could leave without using a door.
That explained everything.
The photographs.
The missing food.
The untouched locks.
The sounds at night.
The person had never needed to enter through the front door.
They had their own entrance.
I sat on the basement stairs.
For the first time, I understood how vulnerable I had been.
Someone could enter whenever they wanted.
Watch me.
Photograph me.
Listen to conversations.
Follow Mark.
And disappear.
Then Mark found the journal.
It was hidden beneath the mattress.
The cover was cracked.
My heart stopped when I saw the handwriting.
Sarah's handwriting.
I opened it.
The first page contained only one sentence.
If you're reading this, I'm probably already gone.
I turned the page.
The entries began eight years earlier.
Three months before her death.
Sarah had written about footsteps.
Someone entering the house at night.
A car parked near the woods.
A man she called Elias.
I recognized the name.
Elias Grant had installed our security system.
He had worked for Daniel.
He had access to the house.
The journal continued.
Sarah wrote that she had discovered hidden cameras.
She wrote that Daniel had warned her to stop asking questions.
She wrote that someone had threatened Mark.
Then one sentence appeared in red ink.
They want me to disappear.
The next page was torn out.
Then another.
Then another.
The final surviving entry was dated two days before Sarah's death.
If anything happens to me, don't trust the person who tells you I died.
I read it twice.
Then again.
My hands were shaking.
Mark looked over my shoulder.
"What does it say?"
I handed him the journal.
He read silently.
Then looked at me.
"Dad."
"I know."
"No."
He pointed to the last line.
"Look."
I did.
Under Sarah's final sentence was another note.
Written in different handwriting.
She knew too much.
Owen stood.
"Nobody leaves this house tonight."
I looked at him.
"Why?"
He pointed toward the basement camera.
A small red light had turned on.
Someone had remotely activated it.
Then the speaker crackled.
A man's voice came through.
"You shouldn't have found the room."
Mark stepped backward.
The voice continued.
"Now you have to choose."
I stared at the speaker.
"Choose what?"
Silence.
Then the answer came.
"Your son."
The line went dead.
Mark's phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
Unknown number.
He answered.
Nobody spoke.
Then a photograph arrived.
It showed Mark standing outside the house.
Taken five minutes earlier.
He was inside the house now.
May you like
The photograph had been taken while he stood in the basement.
Someone was still watching us.
