Jonas

I didn't move, didn't breathe.

Just sat there, staring at the paneling.

A minute later, three more knocks.

Same rhythm, and then silence again by the fourteenth.

I was fraying physically and mentally.

I wasn't sleeping more than a couple hours.

The night I was jumpy scattered, I nearly took a chunk out of my own hand with the chainsaw that morning because I wasn't paying attention like I asked if I was sick.

I told him I was just tired.

He nodded, but gave me that look like he didn't quite buy it, but wasn't going to push.

That night, I didn't even bother changing.

I left my boots on and kept the axe from the woodpile next to the cot, just in case.

Around midnight, I woke up to this sound quiet, breathy humming, like someone trying to sing a lullaby while struggling to remember the tune, short, broken gasps between the notes.

I froze.

It wasn't outside.

It was inside the trailer.

I couldn't see anyone.

The darkness in there was thick, like it was pressing against my eyes.

but I could feel it.

I wasn't alone.

The humming moved closer, then stopped.