Fifty yards. Just fifty yards. Half a football field. Without the end zones. The distance between the edge of the woods at which he stood and his sister’s house. A few quick steps would take him across the dirt road and the yard, up the stairs and onto the porch. On a good day Sal could sprint that distance in five seconds flat.

And yet he hesitated.

This was not a good day.

Dark clouds filled the sky, covering the sun. They promised rain that would never come. Somewhere smoke spewed out of a fireplace sending the sweet scent of cedar into the air, nauseating him. The smoke didn’t come from his sister’s house. Sue’s house was dark.

And empty.

Cold.

Chills tripped along his spine.

Something wasn’t right. Sue had called him. Where was she? She should be here.

But she wasn’t.

They were.

And all around he sensed them watching.

Waiting.

Hoping he’d make a mistake.