The robotic voice from the television cut off, leaving behind a silence that was more frightening than the message itself. Everyone was frozen in place. Mark stood by the sink, a half-filled pot in his hands. Sarah was in the archway to the living room, her face a mask of fear.
Then, a new sound came from outside.
It was the sharp, distinct noise of glass breaking. It came from the house next door, Mr. Henderson's house. A moment later, a man shouted. It was a sound of surprise and pain.
Quinn moved instantly. He crossed the living room in three quick steps, stopping beside the large front window. The curtains were drawn, but there was a small gap where they met in the middle. He pressed himself against the wall and carefully peeked through the slit, exposing only one eye.
The house next door belonged to Mr. Henderson, a quiet man in his late sixties who spent most of his weekends gardening. Quinn saw him now, in his own front yard. But something was wrong.
Mr. Henderson was not gardening. He was on top of another man, Mr. Davies, who lived two houses down. Mr. Henderson was attacking him. He was not using his fists in a normal way. His movements were jerky and unnaturally fast. He was throwing his entire body against Mr. Davies, who was trying feebly to push him off.
Quinn's military training had taught him to analyze threats quickly. This was not a fight between two neighbors. There was no argument, no shouting back and forth. There was only the raw, focused violence from Mr. Henderson and the panicked sounds from his victim.
The way Mr. Henderson moved was what shocked Quinn the most. He was a small, older man, but he moved with a speed and strength that seemed impossible. There was a shocking ferocity to his actions, a complete lack of any human hesitation.
Sarah came up behind Quinn, her hand gripping his arm. "What is it? What's happening?" she whispered, trying to look past him.
"Stay back," Quinn said, his voice low and urgent. He didn't take his eye from the gap in the curtains.
In the yard next door, Mr. Davies stopped struggling. Mr. Henderson leaned down, his face close to the other man's neck. For a second, Quinn thought he was trying to listen to something. Then he saw Mr. Henderson's head jerk back.
He had bitten him.
Mr. Davies's body convulsed once on the grass and then went still.
A terrible quiet settled over the scene. Mr. Henderson slowly pushed himself up to his feet. He stood over the body for a moment, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Then, he turned.
His head swiveled directly toward their house, as if he could feel Quinn watching him.
Quinn felt a cold dread wash over him. Mr. Henderson's face was smeared with blood. His eyes were wide and unfocused, but they were locked on their house. A low, growling sound came from his throat, a noise that was not human. He looked less like a person and more like a machine that had been given a single, terrible instruction.
Quinn pulled back from the window instantly. "Away from the windows. Everyone. Now," he commanded.
Sarah had seen enough. Her face was ashen. She immediately turned and ran to the back of the house where the kids were. "Tom! Lily! Come with me! We're going to play a game in the upstairs bathroom!" Her voice was high and strained, but she was trying to sound calm for the children.
Mark was still standing by the window, staring at the curtains as if he could see through them. "That… that was Henderson," he said, his voice full of disbelief. "He just… that can't be real. What is happening?"
A loud BANG on the front door made them all jump.
It wasn't a knock. It was a heavy, forceful impact, like someone throwing their entire body against the wood.
BANG. BANG.
"Don't make a sound," Quinn whispered.
Lily started to cry from the hallway where Sarah was trying to lead her upstairs. "Shhh, honey, it's okay," Sarah pleaded quietly, her own voice trembling.
The banging on the front door stopped. For a few seconds, there was only silence and the sound of Lily's muffled sobs.
Then, a new sound started. It was coming from the living room window, the same one Quinn had just been looking through. A frantic, scraping sound at first, then a loud, rhythmic pounding.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
It was the sound of fists hitting glass.
Mark finally unfroze, his disbelief turning into pure terror. He looked at Quinn, his eyes wide with the question, "What do we do?"
Quinn scanned the room. His eyes landed on the fireplace. Next to it was a set of heavy, black iron tools. He moved quickly and grabbed the fireplace poker. It was long and solid, with a weighted end. It felt heavy and real in his hands.
He took a position a few feet from the window, planting his feet firmly on the floor. He could see a shape through the closed curtains, a human outline, relentlessly hitting the glass.
Cracks started to appear on the windowpane. They spread out from the point of impact with every new strike. The pounding got louder, more desperate.
"Quinn…" Mark breathed, backing away toward the kitchen.
CRACK.
A large fracture split the window from top to bottom.
Quinn held the poker tighter, his knuckles white. He could hear Sarah trying to quiet the children upstairs, her voice a desperate, calming whisper.
Then came a sound louder than all the others. The horrible, sharp noise of shattering glass.
The window exploded inward, sending shards flying across the living room carpet. The curtains were thrown back by the force of the final blow.
Through the broken frame, Mr. Henderson began to climb. His face was a mess of blood and mindless fury. He didn't seem to notice the sharp edges of the glass cutting into his arms and chest as he pulled himself through. The horror was no longer next door. It was inside their house. A bloody hand gripped the inside of the window frame, and he was coming in.