Chapter 3: Secrets in the Clay

He tried to step inside, but no matter what, he couldn’t cross the threshold. “Thud... thud...”

He lifted his boot, but it hit the wooden step with a heavy, hollow sound, like he was stomping on a coffin lid. The noise sent goosebumps crawling up my arms.

My stomach clenched. Our threshold wasn’t high—anyone could step over it. But he tried again and again, still couldn’t get in.

He gritted his teeth, eyes burning. Each time he tried, it was like an invisible wall held him back. I stared at his boots, mud flaking off onto the porch, and felt a cold sweat break out on my neck.

I remembered what the old folks in town used to say: the living can cross a threshold, but the dead can’t.

Those words echoed in my head, stories told around bonfires and whispered at sleepovers. I never thought I’d see it for myself.

I backed up further.

My feet scraped against the floorboards, and I could feel the heat of the kitchen behind me—a safe haven just a few steps away.

The man kept lowering his head, trying to step over. The sound of his boots hitting the threshold grew louder: “Thud, thud, thud.”

Each thud rattled my bones. The noise was sharp, insistent, like he was trying to break through more than just wood.

I said, “My grandpa’s not home. Maybe you should come back later?”

I tried to keep my voice steady, but it came out barely above a whisper. My hands curled into fists at my sides.

He looked up, eyes full of malice. He grinned. “Kid, my legs aren’t good. Help me into the yard and I’ll give you candy.”

His smile was all teeth and no warmth. The way he said ‘candy’ made my skin crawl, like he was repeating a line he’d heard a thousand times but never meant.

He reached for me. I saw his hand—covered in blood, dirt, and rotting leaves. His nails were purple-black, like he’d clawed his way out of a grave.

The hand hovered in the air, fingers twitching. The stench of earth and decay rolled off him in waves. I gagged, stepping back even further.

The old folks always said people died on the winding road behind the mountain. Cars and people would fall to their deaths at the bottom.

Their stories came rushing back—how the mountain claimed outsiders, how some nights you could hear the cries of the dead if you listened hard enough.

Most were outsiders, and their families couldn’t afford to claim the bodies. So the corpses were left at the foot of the mountain, uncollected.

I remembered seeing old, faded posters at the gas station—missing persons, never found. My stomach twisted, thinking of those unclaimed souls.

This man made my skin crawl. He didn’t seem alive.

His eyes were too bright, his movements too stiff. I could feel a chill settle over me, colder than the night air.

I wanted to slam the gate, but his fierce, twisted eyes froze me.

I just backed away and whispered, “You come in yourself. I’ll wait for you inside.”

My voice trembled, but I forced myself to stand my ground. I turned and bolted for the house, heart pounding so loud I thought he’d hear it.

Then I ran, heart pounding, to the den, not daring to look back.

I slammed the door behind me, locking it tight. My hands shook as I pressed my back against the wood, trying to catch my breath.

I shut the door and pressed myself against the window, peeking out. The man glared at our house like he had a grudge.

His eyes glowed in the dark, following every movement. I ducked down, hoping he couldn’t see me, but I couldn’t tear my gaze away.

He kept kicking the threshold. “Thud, thud, thud.” The sound was harsh and cold.

Each kick sent a jolt through the floorboards, echoing in my bones. I squeezed my eyes shut, praying he’d give up.

I don’t know how long he kept at it, but eventually, he left.

The night grew quiet again, but the silence felt sharp, like something was waiting just outside the window.

I stayed hidden, too scared to move.

I curled up in the corner of the den, knees to my chest, listening for any sign he might come back. The shadows seemed to stretch and twist across the walls.

Late at night, I heard footsteps outside the yard. I looked out and saw Grandpa and Grandma had come back.

Relief flooded through me. I pressed my face to the glass, watching their familiar shapes move through the darkness.

I hurried off the couch and opened the den door.

The hinges squeaked, and the warm air from the kitchen spilled into the hallway. I ran to meet them, feet barely touching the floor.