Chapter 5: The Knock That Wasn’t Grandpa

Grandma and Uncle Derek exchanged a glance.

Derek gripped the hatchet again, knuckles white. Grandma’s mouth set in a thin line—she was scared, but determined.

They quickly ran back into the house and bolted another door.

The extra lock clicked shut. Derek checked the windows, making sure every latch was tight.

Grandma whispered, “Natalie, this isn’t good. Call the councilman’s house and see if your grandpa made it over there.”

She handed me the phone, her hands still shaking.

Uncle Derek hurried to call the councilman’s house.

He punched in the number with trembling fingers, muttering the digits under his breath like a prayer.

Back then, it was the early ‘90s, and cell phones were rare. Everyone relied on landline phones to keep in touch. The councilman’s house was for town officials, ours was the little general store. Only our house and the councilman’s had phones in the whole town.

The rotary dial stuck on the 7, and I had to jab it twice before it clicked back. Each ring on the other end felt like a countdown. The whole world felt very small, very far away from help.

Uncle Derek called, and the phone at the councilman’s house rang for a long time, but no one answered.

The long, hollow rings filled the silence, each one louder than the last.

His hands were shaking. “There’s no way the councilman wouldn’t answer the phone at this time.”

His voice cracked, eyes flicking between us and the window.

Grandma said, “Call again.”

She tried to sound calm, but her voice was brittle.

He dialed again. Still no answer.

Even Grandma Carol started to worry. “That’s impossible. Even if the councilman isn’t home, his wife should be. Isn’t it time to make lunch?”

Her eyes darted to the wall clock, which ticked too slowly for comfort. The silence on the other end felt like a warning.

At this moment, the ‘clop-clop’ footsteps passed by and then came back.

The steps paused, then circled back, crunching on the gravel just outside the fence. My breath hitched.

They stopped right at our front gate.

For a long moment, no one moved. The old house seemed to shrink, the windows frosted over, the kitchen lights suddenly too bright.

I could feel something peering inside through the crack in the door.

The hairs on my body stood on end.

Every instinct screamed at me to hide, to disappear, but I was frozen to the spot.

“Bang bang bang.”

The front door was knocked on.

Each thud rattled the mugs in the cupboard, sending a hairline crack up my favorite snowman mug. The sound was deep, too heavy for a human hand. Grandma’s grip tightened on my shoulder.

Grandma’s arms trembled as she held me.

She tried to steady herself, but her fear was contagious. I clung to her, trying to make myself as small as possible.

Uncle Derek grabbed a hatchet and stood behind the house door.

He looked ready to swing, but his eyes darted everywhere, wild and desperate.

The three of us didn’t make a sound.

We held our breath, listening for any hint of movement outside. The only sound was the pounding of my heart.

After a few seconds—

“Bang bang bang.”

The door was knocked three more times. The sound was even heavier.

Each knock made the windows rattle, sending a shiver up my spine.

Uncle Derek braced himself and shouted, “Who is it?”

He tried to sound tough, but his voice wavered at the end.

“Me.”

My grandpa’s voice.

Clear as day, calm as ever. For a split second, hope surged in my chest.

Hope flared in my chest, but Grandma’s nails dug into my arm, anchoring me to the floor.

I exclaimed in delight, “Grandpa’s back!”

I tried to stand, ready to run for the door.

As I spoke, I wanted to rush out and open the door.

The relief was overwhelming. I took a step, but Grandma’s grip held me back.

Grandma pulled me back. “That’s not your grandpa.”

Her voice was sharp, panicked. I could see real terror in her eyes.

“But that’s really Grandpa’s voice,” I said.

It sounded exactly right. I couldn’t imagine anything mimicking it so perfectly.

Uncle Derek said, “It’s my dad’s voice. I can’t mistake it.”

He looked desperate, eyes flicking from the door to Grandma.

As he spoke, he was about to pull back the bolt.

I held my breath, not knowing who to trust.

At that moment, Grandpa’s anxious voice came from outside, “Open up quick! Old Mo came out of the woods!”

It sounded just like Grandpa when he was in a hurry, barking orders after a fishing trip gone long.

Uncle Derek pulled back the bolt on the house door and went to the yard to open the main gate.

His hand shook on the latch. The old brass bolt squeaked as he slid it back.

Grandma grabbed him hard and whispered, “Derek, Derek, don’t go. That’s definitely not your dad.”

Her words stopped him cold, her eyes fierce.