Chapter 7: Who’s Really at the Door?

Grandma breathed a sigh of relief.

Her shoulders slumped, and she let out a shaky laugh, wiping tears from her eyes. "Oh, thank God."

“Derek, that’s your dad.”

Her voice was full of certainty now, the fear fading a little.

As she spoke, she was about to open the door.

Her hand reached for the bolt, ready to welcome him home.

This time, Uncle Derek stopped her.

He held her back, eyes wide and pleading.

“Mom, no. The finger that reached in just now definitely wasn’t my dad’s.”

He shook his head, voice urgent. I could see the memory of that inhuman hand haunting him.

Grandma said, “The fog was thick and you didn’t see clearly. That voice and what he said, that’s definitely your dad.”

She was trying to convince herself as much as Derek, logic warring with fear.

Grandma and Uncle Derek were still arguing.

Their voices rose, both desperate to do the right thing, neither sure what that was.

I thought for a moment and said, “Didn’t Grandpa take fireworks when he left? Have him set one off, and that’ll settle it. Old Mo is afraid of gunpowder, he definitely wouldn’t dare.”

My idea sounded childish, but it made sense in that moment—something only a real person would do.

Grandma said, “Right!”

She gave me a grateful look, relief flashing in her eyes.

She shouted at the door, “Joe, set off a couple of fireworks to drive away Old Mo before you come in!”

Her voice was firm and loud, ringing through the foggy afternoon.

“I’ve finished my pipe, what am I supposed to use to light fireworks? And who sets off fireworks at this time of day?” The voice outside sounded a little impatient.

I could hear Grandpa’s signature grumble, but underneath it was a strange, unfamiliar note—almost too rehearsed.

It really did sound exactly like Grandpa. What he said also made some sense.

My heart wavered. I wanted it to be him so badly.

Grandma hesitated. “Derek, if it’s really your dad, it’s dangerous for him to be outside.”

She looked torn, wanting to help but terrified of making the wrong move.

Uncle Derek said, “That’s true. If it’s really Old Mo, that door won’t hold him anyway.”

His logic was grim but honest. He glanced at the loaded hatchet, then at the fireworks, torn between fighting and fleeing.

At that moment, suddenly came the neighbor Mrs. Peterson’s terrified scream.

The sound sliced through the silence, high and wild. We all jumped.

“Old Mo! Old Mo is in the town! Ah—”

A scream.

The end of the scream quivered and then faded away.

It was like a radio being shut off mid-sentence. The house went dead quiet.

Grandma panicked. “Derek, quick! Open the door! Let your dad in, now!”

She shoved him toward the door, her fear spilling over.

I still felt something wasn’t right, but I couldn’t say what.

Somewhere deep down, every warning bell in my head was ringing. My legs refused to move.

Uncle Derek rushed over to open the door.

The latch clicked. Outside, the wind howled, and I realized—I’d never heard Grandpa call my name just once.