Chapter 5: The Shadow in the Room

Kingston's obsession had consumed him entirely.

For three days straight, he hadn't left his study except to use the bathroom and grab handfuls of food that he ate while hunched over his makeshift investigation board. The room reeked of stale coffee and desperate determination, and every surface was covered with printouts, photographs, and handwritten notes connected by an increasingly complex web of colored string.

"Listen to this," he said as Elara brought him another cup of coffee, his voice hoarse from lack of sleep. His finger jabbed at a passage highlighted in yellow on one of dozens of academic papers. "Dr. Chen's research mentions a specific ritual called 'The Awakening of Stone.' Ancient practitioners believed that certain carved figures weren't just representations of deities, but actual vessels containing dormant entities."

Elara set the coffee down carefully, avoiding the crime scene photos that made her stomach churn. "Kingston, you need to sleep. You've been at this for seventy-two hours straight."

"Sleep?" He looked up at her with bloodshot eyes, his usually perfect hair sticking up in wild tufts. "Sleep while that psychopath is out there planning whatever comes next? No. I'm close to something, Elara. I can feel it."

She'd heard him say that same phrase dozens of times over the past three days, always with the same manic intensity. The investigation had become his anchor, the one thing that made him feel like he had some control over their situation. Taking that away from him now might shatter what was left of his sanity.

But watching him deteriorate wasn't much better.

"At least come to bed for a few hours," she tried. "The research will still be here in the morning."

"Will it?" His laugh was bitter, edged with hysteria. "Will we be here in the morning? Because I have a feeling our friend with the gravelly voice is getting tired of waiting."

As if summoned by Kingston's words, the speakers crackled to life.

It was past midnight—hours before the usual 6 AM broadcast time. But lately, their tormentor had been calling at random intervals, sometimes just to remind them he was watching, other times to share cryptic hints about his ultimate intentions.

"Good evening, my devoted audience," came the familiar voice, warm with false affection. "I hope you're both well. Kingston, I can see you've been working very hard. Such dedication. Such beautiful, futile effort."

Kingston sprang to his feet, knocking over his coffee cup. Dark liquid spread across his research papers, but he didn't seem to notice. "Where are you? How are you watching us?"

"Oh, I'm much closer than you think. In fact, I've been wondering... when I come, will you let me in?"

The question again. The same five words that had haunted Elara's dreams for weeks. When I come, will you let me in? Each repetition made them more sinister, more loaded with promise and threat.

"What do you want?" Kingston shouted at the speakers. "The statue? Is that what this is about? Take it! Just leave us alone!"

Laughter filled the room, rich with genuine amusement. "Oh, Kingston. You still don't understand, do you? The statue was never the goal. It was simply... bait. A way to ensure you'd be exactly where I needed you to be when the time came."

The connection cut with an abrupt click, leaving them in silence that felt heavier than before.

Kingston stared at the speakers for a long moment, his face cycling through confusion, fear, and finally a terrible understanding. "Bait," he whispered. "It was bait."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I'm an idiot." He sank back into his chair, suddenly looking older than his thirty-eight years. "All this research, all this preparation... I've been trying to solve a mystery that was designed to keep me occupied. While I was playing detective, he was getting ready for whatever comes next."

Elara felt cold fingers of dread walking up her spine. "So what do we do?"

"We wait. And we hope that when he finally makes his move, we're ready for it."

But ready or not, Kingston couldn't stop himself from obsessing over the question. For the next several hours, he played and replayed the recording of that gravelly voice asking, "When I come, will you let me in?" He'd isolated the audio file, analyzed it with expensive software, played it at different speeds and frequencies looking for hidden meanings.

"There's something about the phrasing," he muttered, adjusting his headphones for the hundredth time. "It's not 'if I come' or 'before I come.' It's 'when I come.' Certainty. Inevitability."

Elara tried to sleep, but every time she closed her eyes, she saw the statue's empty gaze and felt that familiar sensation of being watched. Around 3 AM, she gave up and went to the kitchen to make tea, hoping the familiar ritual might calm her nerves.

When she returned to the bedroom, Kingston was exactly where she'd left him—hunched over his laptop with those damned headphones on, the same five words playing over and over again. When I come, will you let me in? When I come, will you let me in? When I come, will you let me in?

The repetition was hypnotic, almost meditative. Despite her anxiety, Elara found her eyelids growing heavy as she curled up in their massive bed. The recording became a twisted lullaby, lulling her toward sleep even as it filled her dreams with shadows and whispered threats.

She woke to the sound of those same five words, but something was wrong.

The quality was different. Clearer. More immediate. And Kingston wasn't wearing his headphones anymore—he was slumped over his laptop, fast asleep, his breathing deep and regular.

When I come, will you let me in?

The voice was coming from somewhere else in the room.

Elara's blood turned to ice as she realized the truth. The sound wasn't coming from the speakers or Kingston's laptop. It was coming from the other side of the bed.

She turned her head slowly, afraid of what she might see, and found herself staring into empty space. Nothing there but shadows and the faint outline of furniture in the darkness. But the voice continued, so close she could feel warm breath against her ear.

"When I come, will you let me in?"

The breath was real. Foul and warm, carrying the scent of decay and something metallic that might have been blood. And underneath it all, the familiar gravelly voice she'd come to know so well.

He was here. In their bedroom. Standing right beside their bed while Kingston slept obliviously just a few feet away.

Elara tried to scream, tried to move, tried to do anything but lie there frozen with terror. But her body wouldn't obey. She could only stare into the darkness where that awful voice continued its patient questioning.

"When I come, will you let me in?"

Click.

The sound of a recording device being turned off, sharp and unmistakable in the silence.

That tiny sound broke whatever spell had been holding her paralyzed. Elara shot upright in bed, her mouth opening to scream Kingston's name, but before any sound could emerge, she felt a crushing blow to the side of her head.

Pain exploded through her skull like lightning, and darkness rushed in to claim her.

The last thing she heard before unconsciousness took her was Kingston's voice, sharp with panic: "Elara? Elara, what—"

Then the sharp crack of gunfire, three shots fired in rapid succession, the muzzle flashes lighting up the bedroom like strobes. Kingston was shouting something, but the words were lost in the ringing in her ears and the growing darkness that pulled her down, down, down into oblivion.

When the shooting stopped, the silence that followed was absolute.

And in that silence, something large and heavy crashed to the floor with enough force to shake the entire mansion.

But by then, Elara was already gone, falling into darkness that tasted of blood and breathed with the voice of nightmares.

The last coherent thought she managed before the blackness claimed her completely was a terrible certainty: their uninvited guest hadn't needed to ask permission after all.

He was already inside.