Gemotions

The click of the lock seemed deafening. Elias spun, checking the shadows that danced in the hall. Sunlight, filtered through the blinds, cast long, distorted figures. He’d always loved model trains. Now, his son, Finn, devoured the hobby, building elaborate layouts that took over the entire basement. Elias found himself jumping at every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of leaves against the window. He locked the train room. Then he locked the basement door. He’d told Finn to wait upstairs.

His breath hitched. He had to be calm. He went back to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water. It sloshed precariously as his hand trembled. The mail. He hadn't checked the mail. He didn't remember opening it this morning.

He peeked through the peephole. Nothing. He unlocked the door, yanked the mail from the slot, and slammed the door shut, listening intently. A soft whimper came from the living room. Was Finn okay?