Story code: ST-000093
Part 2: The Shadow on the Porch
The rusted hinges stopped screaming, leaving an awful, pregnant silence in the yard. Arthur kept the heavy stock of the shotgun pressed tight against his shoulder, the bead of the front sight hovering steadily in the center of the dark windowpane. From the black void of the open car door, a silhouette finally detached itself. It was impossible to make out a face or any defining details in the gloom. The figure wore a dark, oversized hooded jacket that swallowed their frame entirely, the thick hood pulled up high to obscure their head.
Arthur swallowed hard, the dry click in his throat sounding unnervingly loud. The intruder didn’t move toward the house immediately. Instead, they leaned back into the dark interior of the battered sedan. Arthur’s chest tightened as he watched the figure rummage around the driver’s seat. *They’re getting the tools,* his mind screamed, the horrific memories of shattered glass from six months ago flashing violently across his vision. *Or they’re getting a weapon.* A dull, metallic scrape drifted across the yard as the figure pulled something out of the cabin. Arthur couldn’t tell what it was-only that it possessed a heavy, solid weight as the figure shifted it to one side.
The silhouette slammed the car door shut. The booming thud rattled through the freezing air. The intruder turned and took a step toward the house.
Their gait was entirely wrong for a simple burglary, setting off fresh alarm bells in Arthur’s head. The figure stumbled slightly, their footing erratic and heavy in the deep, wet mud. They were swaying, dragging their feet with a jarring, unpredictable rhythm. To Arthur, it looked exactly like the brazen, careless swagger of someone completely high out of their mind, someone who wouldn’t feel the sting of a warning shot, someone who wouldn’t stop until they had torn their way inside. The figure paused near the rusted tractor, raising one hand. In the pale, silver sliver of moonlight, Arthur caught a brief, sharp glint of glass and metal in the intruder’s grip.
His breath hitched. *A gun? A pry bar?* He didn’t have time to find out.
Arthur slid his bare feet across the chilled hardwood, moving carefully away from the edge of the window to take a direct stance behind the heavy oak front door. He planted his feet wide, creating a solid, immovable base. If they tried to breach the door like the last crew, he had the perfect angle. He just had to wait for them to make the first destructive move.
Outside, a boot hit the bottom step of the wooden porch. A loud, strained creak echoed through the walls of the farmhouse.
Arthur squeezed his eyes shut for a fraction of a second, praying for the impossible wail of police sirens in the distance, praying for the intruder to just turn around and walk away. But there was only the isolated, howling wind and the sound of a second heavy footstep landing on the porch boards.
*Creak.*
The intruder was just feet away now, separated from Arthur by only a few inches of solid wood. The floorboards vibrated beneath Arthur’s cold toes. The trespasser was moving toward the center of the porch, right in front of the brass deadbolt. Arthur’s grip on the shotgun was so tight his forearms cramped with the effort, his knuckles aching from the strain. He could hear the shadow moving blindly in the dark out there, something hard bumping softly against the wood siding of the house.
Arthur knew he had to establish control, to let the intruder know this farm wasn’t an easy target. He took a shallow breath, mentally preparing to shout a deep, commanding warning through the door. But before he could force the words out of his constricted throat, a sudden, heavy thud struck the exterior of the house.
It wasn’t a polite knock. It was a chaotic, uncoordinated impact, as if the person had thrown their entire body weight against the heavy oak door.
Arthur jumped back half a step, the barrel of the shotgun wavering for a terrifying second before he locked it back on the center mass of the door. The brass deadbolt rattled violently in its casing.
Then, the doorknob began to turn.
It twisted right, hit the lock mechanism with a sharp click, and then wrenched aggressively to the left. The intruder was trying to force it, violently rattling the hardware back and forth. The metallic jingling sounded like a bomb going off in the dead quiet of the living room.
The intruder struck the door again, accompanied by a muffled, frantic noise from the other side. Through the thick wood, Arthur couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was undeniable to his panicked ears-it was strained, urgent, and wildly aggressive. The shadow of the person shifted over the frosted glass pane at the top of the door, a massive, looming block of darkness trying to find a way in.
Arthur’s thumb found the safety switch near the trigger guard. With a sharp, mechanical *click* that seemed to echo endlessly in the foyer, he pushed it forward. The pump-action shotgun was now live.
The aggressive rattling at the doorknob instantly stopped. The metallic *click* of the safety had been loud enough to penetrate the heavy oak.
For three agonizing seconds, absolute silence returned. Arthur held his breath, his finger resting heavily on the curved metal of the trigger. He waited for the sound of retreating footsteps, hoping the universal sound of a chambered weapon had been enough to send the drugged-out intruder running back to their sedan.
Instead, a loud, heavy metallic object smashed against the frosted glass pane of the door. The glass spider-webbed with a sickening crack, and the dark shadow outside lunged forward again, throwing their weight violently against the failing wood. Arthur tightened his finger on the trigger, the pressure in his chest building to the absolute breaking point.