At first, everything looked normal. The bed was made, the lights were off, nothing out of place. But his son wasn’t there. He called his name once, then again—no answer. He checked the bathroom, the kitchen, the living room. Nothing. That’s when the uneasiness started. His son never left without saying anything. He went back to the room and noticed the small things—his shoes were still by the door, his jacket still hanging, and his phone… on the bed. That didn’t make sense. His heart started racing. He searched the house again, faster this time, even outside. Still nothing. Then he saw it—the window slightly open. Cold air coming in. He rushed over and looked out, but the yard was empty. He grabbed his phone to call the police, but it buzzed in his hand. A message. From his son’s number. His stomach dropped. He slowly turned toward the bed—the phone was still there. He picked it up with shaking hands and opened the message: “I didn’t leave.” Another message came instantly: “You’re looking in the wrong place.” He froze. Because right then… he heard a sound. Not outside. Not downstairs. Something inside the house. Somewhere behind him.