Chapter 22- The House Across the Field
1432 Words
Wind drifted through the tall grass behind the Milburn home, carrying the faint scent of wet soil and pine. Maeve stood by the window, watching the distant lights of Moordale flicker through the morning haze. She had been awake for hours, unable to rest after the message from the stranger. The house was still except for the low hum of the refrigerator and the rhythmic ticking of the clock downstairs.
When she heard the floorboards creak, she turned to find Otis leaning against the doorway. His T shirt was wrinkled, his hair messy, but his eyes were clear. He had been awake too.
“You should try to sleep,” he said softly.
“I can’t. Every time I close my eyes, I see him by the trees.”
Otis walked over and sat beside her. The faint light from the window touched his face, making him look older, steadier. “Mum is already tracing the phone. She called a friend in London who works with the police’s cyber unit.”
Maeve nodded slowly. “Do you think he’ll find us again?”
Otis hesitated. “If he does, he’ll regret it.”
She smiled faintly. “You sound brave this morning.”
“Only because you are here.”
Downstairs, Jean’s voice carried faintly through the quiet. They both went down, finding her in the kitchen with a mug of tea and her laptop open. Eric sat at the counter, wrapped in a blanket, scrolling through his phone.
Jean looked up as they entered. “The phone has been active twice since midnight. Both pings came from an old property near the edge of town. It’s listed as abandoned, but it used to belong to someone connected to Moordale.”
Maeve’s stomach tightened. “Who?”
Jean turned the screen toward them. A name appeared at the top of the file: Mr. Hendricks.
“The old vice principal,” Otis said, surprised. “He left years ago.”
Jean nodded. “According to records, the house hasn’t been occupied since then. But someone has been using his old Wi Fi network.”
Eric frowned. “So what do we do now? Call the police?”
“I already did,” Jean said. “They will send someone this afternoon. Until then, stay here. Do not go near that place.”
Maeve looked at Otis. “We can’t just wait.”
He shook his head. “Jean’s right. It’s dangerous.”
“Dangerous doesn’t mean wrong,” Maeve said quietly. “If we wait, he could run again.”
Jean heard her tone and closed her laptop firmly. “Maeve, you are brave, but please don’t let anger guide you. Let the police handle it.”
Maeve nodded but said nothing.
---
By noon, the house felt smaller, tighter. The waiting pressed on them like heavy air. Eric had fallen asleep on the couch, music playing softly from his earbuds. Jean had gone upstairs to make more calls.
Maeve paced the living room, her thoughts racing. The image of the message still burned in her mind: Tomorrow begins the truth.
She turned to Otis. “He wants us to find him. That’s why he left the phone.”
Otis sighed. “Maybe. Or maybe he wants us scared.”
“I’m tired of being scared,” she said.
He watched her closely. “What are you planning?”
Maeve walked to the window again. “If the house is near the field, we can reach it before the police get there. Just to look. Nothing more.”
“Maeve—”
“I need to see it, Otis. I need to know why he’s doing this.”
He hesitated for a long time, then stood. “If you’re going, I’m going too.”
She gave him a small, grateful smile. “I knew you’d say that.”
---
The field behind the abandoned road was quiet. Gray clouds drifted low, and the air smelled like damp leaves and rust. The old house stood at the far edge — paint peeling, windows dark. The garden was overgrown, the gate barely hanging from its hinges.
Maeve and Otis approached slowly, hearts pounding.
“This place gives me the creeps,” Otis murmured.
Maeve tried the door. It opened with a low creak. Inside, dust floated in the dim light. Old furniture sat covered in sheets, and the floorboards groaned with every step.
They split up quietly, searching the small rooms. Maeve found a stack of papers on the table — old student files, yellowed and damp. One of them had her name on it.
Her hand trembled as she picked it up. It wasn’t her school file — it was a collection of photos from years ago, printed and taped to the pages. Someone had been keeping track of her since she joined Moordale.
“Otis,” she called softly.
He came running, eyes wide. When he saw the papers, his face went pale. “Maeve, this is insane. He’s been following you for years.”
Before she could answer, a sound came from the back room — slow, deliberate footsteps.
Otis grabbed her hand. “Someone’s here.”
They moved toward the door, but it slammed shut before they reached it. A voice echoed from the shadows.
“You always liked breaking the rules, Maeve.”
Maeve froze. The voice was familiar — calm, almost gentle. “Who are you?”
A figure stepped into the weak light. It was a man in his forties, his face partly hidden by a hood. He smiled faintly. “Someone who saw potential in you long before the rest of them did.”
Otis stepped forward. “If you come closer, I’ll—”
The man raised a hand. “Relax, Otis. You’ve been a distraction, nothing more.”
Maeve’s chest tightened. “What do you want from me?”
“To finish what I started,” the man said. “Moordale was supposed to change things, but they shut me down. I wanted to build something better. You were the key, Maeve. You had the mind and the heart for it. But then you chose him.”
Maeve’s voice shook. “You’re sick.”
“Maybe,” he said quietly. “But even the sick can see the truth.”
A sound came from outside — a car pulling up, tires crunching gravel. The man glanced toward the window, then back at them. “Looks like your little therapist called the police.”
He backed away slowly toward the rear door. “We’ll talk again soon.”
Otis lunged forward, but the man slipped out before he could reach him. They ran after him, but by the time they stepped outside, only the sound of the car speeding away remained.
Jean’s voice called out behind them, breathless. “You didn’t listen to me, did you?”
Otis turned, guilt in his face. “We had to know.”
Jean shook her head, but her eyes softened when she saw the papers Maeve was holding. “You found something important. This will help.”
The police arrived moments later, filling the field with blue light. Maeve stood back, clutching the folder tightly against her chest. The officer took statements, but her mind drifted elsewhere — to the man’s voice, to his words about her being the key.
Otis reached for her hand. “You did the right thing coming here.”
She looked at him, unsure. “Did we? Or did we just make it worse?”
He squeezed her hand gently. “Sometimes you can’t fix what’s broken without breaking something else first.”
Maeve gave a tired smile. “That sounds like something your mum would say.”
Otis laughed quietly. “Probably.”
They walked back to Jean’s car together, the wind tugging at their clothes. The sky was turning orange now, the storm finally fading. Maeve glanced back at the house one last time.
Something caught her eye — a small red light blinking in the window.
A camera.
She froze.
“Otis,” she whispered. “He’s been watching us the whole time.”
Otis followed her gaze. The light flickered once, then went out.
Jean noticed their expressions and turned to look. “What is it?”
Maeve’s voice was barely a whisper. “He’s not gone. He’s still here.”
The wind rose again, carrying the faint echo of laughter from somewhere deep in the woods.
And for the first time, Maeve realized the game was far from over.
- Writer
