Round 9 Transcript

I stand in the kitchen shadow with the heavy lamp base ready, my back pressed against the counter. The knives on the cutting board are a contingency plan I pray I don't need—the lamp is my only real weapon. The groaning floorboard sound comes again from the hall. Closer. Definitely not my imagination. I don't know who's here, but I know this house better than anyone—the back door has a flimsy lock, and there's no way out through the woods at night in this rain. I have to end this. With the lamp held tight in both hands, I step toward the kitchen doorway into the hall—its opening framed by darkness—and listen for movement.

The lamp flickered. I heard the floor give somewhere behind the kitchen wall—the sound of a man's weight testing woodboards carefully. I'm not alone anymore. The back door is open. There's no chain lock. My hand shook holding the flashlight beam steady down the dark hall. I needed a weapon heavier than light. I reached for the brass lamp on the side table—its base felt substantial, weighted glass—and lifted it off silently. Then I moved toward the kitchen where the floorboard groaned again, louder this time, closer to the doorway.