Chapter 1: The Voice on the Staircase
“Babe, you coming back upstairs?””
Nia Carter stopped halfway through folding a cream-colored blanket.
The voice came from the second floor of her house in suburban Georgia, familiar enough to make her smile before she even looked up. Marcus always called her babe when he was upstairs and she was downstairs. Sometimes he did it just to get her to come to him instead of making the trip himself.
She tossed the blanket over the back of the couch.
“Give me a second,” Nia called toward the staircase.
Then the front door unlocked behind her.
The sound of the key turning in the deadbolt was ordinary. So was the familiar jingle that followed. Nia had heard it nearly every evening for the past six years, usually followed by Marcus complaining about traffic, dropping his work bag beside the entrance, and asking what was for dinner.
She turned around with a smile already forming.
Marcus stepped inside.
He wore his navy work shirt, charcoal trousers, and the same black work shoes he had left in that morning. His short taper fade was neat, his beard freshly lined. A black work bag hung from his right hand, and his keys rested between the fingers of his left.
He looked tired.
He also looked exactly like the man who had just called to her from upstairs.
“Hey baby,” he said.
Nia's smile disappeared.
For a moment, she simply stared at him. Her gaze moved from his face to the staircase behind her, then back to his face.
Marcus raised his eyebrows.
“What?”” he asked.
“Marcus?”” Nia whispered.
He nudged the front door shut with his heel.
“Yeah, baby. Who else would it be?””
She took a step toward him, then stopped.
“Wait... you upstairs.””
Marcus looked over her shoulder at the staircase.
Then he looked back at her.
“What?””
“I just heard you.””
He blinked slowly, as if he were trying to understand a sentence spoken in a language he didn't know.
“Nia, I just got home.””
He lowered his work bag beside the entrance. The bottom of the bag touched the hardwood floor with a soft thump.
Nia flinched.
She hated that she had flinched. She hated that the man standing three feet away from her was her husband, the person who knew how she took her coffee and which side of the bed made her back hurt, yet suddenly she couldn't make herself move closer to him.
“No,” she said, shaking her head.
“No, I watched you go upstairs.””
Marcus held up his keys.
“Baby, I've been at work.””
His voice was patient. Almost amused.
Nia pointed toward the staircase.
“You came home early. You walked right past me, and I asked you if you wanted something to eat.””
Marcus lowered his keys.
“Nia, I left this house at seven fifteen this morning. You watched me leave. You kissed me at the door, remember?””
She did remember.
She remembered his navy shirt. His black bag. The quick kiss against her forehead while she stood barefoot on the welcome mat.
But that had been hours ago.
And somebody had been upstairs.
She knew it.
The upstairs voice had sounded so natural, so casual, that she hadn't even thought twice about answering it. It had carried the familiar softness of Marcus calling from the bedroom, with that slight upward lilt he used whenever he wanted her attention.
She stared at the staircase.
The hallway light at the top was on. Beyond it, the landing stretched toward their bedroom and the bathroom. Nothing moved in the narrow strip of light visible from below.
“Maybe I heard the television,” she said, but the explanation sounded weak even to her.
Marcus glanced toward the living room.
“The television isn't on.””
“I know that.””
“Then what are we talking about?””
She looked at him sharply.
“I am telling you that I heard your voice upstairs.””
“And I'm telling you I wasn't upstairs.””
He spoke without raising his voice. That made it worse. If he had laughed, shouted, or accused her of being irrational, she could have responded to something familiar.
Instead, he stood calmly beside the door, watching her as though she were a stranger who had wandered into his house.
Nia rubbed her palms against her jeans.
“Okay. Fine. Let's just check.””
Marcus didn't move.
“Check what?””
“The bedroom.””
He glanced at the staircase again.
“Go ahead.””
She waited for him to follow her.
He didn't.
A cold sensation spread beneath her ribs.
“Why aren't you coming?””
“Because you want to check upstairs. I'm standing right here.””
“That makes no sense.””
“Neither does this conversation.””
Nia opened her mouth, then closed it.
She could hear the refrigerator humming in the kitchen. A car passed outside, its tires hissing over the damp road. Somewhere in the house, a floorboard creaked.
The sound came from directly above them.
Both of them looked up.
Nia's heart kicked hard against her chest.
Marcus's expression didn't change.
Another creak followed, slower this time. The sound of a person shifting their weight.
Nia stepped closer to her husband without meaning to.
“Marcus,” she whispered.
He looked down at her.
“Yeah?””
“Did you hear that?””
“Hear what?””
The floorboard creaked again.
Nia felt the blood drain from her face.
Marcus turned his head toward the stairs, listening. For the first time since entering the house, he looked genuinely attentive.
Then the voice came.
“Babe, who you talking to?””
Nia stopped breathing.
It was Marcus's voice.
Not a voice that sounded similar. Not a neighbor calling from an open window. Not a television playing in another room.
It was his exact voice, down to the slight rasp at the end of the sentence and the familiar way he shortened you when he spoke casually.
She slowly turned toward the man beside the door.
Marcus stood perfectly still.
His lips were closed.
His eyes were fixed on the staircase.
And when Nia looked back up toward the landing, she saw nothing.
No shadow crossing the hallway. No movement behind the railing. No face peering around the bedroom door.
Just an empty landing bathed in yellow light.
Her fingers began to tremble.
“Marcus,” she whispered again.
This time, the man beside her answered.
“I'm right here, Nia.””
The voice upstairs had stopped.
Nia took one small step away from her husband.
Then another.
She searched his face for some explanation, some tiny crack in the impossible scene that would let her understand what was happening.
His expression softened.
Almost tenderly, he tilted his head.
“You really don't remember me?””
Nia stared at him.
“What?””
His faint smile widened just enough to reveal his teeth.
And then she saw his eyes.
The brown irises changed first, darkening at the edges before an unnatural crimson glow spread through them. The transformation was subtle enough to be unmistakable, the red contained inside his eyes as if something had awakened behind them.
Nia's hand flew to her mouth.
The man didn't blink.
May you like
He simply watched her with those glowing red eyes.
And from upstairs, something began to laugh in Marcus's voice.