I couldn’t stay in the bedroom.

I grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and sat on the floor behind the island, my back against the cool cabinet doors, knees pulled to my chest.

The glass sat untouched beside me. I couldn’t drink. I couldn’t think straight. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him, the body, the blood spreading slowly across the room.

The creaks of the house made me flinch, and every gust of wind against the windows sounded like the footsteps of the dead.

I thought about calling the police. I even picked up my phone twice. But what would I say? There’s a dead...