Stanley’s POV
The front door clicked softly behind me. For a moment, I just stood there, my hand still on the knob. The night air clung to my clothes. It was cold, I smelt like a faint smell of car exhaust, and the bitter scent of burnt coffee beans from the café where I had just been.
I didn’t move right away. The living room was quiet but not peaceful. The lamp in the corner gave off a low orange glow, just enough to make out the small ways the room had been disturbed. A cushion on the couch was turned the wrong way. One of the chairs was slightly pulled out from the table. All these little signs that strangers had been here earlier, walking through the space like they owned it. It made my skin crawl.
Then I heard them.
Voices floated down from upstairs. At first it was muffled, like
