Creak.
The old dormroom door groaned as it eased open—just a crack at first, as if testing the air beyond. Mikey froze, his heart thudding. He hadn't touched the knob. The door had moved on its own. Or worse, someone had pushed it.
No.
They were here.
They were coming.
A faint gasp slipped from his lips as he turned toward the door, wide-eyed, gripping the edge of his desk. He barely had time to react before the door flung open with a soft bang against the wall.
And standing right there, like a pair of ghosts from a forgotten memory, were his parents.
Mikey's throat dried up in an instant. His arms stretched out, instinctively trying to block their view—too late. His father, tall and stern with streaks of gray in his neatly trimmed beard, raised an eyebrow. He looked like an older version of Mikey, just more seasoned, more tired. There was a quiet handsomeness about him—rugged, chiseled, but not without warmth when he chose to show it.
