The night was still, and I’m terrified. Joe had gone into the house more than 15 minutes ago, and while there had been no gunshots, that didn’t mean he was okay. The perp had knife skills, too. And he also had superior size. And a heartlessness Joe didn’t posess.

Joe and I caught this case two weeks ago. It seemed simple enough, a case of a husband gone mad with rejection. At first he only toyed with his victim, late night calls, mysterious gifts, items moved in the house when no one was home. But what brought us in was when he took his wife across state lines. He was sloppy, disorganized, and left a string of clues a crossing guard could have followed.

But then he escalated, and started leaving parts of his former wife across two states. Then the disappearances started. First it was 33 year old Jeanie Strickland, who had the misfortune of resembling Todd Grahams late wife, before he took a carving knife to her. Then, most recently, Kim Snipes, 34, an otherwise unremarkable waitress with the misfortune of resembling the late Mrs. Graham, as well. It’s not like we didn’t know WHO we were looking for, it was just a matter of tracking him down.

It didn’t help that he had properties across both states, due primarily to his being the only grandchild of a woman who acted like he was her son, instead of a grandson. Some people caught all the breaks, then tossed them away like so much trash. Yes, Todd was grandma Graham’s favorite. I wonder briefly if she’s rolling in her grave. Then I draw back to the present, and eye the dark windows of the house that Joe vanished in.

It’s been too long without a signal, so I adjust my gun and check for my spare in my ankle holster. Moving swiftly, but as silently as possible, I make my way to the front door. It’s still ajar, where Joe entered almost 20 minutes earlier. There’s silence beyond the door, and darkness. I very carefully push the door open, just enough to squeeze in.

There’s just enough moonlight to navigate the furniture. I can see the stairwell ahead, but first I move to my right and clear the rooms. A lot of good it will do to barrel up the stairs just to have the bastard take me down from behind.

It’s a standard sized farmhouse, in the middle of a field in Iowa. Not the sort of place you expect a lunatic to escape to, but somehow fitting. In a Children of the Corn sort of way. After determining the old fashioned parlor was empty, and moving past the kitchen and the dining area, I take the hall to the bedrooms.

One by one, I scope out the smallish rooms and determine there are no boogeymen in the corners. Nothing but mothballs, and old furniture. And a plethora of photos on the walls, the kind that lend a haunted house feeling to the atmosphere. That done, I head back to the stairwell, and grasp the banister.

I move slowly, because old houses tend to creak, and for a moment, I can hear furtive movements upstairs, but is it Joe, or is it ghoulish Graham? Either way, I move forward.