At Thanksgiving dinner, my son said his steak smelled strange and refused to eat it. My mother scolded him for being picky, but when my nephew reached over to take the steak for himself, my wife suddenly went pale and screamed, "No! Don’t eat that!"

The severed telephone cord dangled uselessly from Lauren's trembling hand.

We were completely isolated from the outside world on Thanksgiving night.

Someone had intentionally jammed our cellular signals and severed the physical landlines.

Buddy let out one final, agonizing whimper before his chest stopped moving entirely.

Our beloved family dog was dead on my mother's dining room floor.

Ethan buried his face in Lauren's sweater and sobbed uncontrollably into the fabric.

I stood up slowly, keeping my eyes locked firmly on Megan's pale face.

You planned this, I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous, icy whisper.

Megan vigorously shook her head, tears ruining her expensive holiday makeup.

I didn't cut the phone lines, Daniel, I swear to God I didn't, she pleaded desperately.

Chris reached out and grabbed his wife's shoulders to steady her shaking body.

Somebody is trying to frame my wife, Chris announced to the room, desperately trying to take control.

I walked past them and headed straight for the heavy oak front door of the house.

I grabbed the cold brass handle and twisted it as hard as I could.

The knob turned, but the heavy door refused to budge even a single inch.

I threw my shoulder against the thick wood, but it felt like hitting a solid brick wall.

I looked down near the bottom edge of the wooden door frame.

Three heavy-duty steel deadbolts had been drilled directly into the wood from the inside.

They were securely fastened with brand new, heavy brass padlocks.

The house is locked from the inside, I announced, feeling a cold sweat break out on my neck.

Patricia gasped from the dining table, her frail face turning an unhealthy shade of gray.

Who would do this to my beautiful home, my mother cried out, clutching her pearl necklace.

I turned around and glared at the only two people who had arrived at the house before us.

Give me the keys to the padlocks, Chris, I demanded, clenching my fists.

Chris took a quick step backward, his hands raised defensively in the air.

I have no idea what you are talking about, Daniel, my brother stammered nervously.

Tyler, my eleven-year-old nephew, suddenly stopped crying and pointed a shaking finger at his own father.

You are lying, Dad, Tyler said, his young voice echoing in the tense silence.

The entire room turned to look at the terrified boy standing by the table.

I saw you in the hallway right before dinner started, Tyler continued, wiping tears from his cheeks.

You were carrying a toolbox and screwing those metal locks into the front door.

Chris turned ghostly white as his own son exposed his massive, undeniable lie.

Megan stared at her husband in absolute, unadulterated horror.

Chris, Megan whispered, her voice cracking with genuine fear.

Why did you lock us in here with him.

Before Chris could open his mouth to answer, the lights in the entire house suddenly flickered.

“Which daughter is yours?” should have been a harmless question

The first wineglass shattered at 8:07 p.m

The moment the mafia boss’s wife called me “an illiterate servant,”

A loud popping sound echoed from the basement utility room.

Then the house plunged into absolute, suffocating darkness.

Chapter 2 - The Locked House