He-s Out There -

Sam’s legs gave out. He hit the floor hard, the flashlight skittering across the boards, sending wild shadows up the walls. The thing stood over him, and Sam saw that its feet—his father’s boots, the ones with the steel toes—weren’t touching the ground.

Sammy. Sammy, where are you?

Behind him, the thing in the chair began to hum—an old song, one his father used to whistle while he worked. The one about the long black veil. He-s Out There

The flashlight flickered once, twice, and died. Sam’s legs gave out

The front door was unlocked. That should have been his first warning. the flashlight skittering across the boards

I’m here, Dad. I’m right here.