Bob's fingers hover over the wood. Three parallel grooves, deep enough to catch his thumbnail. The grain of the wall splays outward, raw and pale where the finish was torn away. He didn't hear it happen. Didn't feel the house shake. But the marks are here now, and Petunia's growl hasn't stopped since he pulled back the curtain at dawn. She stands rigid at the foot of his bed, her massive black frame blocking the corner where the shadows pool thickest. Her hackles rise and fall in slow waves. The sound that comes from her chest isn't a bark—it's a vibration, something ancient and low that Bob feels in his own ribs. "Pet." He whispers it. She doesn't turn. The room smells different. Not like the dust and dry grass that usually seeps through the window screen. It's sharp, metallic, like the air after lightning hits close. Bob's palm tingles where he touched the claw marks. A faint warmth pulses there, fading as he watches. Something scraped through this room while he slept. Something with intent. He looks at the corner Petunia is fixed on. The shadow seems deeper there, more solid. He could swear it breathes. A slow, patient rhythm that doesn't match his own pounding heart. The code from the cassette—HJ683M5F—flashes through his mind. He hadn't written it down, but the numbers burned themselves behind his eyes. He thinks of Johnny's guitar floating in the pond, the glowing strings, Petunia's growl that night. The same growl. The same warning. "I know," Bob says, his voice barely holding. He steps forward and lays his hand on Petunia's neck. Her fur is hot. She trembles once, then stills. Together, they face the corner. The room waits. Somewhere outside, a wind machine in the orchard starts up with a low mechanical hum. The dawn light hasn't reached this side of the house yet. Something in the shadow shifts. Not a shape. A pressure. Like a held breath about to release. Petunia's growl deepens. Bob reaches for the flashlight on his nightstand. His fingers find the switch. He wonders if light will help. Or if what's in the corner doesn't care about light at all.