Bob's fingers hover an inch from the wall. Three parallel gouges, deep enough to see the lath beneath the plaster. Clean lines. Not from a tool—from something with claws. Petunia stands rigid beside him, her massive chest rumbling with a low, continuous growl. Her eyes are fixed on the corner where the wall meets the ceiling. Nothing there. Just shadows. But her hackles are up, and her tail hasn't moved. "What is it, girl?" Bob whispers. She doesn't look at him. Doesn't whine. Just keeps staring, that growl vibrating through the floorboards. Bob swallows. He's seen Petunia scared before—thunder, fireworks, that time a bear got into the trash. This isn't scared. This is watchful. Like she's waiting for something to move. He pulls out his phone, snaps a picture of the claw marks. The flash illuminates the room for a split second. In that instant, he sees something in the corner—a faint shimmer, like heat rising off pavement. Then it's gone. Petunia's growl deepens. Bob backs away slowly, never taking his eyes off the corner. His hand finds Petunia's thick fur. "Come on," he says, his voice steady despite the tremor in his chest. She doesn't follow at first. She holds her ground, a final warning to whatever is there. Then she turns, pressing her warm body against his leg as they step into the hallway. Bob closes the bedroom door. Locks it. Stands in the dark hallway, heart pounding. The scratching starts three seconds later. Slow. Deliberate. From the inside. Code: GQ5WPD7G