Henry's heartbeat thudded louder. Something wasn't right.
The puppy scratched lightly at the base of the door, letting out a trembling whimper. Henry knelt beside it, brushing a hand over its soft head.
"Hey, what happened in there, little one?" he murmured. The puppy pressed against his knee as if begging him not to leave.
Henry reached out and touched the doorknob. It felt colder than it should have, even in the warm morning air.
He pushed gently. To his surprise, the door creaked open without resistance, drifting inward like it had been left that way for hours, maybe longer.
A faint, stale smell wafted out. Not rotten, not dangerous, just wrong, like a house that had missed its morning routine and forgotten to wake up.
"Mrs. Foster," Henry called out softly, stepping one foot inside. No response came.
No movement, no familiar shuffle of her slippers. The puppy squeezed past his leg and darted into the dim foyer, stopping halfway to glance back with a sharp, urgent bark, as if commanding him now, not asking.
Henry swallowed. This wasn't a random lost puppy.
This was a messenger. Something had happened in this house, and the little dog was determined not to face it alone.
Henry hesitated on the threshold. The mix of cool air and silence inside wrapped around him like an invisible warning.
He wasn't supposed to enter people's homes. Mail carriers had strict rules.
But rules didn't account for trembling puppies desperately begging for help. And this puppy standing at the edge of the hallway with pleading eyes wasn't giving him any choice.
"All right, I'm coming," Henry murmured, stepping fully inside. The puppy immediately turned and scampered deeper into the house, its tiny nails skittering across the hardwood floor.
Every few steps, it paused, looked back at Henry, and barked. Each was a short, trembling sound full of urgency.
Henry followed slowly, scanning the hallway. Family photos lined the walls.
Mrs. Foster smiling with her grandkids, a picture of her late husband, a framed collage of birthday moments. Everything looked normal yet wrong.
Dust flecks floated lazily in a beam of sunlight from a half-open curtain. A mug lay on the floor, shattered in two pieces.
A lamp had been knocked over, its shade tilted awkwardly. His pulse quickened.
Something had happened here. The puppy stopped at the entrance to the living room, whining as it pawed at the carpet.
Then, with a sudden burst of determination, it grabbed the cuff of Henry's pant leg with its teeth and pulled. Henry nearly stumbled.
"Hey, easy, easy." But the puppy wouldn't let go.
Its growls weren't threatening. They were desperate.
It tugged again, harder, dragging him another step forward. "Okay, okay, I'm coming."
"Show me." The puppy released him and bolted toward a closed door at the far end of the hallway.
It scratched frantically, its whines rising in pitch until they echoed like tiny cries. Henry's breath hitched.
Mrs. Foster's bedroom. He took a shaky step toward the door.
The puppy circled anxiously, hopping from paw to paw as if screaming without words. "Mrs. Foster," Henry called, voice cracking slightly.
"It's Henry from the postal service. Are you okay in there?"