THE STORM AT HOUSE NO. 42

The windshield wipers on Elena’s Ford F-150 screeched rhythmically, struggling to clear the sheets of rain cascading down the glass. Seattle was in the peak of storm season. The suburban streets were swallowed by a desolate blur of water and darkness. Elena gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned white. She had just finished a twelve-hour shift at the hospital, and all she wanted was a hot bath and the silence of her home on the hill.

As she turned into the narrow driveway, a bolt of lightning fractured the sky, illuminating the silhouette of the luxurious yet lonely timber-framed house. The living room lights were on. Elena exhaled in relief, thinking that Marcus—her husband—must be waiting for her with a cup of tea or, at the very least, a pre-lit fireplace.

The heavy oak door groaned as it opened, letting in a gust of freezing wind. Elena stepped inside, soaked to the bone. Her expensive trench coat was now heavy and sodden, dripping puddles onto the hardwood floor. Shivering, she kicked off her boots, leaving trails of muddy water behind.

“Marcus? I’m home!” Elena called out, but a distant roll of thunder swallowed her voice. There was no reply.

She walked through the living room. The fireplace was cold. A half-finished bottle of Bourbon sat on the table next to two glasses. One had a smudge of plum-red lipstick—a color she never wore. Elena frowned, a flicker of unease sparking in her mind, but she dismissed it. Perhaps Sarah, Marcus’s sister-in-law, had dropped by. Sarah was known for her love of drama and her habit of showing up unannounced.

Exhausted, Elena climbed the stairs, her body trembling as the chill seeped into her skin. She needed to get out of these wet clothes immediately. She headed straight for the master bathroom at the end of the hallway.

Noises Behind the Door

As she approached the bathroom, Elena froze. Light spilled from the gap under the door, casting a sickly yellow streak across the carpet. She heard the steady hum of the shower, and more importantly, the sound of whispering.

A low, deep male voice—Marcus. And a high-pitched, almost whimpering female voice—definitely Sarah.

Despite the bitter suspicion rising in her chest, Elena maintained the cold politeness of a woman raised in high society. She didn’t burst in. She stood there, water still dripping from her hair onto the floor, and raised her hand to knock three times.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Marcus? I’m home. I need to get a dry towel,” Elena said, her voice eerily calm despite her racing heart.

Silence fell inside. The water continued to run, but the whispering stopped. It took ten long seconds before Marcus’s voice rang out, sounding slightly choked: “Wait a minute, Elena… I’m cleaning up a bit of a mess.”

“What kind of mess requires Sarah’s help in there?” Elena asked, her eyes narrowing.

The door wasn’t locked. It slowly creaked open.

Truth Under the LED Lights

Marcus stood there, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, his face ashen. Sarah was sitting on the marble vanity, her silk dress disheveled, her heavy makeup smeared with mascara streaks.

But what turned Elena to stone wasn’t the scene of infidelity she had already suspected. It was what lay in the bathtub.

Blood.

Blood mixed with the water from the showerhead, overflowing and staining the white marble floor pink. And in the middle of that rose-colored pool was a man’s arm, stiff, wearing a familiar wedding band.

Elena stared at the body in the tub. It was Julian—Sarah’s husband, and Marcus’s younger brother.

“He… he was going to attack Sarah,” Marcus stammered, stepping toward Elena, his trembling hand reaching out to touch her shoulder. “Elena, let me explain. It was an accident. He went crazy with jealousy, he was going to kill her…”

Sarah began to sob, but her eyes held no genuine grief—only cold calculation. “Elena, you have to help us. If the police come, Marcus will go to jail. He did it for me… for us.”

The Dramatic Ending

Elena took a step back, looking down at the bloody water soaking into her wet socks. She looked at her husband, then at her treacherous sister-in-law, and finally at the corpse of her brother-in-law.

A faint, hollow smile touched Elena’s lips. She didn’t scream. She didn’t run.

“Do you two really think I’m that stupid?” Elena asked, her voice as cold as the storm outside.

She reached into the pocket of her soaked coat and pulled out a phone. The screen showed a call that had been active for 20 minutes.

“Julian didn’t go crazy with jealousy,” Elena said, looking Marcus dead in the eye. “I was the one who called him here. I sent him those photos of the two of you at the hotel last week. I wanted him to see the truth for himself.”

Marcus’s face went from pale to a deathly grey.

“But I didn’t expect you to be cruel enough to kill him,” Elena continued. She held the phone higher. “Your entire conversation about disposing of the body and staging the ‘self-defense’ scene… the police have heard every word on the emergency line I triggered before I even reached the door.”

The wail of police sirens tore through the curtain of rain, and red and blue lights began to sweep across the trees outside the window.

Elena turned her back and walked away, ignoring the desperate screams and pleas of Marcus and Sarah. She walked down the stairs and out of the house, letting the rain wash the tainted water from her feet. Tonight, the storm had swept everything away, leaving behind a truth colder than death itself.