Susan parked in the driveway and slumped over the wheel with a sigh. She had been swamped at the variety store by a wave of yokels: Had she heard anything? Had she seen anything? Was it true, did Franny kill herself after killing those missing kids? As if their bullshit hadn’t been enough, she had passed the liquor store on her way to Connelly’s, and Earl Eckert had poked his miserable head out the door. His face had been drawn and gray, his glare unmistakable in its lust for revenge.
Susan gathered her purchases, including twelve feet of coiled plastic tubing and two rolls of duct tape. She locked her car, and as she made her way up the steps, forced herself not to look at Fran Arbor’s stoop.
Inside, the cold struck her as she stepped out of her boots and removed her coat. As impossible as it was, the house had grown colder.
And yet, there was something else … something more sinister.
A change.
The veil of evil had darkened. She could feel the presence as if it were looming about her. No ambient noise, save the dull hum of the furnace, welcomed her. She felt strangely out of touch in her home, and the thought that this was no longer a place she belonged set the hair on her skin rising.
At the bottom of the stairs: “Hello?”
Halfway up.“Helloooo?”
Downstairs. At the basement door.
Blood on the carpet.
Susan didn’t bother to knock. She took the stairs quickly and slipped on something slick. A shirt, of all things—Kelan’s—and his pants.
“Kelan? Eric?”
She reached the bottom step. When something crawled over her foot, she stifled a shriek. One of the critters, she thought. She could handle one.
The place was a tomb. The furnace rumbled obediently, but there was a tenuous sound above its hum. A whisper, faint and repetitive.
Susan called out again.
And this time, she heard a reply.