Leanne turned towards the bed Henry had slept in. Her throat tightened. Burning tears, growing quickly, spilt over her lower lids. She closed her eyes and took ragged breaths, waiting for the thundering of her heart to fade.

The dreams came most nights. Henry sat alone in a dark room, his face pale and his eyes wide. He reached towards her. His voice was slow and distorted as he called to her. “Why did you leave me, Leanne?”

Years of counselling. Bottles of sedatives. Meditation. Cognitive behavioural therapy. Hypnosis. Anti-depressants. Nothing could stop them. Nearly every night, she saw him, calling to her, begging her not to leave.

Thirty years should have been enough to forget. She had forgotten everything else—the house’s layout, the children’s names, even the steady thud of Patience’s cane. It had taken this pilgrimage to bring all of that back. But she had not forgotten Henry or that she had left him to the house.

Leanne folded her arms across her chest and took a deep breath. She turned slowly, surrounded by darkness, as the memory of Henry’s last night resurfaced. It had been eight months since their arrival at Bellamy. Of the six other children in their room, five had disappeared and been replaced.

Sleep evaded Leanne, as it often did. Facing the ceiling, hands laced over her stomach, she let her gaze trace the familiar patterns in the plaster above. She was physically exhausted, but her mind wouldn’t stop moving.

She heard it. The creak of a door. Not one of the bedrooms. She had lived there long enough to be familiar with how they sounded. No, it was the grey door, the massive slab at the end of the hall, grinding open.

The cane began to beat its path along the hallway. The heavy rhythmic thumping was accompanied by the muffled scrape of Patience’s steps. Drawing closer.

Leanne held still, not even trusting herself to breathe. It wasn’t uncommon for Patience to roam the house late at night. As long as Leanne stayed quiet, Patience would pass their bedroom, and the cane would echo through the halls below for hours.

In the bed to her left, Henry moved. He rolled over then sat up, rubbing his palm across his eyes as he stared at the door. Leanne wanted to tell him to lie back down, to fake sleep like she did, but she couldn’t risk making noise when Patience was so close.

The cane stopped right outside their door. A lump grew in Leanne’s throat. She couldn’t see the door from where she lay, but she could see Henry, his eyes fogged with sleep and his mouth slack. He stared at the door, unflinching, as it creaked open. Then he pushed his blankets aside and lowered his feet over the edge of the bed.

“No,” Leanne hissed.