She couldn’t see any bodies on the porch. No sounds came from the house. The corpses might have left to follow her down the hill. It might be safe enough to retrieve the one thing she wanted to keep close until dawn.

Marsh.

She needed to be certain he was still safe. And then she needed to keep him at her side. Witchety had been right. She needed something good with her, and Marsh was the most good she knew.

Margot took the stairs lightly, her ears straining for any signs of motion in the house. The enormous Watcher towered in the entryway, blocking her view of the hall behind it. Margot clung to the passage’s right, stretching her light forward, fighting against the impenetrable darkness.

The house was so quiet she could hear every thud of her heart and every dry, crackling breath. She slipped along the wall, tentative, cautious. Her light caught on the living room’s bell. It stayed silent.

She darted her tongue across her cracked lips. Each step left a dark, smeared footprint to mark her path. Her fingers were growing numb. She adjusted her hold on her phone so it wouldn’t slip.

She stepped into the hallway leading to the sewing room. The door was still closed. Even in the house’s deathly quiet, Margot couldn’t hear any sounds from inside the room.

Quiet fear stuck to her like cobwebs that she’d been mistaken, that Marsh had gotten outside after all.

Worse, that the dead ones had gotten in.

She gripped the door handle. Turned it. Braced herself. Then opened the door.

Marsh leapt at her, dancing at her feet, his tail slapping the doorframe as he came through. A choked, grateful laugh escaped Margot. She bent, hugging the dog tightly, but only for a second. They needed to get back outside. She still had the leash wrapped around her arm, and clipped it onto Marsh’s collar. His eyes smiled up at her, showing how much he had missed her.

“Good boy,” she whispered. “Come on. Let’s go.”

The house remained perfectly still. As she led Marsh back along the hall, his nails clicking on the wood with each step, she experienced a pang of uncertainty.

Maybe this really was the best place to hide. If the dead had all left to follow her down the hill, she might be able to close the doors and blot out the lights and spin out her final hour of night undisturbed. The dead had spent longer than that roving outside the building when they’d first arrived.

No. They won’t take their time like that again. Margot entered the lounge room, her breath held as she darted the light across the scene. The house isn’t a sanctuary. It’s a trap. Don’t let it trick you into thinking otherwise.