“Do we have an understanding?” When there’s silence, I take another step, delving deeper into the basement. The programmed whispers should be coming through by now.

“Maddy? Do we have an understanding…?”

Suddenly, my legs feel hollow. Something in the air has shifted. I’m not sure what it is. My eyes widen, trying to take in what little light there is. What is it? What’s changed? I survey the misshapen lumps around me, and that’s when I notice there’s something different about the room. The boxes are all where they’re supposed to be, so are the shelves, the mannequins…

Wait. The mannequins. I count the bodies. A chill runs up my spine. There’s a fourth mannequin. But this one’s not draped in fabric. It’s just a dark human shape. Even from here I can see that it’s gaunt and bald. Madeline?

Get a grip, Ange. Hold it together.

I shake my head, trying to come to terms with the image. The face is unreadable in the shadows, but it’s looking my way. She’s looking my way. I feel my heartbeat quicken. I’m not sure what to do. I know they’re watching me upstairs, I can’t just run. What would they say? Elliot is still behind me. He adjusts some settings on the camera, not aware that I’m hyperventilating in front of him. When he sees me eyeing him, he winks.

The ringing grows louder. Drifting in and out like a storm siren. I take a step back, clutching my head. Elliot lowers the camera a little.

“Ange, you okay?” he asks.

The figure continues to sway. It’s sickly and hunched over. My arms tremble. I push them against my sides. “You see her, right? Do you?”

Elliot’s eyes widen. “See who?”

My eyes water. The cold, drafty air rips from my lungs. The ringing taunts me as the figure leans forward, swaying. I’m okay, I think. I’m okay. And for a second, I believe it.

That is until the mannequin bolts toward me.

My voice erupts as the mannequin, Maddy, whatever, reaches out a pale, lanky arm, veins like coiling snakes cutting through her skin. I let out a blood-curdling scream. Crab-walking backwards, my face hot and flushed, I trip over a pair of boxes.

Elliot tries to hold me, but I turn away. “Ange, it’s me,” he says. “It’s just me.” He grabs my shoulders and I jump. “You saw that, right? You saw her?” I ask.