“You help him,” Jackson says, ignoring my question. “I’ll get Beth. Come on.”

We all stagger down the stairs to the massive oak doors. I yank the handle. Oh no. The handle’s locked. The door won’t open.

“What’s wrong with you? Push!” Jackson says.

“I am,” I reply. “It’s stuck or something.”

Jackson looks from me to the door and back to me again. “Push harder,” he says. When I do and nothing happens, he lets out a frustrated cry. He sits Beth in a chair and she pulls her knees to her chest.

Jackson tries the door, but it won’t budge. “What the…?” He struggles with the lock, pushing into it with all his weight. When that doesn’t work, he pounds on the door, throwing his shoulder into it. He kicks the wood. “Through the kitchen,” he says, picking Beth up and carrying her in his arms once again.

In the kitchen, we head straight towards a set of swinging doors that lead to the adjoining hallway. I push open the doors, but they only open halfway before whamming shut again.

Lurching back, I exchange a startled look with the others. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jackson says. He leans into the doors, using all his weight, but the doors won’t budge. “Come on,” he says, looking my way. “Help me. Push.”

I tilt my shoulder into the door, digging my heels into the ground. Jackson shakes his head, trying to put together the pieces. “How’d that happen?” he asks. “How’d they just close? You were looking, right? You saw that? No one was on the other side. How’d they close?”

He rears back and kicks the door. Clomp! The door sticks. “Back hallway,” Jackson says.

“Wait,” Elliot says. He reaches toward the counter and fumbles to pull a carving knife out of the chopping block.

“Good call,” Jackson says.

Together, we turn down the narrow hallway to the back door. I can’t help feeling, as we stumble towards any sort of escape, that the house is patiently waiting for us to fail.

Jackson looks back to me. “We’re going to find a way out of here, sis,” he says firmly. “We’re all getting out of here.”

The steady pattering of rain and Beth’s frail, shaky whimpers cut through the darkness. We reach the back door, and I twist the handle, but it’s locked. Unlatching the deadbolt, I try again. The door won’t budge. “Something’s forcing it shut,” I say.

“Not possible,” Jackson replies. “Move.”

He pounds on the door with his fists, ramming his shoulder into it. Then he kicks and shoves the wood. With growing dread, I watch my brother try, again and again, to make this right. My mind races. Why is this happening? Why is this happening?

“They’re trying to keep us here,” I blurt out.