I look behind me, and then from side to side, moving quicker now. One hand lightly traces the cold wall. Feeling the cool rock on my skin provides a small sense of security.

SQUE-EAK! This time the sound is right behind me. Oh no. I turn in a circle, searching the darkness, but I’m the only one here. My skin crawls. Then why does it not feel like I’m the only one here?

Cautious, I turn again. This time around, a mass engulfs the viewfinder. Shiny metal glares in the green light. Tammy’s face is inches from mine – or what’s left of it. Her jaw is gone and her tongue dangles from her mouth.

“Gnnaaaaaahhh,” Tammy says.

The ringing spikes in my ears as I push back. Without thinking, I whirl and bolt. The only thing on my mind is getting the hell out of there. Twisting my foot in the darkness, I keep going, hobbling forward, wincing with each step. When I look behind me, Tammy is still following me. SQUE-EAK. SQUE-EAK.

I duck around corners. The corridors expand around me, forming an intricate maze underneath the house. After awhile, I’ve been running so long I’ve lost my way. I reason I must be far away from the house by now. Perhaps by the pond, or maybe the grove of trees behind the property?

Slipping through an arched doorway, I sink to the floor and pull my knees to my chest. Grabbing fistfuls of my hair, I steady myself, preparing for what’s ahead. “It’s okay,” I whisper. “They can’t hurt you. Only you can hurt you. Only you.”

Sometimes, when I was little, I’d find my mother in the closet in this exact position, whispering to herself and pulling out her hair. I’d open the door, and beneath the coats and clothes my mother would be huddled on the floor, looking up at me with wide, open eyes. When this happened, I would always crawl into the closet with her and my mother would wrap her thin, cold arms around me. We’d pray together, “Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love, where there is injury, pardon, where there is doubt, faith, where there is despair, hope…” We’d repeat the prayer, over and over, our voices colliding, the dangers of this world and the next crashing towards us.

I imagine my mother’s arms around me now, and I can almost feel them. “Where there is darkness, light,” I whisper. In the silence, my voice sounds dangerous, a trespass. Years of quiet have woven into the walls and soaked into the soil. The hush is now an entity onto itself. I think of my brother, how he’s down here with that monster, that killer. Struggling to my feet, I scan the darkness with the night vision camera.