For the most part, our house was absolutely, positively silent. There were no groans and creaks you’d expect to find in a century home. We didn’t have loud conversations with each other, and there were no music players in the house to speak of. For all intents and purposes, our cursed house was pretty tame.

So we lived in quiet. Which is why an odd scuffling woke me up before the day had even broken free of the murky gray dawn. I sat up straight in bed, my eyes immediately searching every corner of the room. According to experts, break-ins happened more in the summer than any other time of the year. They also usually happened in the middle of the day. Except it wasn’t summer. It wasn’t the middle of the day. And no one in their right mind would break into this house.

Except for Theo, but God only knew what he was on when he stumbled inside. So if someone wasn’t trying to get in, then someone was trying to get out. I had a pretty good idea who was attempting to escape.

I rolled out of bed, sliding on the jeans and shirt I had carefully folded the night before. When I first had gotten stuck in the house, I had been a slob. I never made my bed. I left my clothes everywhere. I just didn’t care. What did it matter? But when I started my research, I realized the importance of a clean home. My information might have come from a 1900s women’s magazine, but I was pretty sure the facts still held true.

An organized home was a happy home. A clean home meant a relaxed brain, and more time to focus on myself. Cleaning your house meant your husband would love you, and would never leave you. The last one was a bit of a stretch for me and my personal situation, and definitely outdated, but the rest of it worked for me. So my bed was carefully made, and my clothes tidied every night before I fell asleep.

Which meant it was easy for me to dress, and tiptoe down the stairs after Savannah. She was wearing the same clothes as yesterday–we really needed to find her some more clothes–and her beautiful hair was tied back into a loose braid. I wasn’t sure what bedroom she slept in last night, and in all honesty, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. She was so focused on her task, she didn’t notice me trailing behind her, one step at a time.

From what I had seen of her, Savannah was bright, and knew what she wanted. These were two incompatible ideals–she knew there was no way out, but she wanted her freedom. She stopped first at the front door, jiggling the handle.