I sat at the table and stared into the woods. The room was dark, but I still felt the flash of light behind my eyes, throbbing with the rhythm of the pain I kept trapped between my teeth—so I wouldn’t scream and shatter the whole house—

Don’t break the glass.

I was squinting into the darkness when the shadow crossed my vision. Just beyond the glass, a figure walked past—a dark form against the black backdrop of the woods.

My thoughts slammed closed as a cold sweat crept over me. Slowly, I stood from the chair and walked down the hall, following the glass wall. I poked my head into Warren’s room. He slept, blanket pulled over his head, like when he was three.

The shadow slipped past his room, around the corner of the house.

He’s right, there’s someone here.

I grabbed my gun and returned to Warren’s room. The blanket had slipped from his face, and his hair had dampened against his sweaty forehead. He frowned and sighed in his sleep.

I lowered myself to the foot of the bed and sat, facing the windows, gun resting on my thighs.

I must have dozed. The moon had risen over the tree line. The yard—empty—seemed almost bright. Not enough of that light pierced the glass, and the bedroom seemed darker than ever.

I turned to check on Warren.

His face was inches from mine, pale in the darkness, pupils wide and black. He sat rigid. His breath felt cold against my face.

I sprayed him with spit as I choked back a scream. He flinched.

“Warren?” I sputtered his name. Remembered to pry my shaking finger off the trigger.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. His voice was hollow with sleep.

I held my breath steady. “Just checking on you, sweetie. Back to sleep.”

He watched me with those black eyes as I backed from his room.

***

The light woke me, slipping under my eyelids like bright water.

I tiptoed to Warren’s room. He leaned against the wall, snoring.

And when I saw his window, I screamed.

Warren flailed awake and fell from his bed in a tangle of blankets. I reached and pulled him toward me. He sobbed and pushed me away, turning to look where I looked.

The entire window—from ground to ceiling—was smeared with hand prints.

Warren let out a low moan and let me pull him into my arms. I pressed his head to my neck, and he was two again, me with a hand over his ear to shut out the violence, to mask the yelling with the sound of my heartbeat. Until he raised his eyes to mine, hazel and watery, and his face twisted and he shouted, “I TOLD YOU!” so loudly my vision went white.

And by the time I could feel my feet again, he was locked in the bathroom, the only room with no windows.