Jess shook her head slightly, her eyes still on me. It was dark, but I could see they were full of fear. The scraping behind me continued, growing louder and longer until it was one continuous noise. My hands trembled as they left the wagon, and I ducked my head and then turned and looked over my left shoulder.

I inhaled sharply at what I saw. It was Liz, dragging furniture across the concrete patio toward the tiki hut. She was naked, her skin pale white against the moon, and her hair was around her face like a curtain as she threw her body weight backward and slid the furniture across the concrete, one linear foot at a time. Even though I was several feet from her, I could see the scratches on her body. They were everywhere, red angry lines crisscrossing her legs and stomach.

I started breathing heavily, my chest pumping up and down. I didn’t dare turn around and look at Jess, figuring if we remained still, Liz couldn’t see us, like she was the T. rex in Jurassic Park.

The scraping stopped as Liz reached the tiki hut with the coffee table. She stood up and exhaled, her back to me. Her exhalation sounded guttural, like a Bobcat coming to a stop after a long day of construction. She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the side, as though she was listening to something. I froze, not moving even at the high-pitched whine of a mosquito in my ear.

I waited for her to turn around, to spot us. I waited for us to be thrown in with the bones.

Yet after a pregnant pause, she sat down on one of the tiki hut chairs, facing away from us. She put her bare feet up on the coffee table next to her and leaned back.

It was then that I finally turned to Jess, my neck protesting. I would have to put a heating pad on that the next day, too. I jerked my head toward the side of the house.

Let’s go.

She nodded and made a lifting motion, her biceps flexing under the wagon. We slowly lifted it, inch by inch, my muscles crying out in pain and my legs shaking with the effort. When we were upright, we kept eye contact and made steps together, like a synchronized dance. Melissa extricated herself from her tree camouflage and began to wave us over, urging us to move faster.

Just as we were about to get to the side of the house, and relative safety, a laugh stopped us. Liz was laughing to herself. It was a low-pitched tone, more like a rumble. We turned, and from that vantage point, we could see her face. Her mouth was stretched wide, wider than was humanly possible, so the corners of her lips met her ears. We could see all of her teeth, or what was left of them.