Thank God.

He’d made it.

So long, you dirty bastards.

He went through. It was pitch-black out here; he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. He told himself that it was all right. Nothing would jump out at him, because nothing could see him.

It didn’t help.

He was petrified. If he hadn’t peed himself earlier, he would have done it now. His heart was beating so hard he could feel his whole body shaking, and in the dead silence the blood surging in his ears was deafening. He’d always been scared of the dark. His mom had told him not to worry.

“If you can’t see the monsters, they can’t see you.”

Back then there had been no monsters. Not real ones. Only imaginary.

Now ...

He held his breath and inched forward, his hands stretched out in front of him, feeling the floor with his feet.

He came to a step.

Stairs.

Good. They would take him down, away from this awful place.

One step ... two steps ...

It would be a long climb, but maybe there would be windows soon.

Step followed step followed step. He started to move quicker as he grew more confident. Finding a rhythm.

He came to a wall and was confused for a moment until he realized that the stairs turned a corner. He reached out his hands, groping in the darkness.

They touched something warm and soft.

What was it?

It moved.

No ...

He turned around. He had to get away. There was only one thing it could be—a grown-up.

He started to cry. He couldn’t run, not in the dark. He fell to his hands and knees and crawled like a dog. His eyes screwed shut. The grown-up was coming after him; he could hear its feet scraping, its breath rasping.

Sam felt strong hands grip his ankle. He kicked out. Got away. Sped up.

But where could he go? Upstairs there were only more grown-ups.

If he moved to the side and kept still, maybe this one would go past him. He tried it. But the grown-up was already there, on the step next to him.

Sam shouted in panic and scurried up the steps as fast as he could. He was back at the door to the directors’ box. There was movement on the other side. The grown-ups were waking up.

It was all over. He should never have shouted.

He blundered into the room, the weak light seeming suddenly bright after the inky blackness of the stairwell.

There was a wet slurp behind him. He turned. The grown-up was filling the whole doorway. He was huge, a tall father, well over six feet. He was wearing a long, soiled overcoat and had a huge black beard and no teeth. He opened his mouth in a silent howl and grabbed Sam, clutching him to his chest.

Another father blundered across the room and tried to snatch Sam back. The giant swatted him away.