“We’ll have to run for it,” he said in a low voice. “Wait until … she leaves.” Jessica met his eyes, her face written over with all the questions he had been asking himself for the last six months.

A scream ripped through the silence between them, and John came alert. Someone screamed again, and the room shuddered with impact from somewhere in the house. John looked around wildly for an escape, and his eyes lit on a closet door. “There,” he said, nodding toward it. Another bang came, and the wall beside them shook; another scream, and then a scrabbling sound, like an animal scratching at the door. “Hurry,” John whispered, but Jessica was already clearing a path. She moved ahead of him, moving aside boxes as quickly and soundlessly as she could, and he carried Charlie carefully behind, his whole being focused on holding her safe. Jessica shoved coats on hangers aside, making room, and they crammed themselves into the space.

“It’s gonna be okay, Charlie,” John whispered. Jessica closed the door behind them, then stopped, her hand on the knob.

“Wait,” she whispered.

“What?”

Jessica ran back across the room carelessly, her steps thudding on the wood floor.

“Jessica, what are you doing?” John hissed, shrinking back farther into the recess of the closet, awkwardly shielding Charlie’s head from hangers and hooks with his elbow. Jessica reached the window, snapped open the lock, and threw it open with a loud bang. John gaped as Jessica raced on tiptoe back to the closet, this time making no noise. She nestled in beside him, leaving the door open just a crack, and rested a hand on Charlie’s shoulder.

Within an instant, the bedroom door opened, and someone stepped through. The light from the rest of the house filtered in dimly, and through the tiny crack in the door, they could barely make out a silhouette in red, walking purposefully across the room. The figure paused for a moment, looking outside, then with a rush of movement too quick to follow, vanished out the window.

John stood stock still, his heart pounding, half expecting the mysterious figure to appear again in front of them. Charlie’s unconscious weight was starting to drag on his arms, and he shifted uncomfortably, trying not to jostle her.

“Come on,” Jessica said. He nodded, though she couldn’t see him. Jessica pushed the door open cautiously, and they were met with silence. They made their way to the hall, and stopped short again: Jen was slumped on the floor, blood spattering the wall behind her like an abstract mural, and pooled beneath her, trickling across the floor in little rivulets. John raised his hand to cover Charlie’s face. There was no doubt that Jen was dead: her eyes glazed and dimmed with the marble stare of death, her stomach laid open.