Margaret stood up so fast her chair scraped loudly across the floor.
"My daughter," she said, panic flooding her voice. "Lily—where are the kids?"
That was all it took.
Everyone rushed upstairs at once, footsteps pounding against the wooden stairs. Fear spread faster than logic. Doors were flung open, names shouted down the hallway.
"Lily!"
"Ben!"
"Sarah!"
They reached the room where the children had been left watching cartoons.
Margaret slammed the door open.
The children were there.
Sitting quietly on the floor. Eyes glued to the television. Cartoons still playing.
For a moment, no one breathed.
"Lily!" Margaret cried, rushing forward and scooping her daughter into her arms. Lily squealed in surprise.
"Mummy?" Lily asked. "Why are you shouting?"
Margaret hugged her tightly, shaking. "You're okay… you're okay…"
Emma exhaled slowly, though her chest still felt tight.
Uncle Paul grabbed his son. Mrs. Greene pulled her twins close. Audrey reached for Mark's hand instinctively.
"I think… I think we should leave," Margaret said, her voice trembling. "This isn't funny anymore."
Others nodded immediately.
"Yes."
"Let's go."
"Now."
They hurried the children downstairs, coats half-grabbed, voices shaky, fear no longer hidden.
Emma stayed close to the back of the group.
They reached the front door.
Lucas grabbed the handle and pulled.
It didn't move.
He pulled harder.
Nothing.
"The door's locked," he said slowly.
"That's impossible," Emma's father snapped. "I didn't lock it."
Mark tried next. He twisted the handle violently. "It's stuck."
A heavy silence fell.
Emma stepped back.
Margaret's breath hitched. "Open it."
Lucas rammed his shoulder against the door.
It didn't budge.
The house felt suddenly smaller.
"Check the back door," someone whispered.
They turned.
The back door was still open—just a little. Swinging slightly. Cold air slipping inside.
Everyone trembled.
Lily clutched her mother's shoulder. "Mummy… what's going on?"
Margaret's voice broke. "Nothing, sweetheart. Close your eyes and lean on my shoulder. Don't open them."
Lily obeyed.
Emma felt it then.
The pressure.
Her vision blurred slightly. The room tilted. For a brief moment, the walls seemed farther away—stretching, bending. She blinked hard.
Then she saw it.
Not a shadow.
Not a figure.
But movement that didn't belong.
The Christmas lights flickered, and for a split second, the room looked different—older, darker. The decorations faded, replaced by bare walls and silence.
Emma gasped softly.
Her heart pounded.
She grabbed the arm of the couch to steady herself.
"Emma?" Audrey whispered. "Are you okay?"
Emma nodded, though she wasn't.
The vision snapped away as quickly as it came.
But it left something behind.
Fear.
Mark suddenly laughed.
Everyone turned to him.
It was wrong.
Too loud. Too sudden.
"What's funny?" Audrey asked.
Mark kept laughing, his eyes unfocused. "This is crazy. Locked doors, missing people… it's like a game."
"Mark, stop," Audrey said.
He stopped abruptly.
Blinking.
"What?" he asked. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Lucas rubbed his face hard. "Did… did I just push the door?"
"Yes," Emma said quietly. "You did. Hard."
Lucas frowned. "I don't remember doing that."
He stared at his hands like they didn't belong to him.
Emma's chest tightened again.
Another vision flashed.
The back door closing.
Not now.
Not before.
Before Clinton disappeared.
Emma staggered slightly.
She saw Clinton's face—confused, turning around—then nothing.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
When she opened them, Mark was standing too close to the back door.
"Mark," Emma said sharply.
He turned slowly.
His expression was blank.
"Why are you standing there?" Audrey asked nervously.
Mark looked down at his hand.
It was on the door handle.
"I don't know," he said. "I don't remember walking here."
Lucas suddenly sat down hard on a chair. "Something's wrong with me."
Everyone looked at him.
"I keep losing time," Lucas said. "Seconds… minutes. I don't remember moving."
Emma swallowed.
She wasn't the only one feeling it now.
Elizabeth hugged herself. "This isn't normal."
Emma's father whispered, "No."
The house creaked softly.
No one moved.
Emma realized something terrifying.
Whatever was happening…
It wasn't just watching anymore.
It was touching them.
And it was starting with their minds.
She looked at the back door again.
Still open.
Still breathing cold into the room.
Clinton had gone through that door.
And now the house was deciding who would be next.