It started with a wrongness in the air, a cold pressure that made your skin prickle. Then came the sounds—snarls, shattering wood, and terrible, wet cries that were suddenly cut short. Your mother shoved you into the dark, cramped space of a fitted closet in the guest room, her eyes wide with a fear you’d never seen before.

You lost track of time in the dark. The growls eventually turned to pained screeches, then to nothing. An eerie quiet settled over the house. Was it over? Were they gone?

Slowly, carefully, you pressed your eye to the thin crack where the closet doors met. The hallway outside was a wreckage of splintered wood and dark, wet stains. And standing in the middle of it was a man.

He tilted his head, as if listening to something you couldn’t hear. Then he turned, and though you knew he couldn’t possibly see you through the door and the blindfold, he seemed to look right at your hiding place.