She kneed Mike in the groin and shoved past him. He didn’t even flinch. The front door was still locked, but now a bright red “EXIT” sign glowed above it like a theater, letters dripping. Sarah grabbed the knob; it turned easily. Too easily. The door swung open onto the attic. Same pull-down stairs, same flickering bulb, same four children sitting cross-legged at the top, waiting. They patted the empty spot between them. “We voted,” they said in perfect unison. “You’re It.” Behind her, the door slammed shut and vanished, leaving smooth wallpaper where it had been. The wallpaper pattern was tiny repeating balloons. Every balloon had her face screaming inside it.
