Sarah spun, looking for any way out. The hallway stretched longer than the house had any right to be, doors appearing where there’d never been doors. One opened by itself: the nursery. Inside, a birthday cake the size of a car sat on the bare floor, five candles blazing. The frosting was gray, moving like maggots. Written in blood-red icing: MAKE A WISH, MOMMY. The candles weren’t burning down; they were burning up, flames climbing higher, licking the ceiling. The children’s singing started again, closer now, coming from inside the cake. A tiny hand punched through the top, fingers wiggling like it was waving through frosting waves. Sarah backed away and felt something cold and metal under her heel: the attic pull-cord, dangling in the hallway like fishing line.
