Sarah rolled away, scrambled to the attic window. Outside, it was broad daylight, their SUV still in the driveway, but the street was gone. Just endless cornfields that definitely weren’t in New York. On the glass, finger paint spelled: LOOK BEHIND YOU. She did. The children were gone. In their place stood Mike holding a birthday cake with five candles, smiling like the day he proposed. “Happy housewarming, babe,” he said, voice warm and normal. For one heartbeat Sarah almost believed it. Then she saw the candles weren’t flames; they were five tiny fingers wriggling, trying to light themselves. Mike blew them out anyway. The attic plunged into absolute black, and every childhood fear Sarah ever had rushed into the darkness all at once.
