“Hannah?” a voice called out from the darkness.

It wasn’t Patricia.

It was Courtney.

“You shouldn’t have come,” she whispered.

A loud crash echoed from the back of the house, followed by the sound of breaking glass.

My father lunged forward, his gun raised.

But before he could reach the stairs, the lights in the foyer suddenly flickered and went out completely.

We were plunged into total darkness.

In the distance, the faint, unmistakable sound of a baby crying began.

“Owen,” I gasped.

I took a step toward the stairs, my hands reaching out into the blackness.

A hand suddenly gripped my ankle from beneath the stairwell.

I screamed as I was pulled downward, my hands scraping against the rough wooden floorboards.

“Dad!” I cried.

The sound of a gunshot shattered the silence of the room.

The flash of light illuminated the foyer for a fraction of a second.

I saw a face inches from mine, its eyes wide and wild.

The hand released my ankle, and I scrambled backward.

“Hannah!” my father yelled.

The door behind us slammed shut with a heavy thud, the lock turning automatically.