Jenny swallows and gathers up her blanket with shaking hands, the shushing sound of the fabric dragging against the bed sounding too loud, but she gets it all gathered up. Then she flings the balled-up comforter down on the floor in front of the space under her bed as a barrier and leaps over it. She runs out the door and down the hallway. Her back cramps up in dread at the sensation of something following. She hears movement and then footsteps. She looks back and sees a dark figure following her and she yelps.

She flips on a switch on the wall in the living room, revealing the room, but turning the windows to black mirrors. A face smacks to the glass of the large window, and she screams at the sight of little six-year-old Mindy, pale and snarling and blind-looking, pressing against it like she could bite her way through it. Another face and two hands slap to the glass of the kitchen window, and there's a thud on the front door, as if someone slammed it with their whole body.

The footsteps from behind her are almost on her, and she looks back to see Crazy Tom coming at her in the light. But he's not just a creepy guy from across the street that kills squirrels with his bare hands anymore. His skin has grayed and is coming off, and his irises have turned white. He's holding a knife up, the sharp blade pointing down.

Unwilling to go outside with those things that look like her neighbors, Jenny has a split second to decide between the door that leads to the basement or the narrow stairs that leads to the attic storage space.