“The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,
And I have many curious things to shew when you are there.”
Mary Howitt, The Spider and the Fly
Carrie’s desperate scream pierced the frosty night air. Spencer rushed out of the living room and front door to protect her from some unseen threat. The others scurried out behind him and gathered around a petrified Carrie. Her chin quivered. Her round blue eyes were wide with terror. Glen stood in the doorway, its door clinging to its hinges, and surveyed the gathering around Carrie. They all asked her what was wrong. Why had she screamed?
“Up there.” She raised a trembling hand to a second floor window. “I saw a face.”
Glen stepped onto the porch, his brow furrowed with confusion and concern. “A face?” he asked.
“Is this some kind of trick?” Liz asked Glen. “Is this part of some show you’ve cooked up? Very clever.”
“What did the face look like?” Spencer pulled Carrie close to him. His hand rubbed in a circular motion on her shoulder.
She shook her head. “I don’t wanna say. It’s crazy. Stupid.”
“This is a safe space,” Spencer said.
“Is it though?” LIz backed down the walkway that led to the house, fixing her gaze on the second floor window. “Nothing about this space feels safe?”
“Hey.” Glen pointed to the stairwell. “Where’s the guy with the satchel? He was right there.”
“Not only that,” Luke added, searching the porch. “Where’s Denise?”
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