Footfalls sounded from the stairs. Her eyes flickered as Weedeman and Olson pressed close to her. The last thing she heard was Olson’s voice as he said, “my god, the baby. We have to get her to a hospital.”

When Courtney opened her eyes again, she was alone in a hospital bed. She shivered her body suddenly cold. The room was quiet, dim, the shade of twilight lying across everything like a thin shroud. Her stomach was dead — she touched the bulge in her belly, but the baby was gone. Gone. With trembling effort, she rolled off the side of the mattress and staggered toward the door.

“Honey, you should be in bed.” A plump nurse caught Courtney’s arms.

Courtney studied the woman’s hands — pink and healthy looking. She was safe. “My baby?”

“Yes…I suppose a little visit wouldn’t hurt.” The nurse smiled. “We have him in the nursery — while you were out, we were keeping an eye on him. The doctor was a little worried about his color…”

“Color?” Courtney shook.

“Just a little pale, but he’s fine.” The nurse helped Courtney to her bed and returned with a wheeled basinet. She lifted the swaddled infant into Courtney’s arms. “Here you are sweetie. I’ll check on you in a minute.” She stopped at the door. “Oh, and you have a visitor.”

Courtney nodded without thinking. He was hers, she knew. But the skin — his skin was grey, almost translucent — like all of them, the cursed in Broughton’s Hollow. Her arms shook. “No…no…no…”

“Yes. I’m afraid so.”

Courtney bristled at the voice. Mr. Weedeman stood in the doorway, looking even more ashen than usual in the artificial light.