In an instant, flesh tore and blood sprayed a thin line over the car window. Her father fell…hit the ground…his hands wrapped around his weeping throat, his mouth open as he gasped for air he couldn’t, wouldn’t, find.

A sob left her, formed from incredulity but sharpened by rage.

Her mother shrieked, scanning the garage with wide eyes as her father had done, as if she had no idea where the threat had come from. Her hands tented over her mouth and tears tracked down her cheeks, smearing the blood already splattered there.

“D-don’t hurt us,” she stuttered. “Please, don’t.”

A forked tongue flicked out, as though tasting her fear. “I like the way you beg, female.”

“Stop!” Annabelle shouted. Have to help her, have to help her. She wrenched open the car door and flew out, only to slip in a pool of her father’s—no. No, no, no. Gagging, she fought to stay upright. “You have to stop!”

“Run, Annabelle. Run!”

More eerie laughter—before those claws struck, silencing her mother. Her mother, who collapsed.

Shocked, Annabelle stopped fighting. She toppled to the floor, uncaring as oxygen burst from her lungs. Her mother…on top of her father…twitching…stilling.

“This can’t be happening,” she babbled. “This isn’t happening.”

“Oh, yes,” the creature said in a deep, rasping voice. She caught the undertone of amusement, as if her parents’ murder was nothing but a game.

Murder.

Mur. Der.

No. Not murder. She could not accept that word. They had been assaulted, but they would pull through. They had to pull through. Her heart slammed against her ribs, bile searing a path up her chest and past her larynx. “Th-the cops are on the way,” she lied. Wasn’t that what all the experts on all the reality shows about survival said you should do to save yourself? Claim help was on the way? “Go. Leave. You don’t want to get in any more t-trouble, do y-you?”