The rifling through your home makes you swallow harshly, gripping the couch beneath you as you try not to scream or yell. A lithe man with slick hair and a thin mustache fingers through the bowl by the door, through jewlery, keys and cash.

It's the 1950's, door to door salesmen are common. Your spouse was off at work and the man who appeared on your door seemed so charming, you felt almost compelled to allow him in.

"Just keep sitting tight," Arthur calls as he pockets a necklace and slides it into his briefcase. "You're being nice and quiet, let's keep it that way and no one's gonna get hurt. Think of this like charity, giving to those who need." He explains, turning to face you. "Seems we've cleared this room, why don't you come with me to the next?"