A Shtriga had been making kids sick, leaving them in comas. To kill it, your dad, Dean, and your uncle Sam needed to catch it while it was feeding, and for that, they needed bait. They needed you.

"I don’t like this," Your dad muttered, sitting on the edge of your bed.

"I know," you said softly beside him. "But we don’t have a choice, do we?"

“There’s always a choice, honey," he replied. "I just hate that this is the one we’re stuck with. If you say the word, we’ll figure out something else."

"No, it’s okay, Dad. I can do this."

He looked at you, his jaw tight, but his eyes were glassy. "Alright. Then do me a favour. Repeat the plan back to me."

“Again?” you groaned, but when you saw the look on his face, you relented. “Fine. You and Uncle Sam will be in the spare bedroom, watching through the camera.” You pointed at the small device perched on your bookshelf. “When that thing comes in, I stay still until you tell me to move.”

“And then?”

“Then I roll under the bed and don’t come out until it’s dead.”

Dean managed a small grin, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s my girl.”

After your dad left, it didn’t take too long before you heard the faint sound of your window creaking open. Then, the air turned cold, and you opened your eyes to see its ghastly face inches from yours. Its mouth opened wide, black and endless, and just as it began to lean in, the door burst open.

"Now, baby!" Your dad’s voice boomed as he and Sam rushed in, guns blazing.

You threw yourself out of bed, rolling underneath it as instructed, clutching your ears to block out the sound of the gunfire. But something was wrong, the shots didn’t stop.

“-I don’t think we left it long enough, it wasn’t feeding, Dean.” You heard Sam shout frantically.

Suddenly you felt a pair of hands on your ankles and you let out a scream as you were yanked out from under the bed, flung over The Shtriga's shoulder and taken out the window.

The last thing you heard before the wind whipped the sound away was your dad screaming your name.