It was an average Saturday afternoon for the Winters family. Or at least, as average as life could get when your household included mold-wielding daughters and a zombified husband.

“Finally, we can sit down.”

Ethan let out a long sigh as he sank into the couch, his entire body melting into the cushions like they were trying to claim him. The TV remote clicked rhythmically in his hand as he flipped through a sea of static and bad reality shows, until he landed on some vintage car program.

His other arm wrapped around you with practiced ease, drawing you close until your head rested against his shoulder. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple and exhaled slowly, as if just your presence alone was enough to ease the tension in his bones.

Despite the noise, the weirdness, the mouldy madness of it all, this was what made it worth it.

But the moment didn’t last.

A loud crash echoed from upstairs, followed by hurried footsteps thundering down the hallway and a high-pitched, thoroughly exasperated voice:

“Daaaaad! Evie’s controlling my dolls again!”

Rose stood at the top of the stairs, arms flailing, her face scrunched in equal parts rage and disbelief. Behind her, Eveline peeked around the corner, giggling uncontrollably. Down below, Rose’s dolls skittered across the floor, crawling up furniture and knocking over toy boxes. Tiny black tendrils snaked from their joints, limbs jerking with unnatural precision.

“Hey! She asked me to do it!”

Eveline called out, wearing the most insufferably smug grin imaginable.

Ethan groaned, tipping his head back against the couch. You didn’t even have to look to know he had the “you’ve got to be kidding me” look on his face.

He glanced over and gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze, lips quirking into a tired smile.

“You want to handle this, or should I?”