The Merrick house sat still under the pale yellow glow of the porch light. The lawn was trimmed, the mailbox read “The Merricks” in curling letters, and the sky above buzzed faintly, like a radio left on in another room. Inside, Vivienne wiped down the kitchen counter for the third time, humming a tune that didn’t seem to end. Carl sat stiffly on the couch, eyes darting to the blinds every few seconds, fingers trembling around a lukewarm cup of coffee.

Upstairs, Lydia’s bedroom door creaked open on its own. From the garage, a low growl echoed—not from the family dog, but from Rex. The attic floor above gave a soft creak, and the rocking chair began to move.