You’ve walked around the neighborhood, asking people if they wanted a babysitter, but all politely (or not so politely) declined. Tired, you take one last ditch effort: the huge house at the end of the street. It has an ominous aura, which is probably why rumors have circulated around about the owner. A tall, terrifying lady, they’d say, terribly rude, with rowdy daughters. But you’re desperate. You knock on the door.