Free In the After by Demitria Lunetta

little girl taken at the lake. She wears a bright pink bathing suit, grins at the camera. I had a blue-and-white-striped suit when I was her age. “Cheese-it,” my dad used to tell me before he snapped a photo.
    I reach out to straighten the picture but suddenly change my mind. At the corner of the glass is a smudged red fingerprint. After being attacked downstairs, someone tried to escape up here, to hide. I try not to think about it. I’ve had to survive my own horrors; I don’t need to live the terrors of others. I squeeze Amber’s hand. There will be more bloodstains upstairs.
    At the top of the stairs, I scan the hall for signs of what happened there, but there is no broken furniture, no gory scene. I know better than to feel relieved. The hallway is full of doors, any of which could lead to the room in which They caught their prey.
    The door closest to the stairs is the only one open. The wood is littered with deep scratches and the door handle is missing. I glance through the doorway but can’t make out anything in the dark.
    Stay , I tell Amber.
    I walk the few feet, holding my breath, and step inside a large bathroom. A shower curtain lies across the floor, ripped to shreds. I sniff the air. It leaves a metallic taste in my mouth. The plush bathroom rug feels strange between my toes. It is too soft and fluffy for the After.
    I force myself to look into the tub to confirm what I already know. Someone tried to hide from Them in here, but wasn’t quiet enough. The white ceramic is splattered with blood. The spots are brown with age, and hair is sticking to the porcelain sides. I swallow hard.
    When I back out of the room, closing the door firmly behind me, Amber stares, her eyes asking, Well?
    I shake my head no and try the next door down the hall. The room is big, with a king-sized bed and fancy carpet—definitely not a kid’s room. I almost move on, but I notice a bookshelf against the far wall and my curiosity takes over. Amber keeps to my side as I browse the titles, deciding which to take. After a while, she grows bored and wanders to the walk-in closet.
    Suddenly Amber shrieks.
    I turn to the closet, my heart pounding. Is one of Them in there with her? I’ve never come across one in an empty house, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t possible. I back toward the bedroom door, ready to sprint and hide. If it found Amber, it will be distracted for a while and I can grab Baby and get out before it’s done feeding.
    Something moves in the closet and I brace myself for a disgusting green head and glowing yellow eyes. Instead, Amber appears in the doorway, her face jubilant. She holds up a bag.
    â€œPrada,” she says with a grin, not bothering to whisper.
    We have to leave, now . I grab her arm and drag her toward the door. If They heard her, we don’t have much time. Amber cries out slightly as I pull her down the stairs, my fingers digging into her skin. I don’t care that I am hurting her. Baby is downstairs, alone. We need to find her and get the hell out.
    I step over the two squeaky stairs, but Amber steps heavily on both. Either she doesn’t remember or she doesn’t care. I can feel my face grow hot with anger. I shouldn’t have brought her; she isn’t ready. If we all die, it will be my fault.
    I pause at the bottom of the stairs, quickly scanning the room. I don’t see any of Them. I lead Amber cautiously through the dining room. I stop again. In the next room there is a sound. The noise is faint but distinctive: shuffle, shuffle, sniff. Amber’s outburst brought one inside. It is in the kitchen, where I told Baby to stay.
    Wait , I sign to Amber. Danger .
    Her eyes close tight with fear. She pushes herself flat against the wall, trying to become invisible. I let go of her arm and hope she has enough sense not to make a sound.
    I remove a box of snappers from my bag. I take one, rolling the small, papered bundle in my fingers.