Jamie screamed. Riley clamped a hand over his mouth, dragging him backward. “Run,” she whispered. “Now.”

“Gonna get you, too…”

The cellar door ripped off its hinges. Riley grabbed a broken bottle, held it like a knife. The creature descended, its wings folding tight to its body. Up close, it reeked of copper and formaldehyde. It didn’t attack. It just crouched, tilting its head side to side, studying them like a taxidermist examining fresh pelts.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She turned the key. Nothing but a dry, death-rattle click. Jamie stirred, wiping drool from his chin.

The night was too quiet. No crickets. No wind. Just the wet crunch of their sneakers on gravel and the smell of turned earth. That’s when they heard it first. A song.