In the After

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.
    “Prada,” 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. I used to love throwing them on the Fourth of July. They were just the right amount of safe and loud that my parents could reach a compromise on. No real fireworks for me. It was a good day when I found an unopened box of snappers in the attic. I had my mother to thank for that once again, since she didn’t like to throw things away.
    I duck into the kitchen and throw the snapper as hard as I can against the far wall. The creature is sniffing around the kitchen table, but runs toward the popping noise at full speed. Terrified, I nevertheless fight the urge to laugh hysterically as it smacks into the wall where the snapper hit. I take a deep breath, try to calm myself. It will not help if I panic. If I die, Amber won’t last long and Baby will be on her own.
    The creature is now studying the wall, touching it with its fleshy green hands, wondering what the noise had been. It doesn’t immediately turn and focus back in on the room. It knows something was there, something loud, but does not understand where it went. I hear Amber move in the other room and the floor creaks. The creature’s head snaps in the direction of the doorway, exactly where I’m standing.
    I’m exposed. It is a cloudless night. Moonlight filters in the window, bathing the kitchen in a soft, silver glow. I can’t risk moving back into the shadows. I try to stay absolutely still.
    Most people probably lose their nerve when they are this close to Them. They run or scream, not in control enough to realize it will get them killed.
    But I am calm. I am collected. I am nothing more than a statue, a decoration. The noise was just the house settling, a breeze through the window.
    I hear a low thump in the backyard past the shattered glass door. The creature’s face twitches.
    Go check it out , I think at the