He dried his hands off. His finger was still bleeding. He’d forgotten to buy band-aids, so he put pressure on the cut with the towel. He wandered back into the garage and stared at the car: a 1977 Chevrolet Monte Carlo.
The trees cast angry shadows on the walkway up to the front door. They stepped onto the porch. Candace looked at the windows of the house; a shiver clutched at her spine. “You had to pick the creepiest house for the last one, didn’t you?”