Will turned at the smeared painting, and looked down the hallway. Save for a dim light that spilled from the bedroom, the space was black as pitch.

He would just check the rooms, quickly and quietly, and leave. The bathroom on the left, bedroom on the right, closet straight ahead. Then out the door.

He stepped forward, and noticed

drip drip

A dripping from the bathroom. As he drew closer he heard

drip drip

it louder and clearer. But when Will got to the doorway the bathroom was in shadows. He reached in, hand shaking, to feel for the lightswitch.

Will climbed the steps slowly, deliberately, waiting for any one of them to creak – a signal to run from the house. But they made no noise.

As he reached the landing a face came into view, one he expected. The portrait, crudely painted in acrylics, hung at the head of the stairs. It was of Eva, but Will only knew that because he had seen Eva pose for it and seen Dan make the childish brushstrokes.

But there was a stroke on it that Dan hadn’t painted.

A hand print, and a thick red streak, smeared across the figure.

Will left the kitchen behind, fumbling down the hallway, back to the front door. He peered up the stairs, into the muddled darkness that was forming as the sun continued past the horizon.

If another creak had sounded, if a footstep had fallen, he would have slipped back out the door. He would have left further investigation into Dan and Eva’s disappearance to the police. But in that moment, there was only the faint drone of crickets outside and the pounding of Will’s own heart. There was only twilight forming the still shadows.

Will stepped forward, and climbed the stairs.