Inside, the table had been set for the next day, crystal glasses glinting red with light from the remaining embers of the fire Daddy had lit in the fireplace earlier. She’d watched him stack wood that he’d taken from the built-in cupboard near the firebox and light old newspaper and kindling until flames caught and crackled. The smell of smoke was stronger here and something else . . . something odd, sweetly metallic. In front of the big window, the Christmas tree stood at an angle, white lights blinking, branches broken.
Not like it had been.
The back of Kara’s neck twitched.
And then she noticed the walls.
The dark spots that drizzled downward.
Red.
Thick.
Blood!
Staining the walls in scarlet rivulets that pooled almost purple on the floor.
She let out a scream and her stomach threatened to hurl. She took two steps into the living room and screamed again. There, lying on Mama’s white carpet, was her brother Donner, his throat slashed, his skin pale as milk, his blond hair streaked red, his eyes staring upward and unblinking. She stepped backward and her heel rammed into something soft, only to turn and find Sam Junior, curled up, his hair matted red with blood, his mouth open, eyes open and vacant. “Noooo!” She screamed again, gasping and sobbing, her stomach cramping.
She dropped the scissors and flashlight and started to turn when she noticed Jonas, partially hidden by the Christmas tree, his face and shirt covered in blood, a hank of black hair falling over his face. Eyes open.
Hyperventilating, she stared at him and screamed when she saw him blink.
He was alive?
But how?
“K-k-k-k-k-a . . . karrrra . . .” he said, his voice a garbled whisper.
She could only stare at his blood-smeared face.
“Get . . . he . . . he . . . get . . . help . . .” He tried to lever himself up but fell back. “Go . . . run . . .” he whispered, his words sounding wet. His eyes rolled up in his head and she backed away, her feet slipping on the blood that seemed everywhere—on the walls, on the floor, sprayed to the ceiling.
“Marlie!” she yelled. Where the hell was she? “Marlie!” Choking out her sister’s name, she stumbled from the room and forced herself to the short hallway that led to her parents’ bedroom.
Sobbing wildly, Kara gasped for breath as she pushed open the door and saw the horror within. “No!” she cried, breaking down completely. “No, no, no!” Both of her parents were in their bed, Mama in her silk pajamas and her father in only his boxer shorts. Both of her parents were covered in the blood that stained the sheets and spattered the bedstead and wall. Mama’s blond hair was mussed, her eyes glassy and set, and Daddy’s face was a scary bluish color, blood sliding from his gaping mouth. Over his naked torso, huge, ugly gashes exposed his flesh, and blood matted the curling hair of his chest.
In a daze, she backed out of the room.
Dead.
They were all dead.
Except Jonas.
She started back to the living room, to her brother, when she thought of the phone.
She had to call and get help.
9-1-1.
But she couldn’t go into Mama’s bedroom again, she couldn’t see her parents that way . . . no, she backed up, scrambling to her feet. There was a phone in the kitchen and Sam Junior’s new cell phone upstairs. She’d call the police. Get an ambulance. But as she raced through the living room, she saw Jonas had collapsed again. She was probably too late!
She started for him.
The front door swung open.
Marlie?
No!
Not her sister.
A man.
A big man filled the doorway.
The killer!
She knew it.
Oh. God.
She let out a short scream and spun, her bare heel sliding in a pool of sticky blood.
“Holy shit! What the fu—？” the man said.
He’d seen her!
She took off at a dead run.
As fast as her feet would carry her, she flew through the dining room, knocking over a chair before she sped across the short span of the butler’s pantry to the kitchen.
“Hey!” The voice was deep and male. Commanding. “Hey! You! Stop!”
She yanked the door open, sprinted across the porch and jumped from the steps to the snow-covered backyard.
“Stop! Little girl!”
No way!
His loud voice only propelled her farther and faster through the drifts. From the corner of her eye she saw his massive shape on the porch.
“Stop! Hey, little girl—”
Without thinking, she ducked under the lowest limbs of the fir trees and cut to the back path, the one that led to the lake. The snow here was packed, as if someone else had trod on it, and it felt like ice between her toes. Still she raced unheeding as branches slapped at her face and berry vines clawed at her pajamas. She heard her sleeve rip, felt the prick of a thorn, but she didn’t stop, didn’t dare chance a look behind her. Her lungs were starting to burn, her breath coming out in a foggy mist, but she didn’t slow. Her heart was pounding and she kept her head down, skimming through a copse of trees, feeling snow fall onto her shoulder as she brushed against the branches.