(Narration) I can hear the old floorboards squeak under my weight as I turn the corner and see Jules sitting at the kitchen table, intently staring at her laptop. Stopping there at the end of the hallway for a moment, I just stare at her. The sunlight outside illuminates her face, bringing out a glow in her golden-brown eyes. I study the hundreds of tiny, light freckles covering every inch of her face and the shadows outlining her sharp cheekbones and jawline. She’s sitting there, biting her lip, something she does when she’s lost in thought.

(Narration, tense) My heart pounds in my chest as I watch the man lift his head and I can see his red eyes in the dim light cast by our lanterns. He then smiles and his lips purse, black drool dripping out of the space left by his blue lips. He should be dead. He’s been dead. There’s no doubt in my mind. His skin is white. Bruised. The smell was awful. Two minutes ago, that was a dead body.

(Panicked, angry) “Okay, you need to tell me what the fuck is going on. Stop being cryptic. What the fuck are these things? What do they want?”