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The girl clutched her mama’s arm. “Ma! My content stuff is probably ruined! Do you know how much that camera cost? I have videos I’m supposed to film this week!”

Her brother turned toward her so fast he nearly tripped over one of the bags. “That’s what you worried about? We’re literally getting put out by something we can’t even see, and you worried about posting videos?”

“Yes!” she shot back. “Because being haunted does not mean I suddenly stop having obligations!”

That part I did agree with.

“Kids!” their mama hissed. “Not now! It is very clear that whatever is in this house is handing us our shit because it wants us to get the hell out, so maybe we should stop arguing and listen!”

Finally.

Somebody in that family caught on.

The daughter was already shaking her head. “Well, I don’t know about y’all, but I’m sleeping in the car!”

Her brother immediately nodded. “Me too!”

The mama didn’t hesitate. “Me three!”

“Constance, we—” the father began.

The wife turned on him so fast he barely got the last word out.

“Nick, are you out of your damn mind?! We are not sleeping in this house!” she snapped, swinging toward him. “I don’t care if you have to sit behind the steering wheel until sunrise. Lights are turning themselves on, footsteps are walking down empty stairs, and something upstairs just packed our children’s belongings for them. What exactly are you waiting on? For it to start carrying us outside too?”

Nick opened his mouth, then closed it.

The man still looked like he wanted to hold on to some shred of bravery, but there came a point in every married man’s life when he had to decide whether proving a point was worth arguing with his terrified wife.

Apparently, Nick had reached his.

“Fine. We can stay in the car until morning. Then we’re out of here.”

Oh, wait!

I can’t have my guests freezing.

Before they could reach the door, the blankets they had been using lifted from the places they had just been sitting.

The entire family stopped in their tracks.

The thick throw Constance had been using lifted first. Hers was some expensive cream-and-tan cashmere blanket with a designer pattern woven through it, the kind that probably cost more than most people would ever admit spending on something meant to keep their legs warm. It rose from the sofa slowly, floated across the room, then folded itself once before settling neatly over her shoulders.

Nick’s blanket came next. It was a navy throw covered in the logo of the Hallowridge Kings, his favorite football team. It slid off the armchair, dragged itself across the floor for a few feet, then lifted just enough to land against his chest like I was personally handing it to him.

The son’s was black with neon-green controllers, joysticks, and little pixelated symbols scattered across it. Instead of dropping at his feet, I sent it straight toward him. He jerked backward, but the blanket wrapped around his shoulders and draped down his back like a cape before he could get out of the way.

His eyes got huge.

I laughed.

The daughter’s blanket was last. It was some ridiculous ass fluffy pink one with enough faux fur on it to make the thing look alive even before I touched it. It lifted from the couch, floated across the room slowly enough for everybody to watch, then settled over her wig bag and camera case like I was making sure none of her precious content-creator shit got cold either.

The daughter whispered, “Oh my God.”

I folded my arms.

What?