THE GIRL ACROSS THE RAIN STREAKED WATER WHO HELD THE EXACT SAME WHITE BUNNY

Ethan stumbled backward in the dark, his shoulder crashing hard against the peeling wallpaper. He gasped for air, his chest heaving as he fumbled frantically with the power button of his flashlight. The LED flickered once, twice, and then cast a blinding white beam across the empty hallway. The door at the end of the hall was wide open now. Inside the small bedroom, the room was pristine, completely untouched by the rot that consumed the rest of the house. A child's bed was neatly made with a lace coverlet, and sitting upright on the pillow was a porcelain doll with cracked cheeks.

He didn't belong here. He backed away slowly, his eyes darting to every corner of the ceiling. He practically threw himself down the rotting staircase, nearly twisting his ankle as he leaped from the porch straight into the aluminum boat. He grabbed the oars with frantic strength, digging them into the dark water until his muscles burned. When his boots hit the muddy bank of his own yard, he scrambled out without securing the boat, sprinting up the slope toward the house.

Clara pulled the door open before he could knock, her face pale. She grabbed his arm, pulling him inside out of the gray drizzle. What happened to you? You look like you've seen a ghost.

Ethan slammed the heavy wooden door shut and threw the deadbolt. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the white stuffed bunny, dropping it onto the kitchen table as if it burned his skin. I found this inside. Downstairs. It was sitting right next to a fresh boot. Clara, someone is living in that house. Or something is.

Clara stared down at the toy, her hand flying to her mouth. That’s impossible. You said the bridge was out. No one can cross that creek without a boat, and our boat was locked in the shed until this morning.

Lily walked slowly into the kitchen, her big blue eyes fixed on the table. She didn't look scared anymore; her expression was completely blank, almost trance-like. She reached out her small hand and touched the ear of the toy Ethan had brought back, her long light brown hair falling forward.

It was my room, Lily said softly, her voice flat and devoid of childhood warmth. Before the water came.

Ethan stared at his daughter, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead. Lily, what are you talking about? You weren't even born when the flood happened. We bought this house five years ago.

Lily slowly lifted her head, looking past her father toward the darkened living room window, where the rain had started to fall again, beating a frantic rhythm against the glass.