Lara held her back against the door, her sweat pasting her body and her muscles tight.

“Lara! Lara open this door right now!” The thing pounded its fist, making the wood and her bones rattle, beating the door with all its might. “Lara, you open this door, or you’re father’s gonna come home and give it to you! Lara! Lara!”

The thing continued to beat the door, as if it were attempting to break a hole in it. The thing sounded like her mother, but Lara knew it wasn’t her mother. It was something else. Something foul. Something wearing something that looked and smelled and sounded like her mother, but it wasn’t her mother. It wasn’t.

“Lara. I’m giving you one last chance, to open this door, or your grounded young lady!” the thing roared.

Lara gripped her father’s golf club tightly to her. Her father had been dead for three years now. That thing wasn’t her mother. It wasn’t.

With a scream the door collided and blew into her, throwing her to the floor, and with a strained creak she felt it give way and fall from its hinges, the door landing on top of her with a thud.

“…You’ve been a very bad child, Lara. A very bad child.”