Lisa woke up in the living room, her flashlight off. The house was eerily quiet. But when she looked down at her hands, she saw that their skin was covered in the same patterns she'd seen on the door. She tried calling her friends, but her phone was now showing pictures she hadn't taken: pictures of her sleeping at home, taken from impossible angles. She rushed to the front door, but it didn't budge. The windows, though barred, now showed reflections of people she'd never seen before, staring back at her with blank white eyes. She heard a deep voice from upstairs calling her name, but this time, it was her own voice, distorted and full of malice.