I’m sitting in my playroom with my mom. We’re both sitting at my tiny blue and green wooden table having a tea party with the dark pewter tea set that I got for my third birthday. We laugh and smile as I pour imaginary tea and scoop out imaginary sugar. A chill slowly descends on the room and the lights progressively get dimmer, almost to the point of darkness. Mom frowns and stands up. Stay here, she tells me, I’ll be right back. I nod and pretend to make another pot of tea. Mom slips out of the room in the graceful way that only a ghost can, quietly locking the door behind her. It’s when I hear the lock click into place that I know something is wrong. I sit in silence and listen. I’ve always been a good listener. Faintly, I hear the sounds of voices arguing. Alarmed, I quickly jump up, knocking over my tea set in the process. I run and press my ear against the door. There’s silence for a few seconds, then I begin to hear the sounds of a struggle. I pull with all my might on the handle, trying to get the door to open, but it won’t give. I start to panic as the fighting sounds get louder. I hear something heavy hit a wall. All the lights go out. Somebody starts screaming.