"This is my house," Anna said, trying to shove Tony toward the door. "We have to go, we can't stay here, it's not--" Anna caught sight of something that made her breathe, "No," again.

In the sitting room, a miserable-looking middle-aged couple sat, the woman in her high-necked black dress knitting something out of blue yarn, the man reading a newspaper and smoking a pipe. Not exactly the most terrifying thing in the world, right? And yet.

"No, no, no, not this," Anna begged, but she was already coming down the stairs: another Anna, her dark hair hanging down her back, her shoulders square, her dark eyes sad but triumphant. She was wearing the same white dress Anna always wore, though it looked like it fit her differently, somehow.