“Daaaddy.” Came the call from upstairs.
Brian froze in his chair, holding his beer halfway to his mouth.
“Daaaddy?” Again in her soft voice.
His hand began to shake, and his scalp felt too small for his head.
“Daaaddy.” The voice was coming from the landing halfway down the stairs.
“No,” he said in a whisper. “No.” This wasn’t happening.
“Daaaddy.”
Brian saw four small, rotting fingers wrap around the corner wall at the bottom of the stairway and started screaming.
Dispatches from Obscurity 