Let it out, even if it kills you.

Please do not arrive before 5pm, the listing said.

Parking nearby at 2:30pm, Stella hedged her bets—itching to feel fresh, September air. With antihistamines.

Without them, she’d feel a chill in her scalp that slipped through her like a dead drop—

Then—

ACHOO!

She approached the cottage, hand an inch from tapping the window before she dropped it.

They stood on one end of a red rug, one you’d burn. The other end—a body.

Then, there it was. The chill. She tried to swallow it, but—

ACHOO!

And they were at the window quicker than Stella could blink twice.