“Ava, can you get that?” her mom shouted from the kitchen. “I’m busy washing the dishes.”
“I can’t,” Ava yelled back through her bedroom door. “I’m getting dressed.”
“Craig! Get the door, please.”
“I will if you stop yelling!” her dad shouted from his bedroom, sounding amused.
Ava shook her head and chuckled before pulling on a pair of flannel pajama pants and a gray shirt. She’d showered after dinner, and now all that was left to do for the night was curl up in bed and find something to watch on Netflix.
Ava was hanging her towel on the hook on her door when her mother’s scream pierced the quiet. Ava wrenched her door open, the horrifying sound still ringing in her ears. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, what she’d thought had happened, but what she found wasn’t it.
“No,” he
