Kevin looked toward the front door, but it was gone too. One by one, the windows were vanishing, replaced by smooth, blank walls. The house was sealing itself shut.

Kevin looked. At the top of the landing, a pair of legs stood perfectly still. Just legs, ending at the waist, fading into the static. "I want to go to sleep now," Kevin said to the empty air.

The cartoons on the TV changed. The animated dog on the screen stopped dancing and turned its head to look directly at Kevin. It pointed a gloved finger toward the stairs.

She wasn't in her bed. The sheets were pulled back, cold to the touch. Kevin walked to the hallway, but the door to his parents' room wasn't there anymore. Where the wood and the brass knob should have been, there was only seamless, beige drywall.

Kevin sat on the floor and began to stack his blocks. He stacked them higher and higher, but they never fell. Gravity had left with his parents. He looked at the TV, where a caption appeared in grainy, white text: